this hotel.
“It looks like you’re hiding,” I told him.
His drink refreshed, he turned back to me. “I’m just going through some stupid shit right now. Can’t a guy lie low?”
“So you are hiding.”
“I’m going through a breakup,” he said, shrugging. “There it is. Breaking news. Post it online, if you want.”
“I don’t have social media,” I said, peering at him. “Nobody knows yet?”
“Just her and me.”
I racked my brain, wondering if Nana had talked about it, but couldn’t come up with a face or name of an actress last seen attached to Devon Ray.
“Well, sorry if you’re having a rough time of it,” I said. “I didn’t know Dallas was a place you come when you get your heart broken.”
He laughed at me again, rubbing his face. “I had some business to take care of here. A couple of appearances. I’m not hiding.”
He kept saying that like he was trying to convince himself it was truth. I decided not to call him out on it.
“Where are your appearances?” I asked him, out of politeness.
“Why? Are you going to come?” He stepped closer to me, and I suddenly found myself considering all of the possible definitions of the word come . From what I could tell, Devon Ray definitely wasn’t letting himself go. I could see the faint outline of washboard abs beneath his thin cotton T-shirt. My eyes traveled downward, drawn to the zipper of his jeans, the way the pants clung to him, the value of having a tailor apparent.
“See something you like?” he crooned, and I jumped, ashamed of myself.
“Uh…sorry,” I stuttered. “I…you’re my first celebrity sighting. That’s stupid. I mean, I’ve seen Cowboys players downtown before, but I only knew because other people around me were freaking out. I’m…not myself right now.”
“That’s okay,” Devon said. “I’d like to be someone else right now, too. Can you help me do that?”
He’d set his drink down on the table, beside the pizza box, and before my brain could even process it, I was in his arms.
“Um, Devon?” I was afraid to move. I was afraid to even speak—I’d squeaked out his name. I didn’t know what I was more afraid of: staying in his arms or him letting go of me. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” His face was very close to me, and I could smell the vodka now. His breath was probably flammable.
“It looks like you’re trying to kiss me.”
“Mm-hm.” He leaned even closer.
“Devon.”
“Yeah.” His lips were mere inches from mine, his strong hands on my back, searing. I…I wanted him. I didn’t want him. I was attracted to him. He repulsed me. I was so damn confused in this moment, filled with conflicting feelings, warring desires. I wanted him to get away from me. I wanted him even closer.
“You don’t even know my name,” I said, our lips perilously close even as I arched my back, trying to get away from him, unsure of what I wanted, what my next words would be.
“All you have to do is tell me.” It was apparently as simple as that.
“June,” I said. “June Clark.”
“I’m Devon Ray,” he replied.
“I know who you are.”
“Well, now that we’re properly introduced, I think we can get on with it.” He puckered up again, leaning closer, but something about that turn of phrase turned me right off. It was almost as if he expected this to happen. As if he’d called delivery places until someone fuckable turned up. I didn’t want to be that girl. I wasn’t going to be.
“You can have anyone you want,” I said, slipping my hand between our mouths just in time to make contact with his tongue. “Why me?”
“Because I want you.”
“No.” I shook my head exaggeratedly, making sure he understood just what that no meant. “You want something that I’m not so sure I want to give you.”
“June, I’m probably the most famous person you would ever be with,” he said, his eyes glittering with something much less charming
“It looks like you’re hiding,” I told him.
His drink refreshed, he turned back to me. “I’m just going through some stupid shit right now. Can’t a guy lie low?”
“So you are hiding.”
“I’m going through a breakup,” he said, shrugging. “There it is. Breaking news. Post it online, if you want.”
“I don’t have social media,” I said, peering at him. “Nobody knows yet?”
“Just her and me.”
I racked my brain, wondering if Nana had talked about it, but couldn’t come up with a face or name of an actress last seen attached to Devon Ray.
“Well, sorry if you’re having a rough time of it,” I said. “I didn’t know Dallas was a place you come when you get your heart broken.”
He laughed at me again, rubbing his face. “I had some business to take care of here. A couple of appearances. I’m not hiding.”
He kept saying that like he was trying to convince himself it was truth. I decided not to call him out on it.
“Where are your appearances?” I asked him, out of politeness.
“Why? Are you going to come?” He stepped closer to me, and I suddenly found myself considering all of the possible definitions of the word come . From what I could tell, Devon Ray definitely wasn’t letting himself go. I could see the faint outline of washboard abs beneath his thin cotton T-shirt. My eyes traveled downward, drawn to the zipper of his jeans, the way the pants clung to him, the value of having a tailor apparent.
“See something you like?” he crooned, and I jumped, ashamed of myself.
“Uh…sorry,” I stuttered. “I…you’re my first celebrity sighting. That’s stupid. I mean, I’ve seen Cowboys players downtown before, but I only knew because other people around me were freaking out. I’m…not myself right now.”
“That’s okay,” Devon said. “I’d like to be someone else right now, too. Can you help me do that?”
He’d set his drink down on the table, beside the pizza box, and before my brain could even process it, I was in his arms.
“Um, Devon?” I was afraid to move. I was afraid to even speak—I’d squeaked out his name. I didn’t know what I was more afraid of: staying in his arms or him letting go of me. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” His face was very close to me, and I could smell the vodka now. His breath was probably flammable.
“It looks like you’re trying to kiss me.”
“Mm-hm.” He leaned even closer.
“Devon.”
“Yeah.” His lips were mere inches from mine, his strong hands on my back, searing. I…I wanted him. I didn’t want him. I was attracted to him. He repulsed me. I was so damn confused in this moment, filled with conflicting feelings, warring desires. I wanted him to get away from me. I wanted him even closer.
“You don’t even know my name,” I said, our lips perilously close even as I arched my back, trying to get away from him, unsure of what I wanted, what my next words would be.
“All you have to do is tell me.” It was apparently as simple as that.
“June,” I said. “June Clark.”
“I’m Devon Ray,” he replied.
“I know who you are.”
“Well, now that we’re properly introduced, I think we can get on with it.” He puckered up again, leaning closer, but something about that turn of phrase turned me right off. It was almost as if he expected this to happen. As if he’d called delivery places until someone fuckable turned up. I didn’t want to be that girl. I wasn’t going to be.
“You can have anyone you want,” I said, slipping my hand between our mouths just in time to make contact with his tongue. “Why me?”
“Because I want you.”
“No.” I shook my head exaggeratedly, making sure he understood just what that no meant. “You want something that I’m not so sure I want to give you.”
“June, I’m probably the most famous person you would ever be with,” he said, his eyes glittering with something much less charming
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