I pretended to glance between my thighs. “And yet I can still wear skinny jeans.”
Devin gave a snort. “You’re a stand-up comedienne tonight.”
“I have my moments.” I stood up to leave.
But Devin reached out and touched my arm. “I’ll be down to help in five minutes.”
I smiled warmly, glad he was conceding the point to me. “Good. I made cookies already.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “God, you’re killing me. For real.”
The feeling was mutual.
“So where did you learn to shoot?” Devin asked me a few days later.
“Cat’s dad, one of my foster fathers.” I hefted the rifle on my shoulder as we walked out to his range. It was behind the garage and had the proper safety targets so no bullets would ricochet. “I was thirteen when I went there to live and I was four inches shorter than I am now, and about sixty pounds, I think. He figured I might need to protect myself some day.” My boots crunched on the frozen ground. “He was a good man.”
“Do you ever get to see him?”
“He’s dead,” I said shortly.
Devin put his hand on the small of my back as we walked. “I’m sorry,” he said simply and I knew he meant it.
“Yeah. It sucks. Cat took it really hard.”
“I don’t know how you survived all those foster homes, honestly.”
“I did, because I had to.” I shrugged. “And I was one of the lucky ones. No one molested me or truly physically abused me.”
“Don’t downplay it.”
“I’m not.” We got to the target area. “I’m serious. I was lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”
“That’s how you learned to be so observant, isn’t it?”
“Probably. Where did you learn to shoot?” I set down the spare bullets.
“It wasn’t anything sexy, trust me. I did ROTC in college.”
“How is that not sexy?” I gave him a dirty look. “I swear you do that on purpose.”
“What?” Devin put headphones on me, clapping them in place over my ears.
I lifted one side so I could hear. “You pretend like you’re not one of the cool kids. But you really are.”
He tweaked my nose. “Don’t talk back to your elders.”
“I’m holding a loaded gun, Devin. Don’t pull that age rank on me.” It was what he always did when he got uncomfortable with our conversation. Our relationship. He pulled back and shielded himself behind my being eighteen.
I could appreciate that he needed a wall in front of him. I had one too. Mine was poured concrete. But it wasn’t in place at his expense.
“You can be pretty bad ass when you want to.” But he didn’t back away. His gaze dropped to my mouth. “But you’d never shoot me. You like me too much.”
He had me there. My breath created puffs of steam in front of my mouth as I watched him, wanting him to kiss me. Wondering if I had the nerve to kiss him.
Here alone, with no access or interference from other human beings, it seemed possible. But I had to remind myself that it wasn’t reality. It was him and me hiding from the world, even though it hadn’t been intentional. Here there was no G Daddy, and even though the signs of his wealth were all around us, it was easy to ignore the disparity in our lives.
We were friends. I wanted more.
“And you’re avoiding the issue,” I said.
“What issue is that?”
“My age.”
“I’m not avoiding it. It’s damn near all I think about.” He took my hand and for a second I thought he was going to actually kiss me but he just briefly brushed his lips across my forehead. “Your hands are cold. Where are your gloves?”
“I only have mittens. Kind of hard to shoot with mittens.” My voice sounded breathless.
He massaged my hand, and then together with his, slipped it into the pocket of his coat. It forced me closer to him, embrace open, my waist brushing against his. I wanted him so badly I didn’t feel the cold. I felt hot everywhere, a burning intense desire that radiated from the inside out. In my right hand, I clutched the rifle, glad it wasn’t loaded yet.
“What does it take to impress you?” he asked. “Just out of curiosity.”
“Impress me?” It was a distracting question and I needed a second to drag my thoughts off what it would feel like to have his mouth on mine, his hands exploring the caverns of my body, stroking me to satisfaction. “What do you mean?”
“Who will be the man who earns your respect? Who earns you?”
Him. That’s who. But I watched him watching me, his expression earnest. “A man who is loyal. Honest. Affectionate. I want to look at him and know instantly that he loves me. No walking on eggshells. I walked on those my entire life. I need to know where I stand.”
I didn’t really know where I stood with Devin. That was part of the problem. So whatever he was asking me, I was asking him in return.
“Anything else?” he asked. “Jewelry? Trips to Europe?”
I shook my head, my heart starting to race. Please let him be doing what I thought he was doing. “No,” I whispered. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be loved by a good man.”
But something about what I said had him pulling back. He took my hand out of his pocket and gave it a final massage. The gravel beneath his feet crunched as he took a step back. Disappointment rushed through me.
“You’re right, you’re not cynical,” he said. “You’re actually quite the secret romantic.”
I supposed I was. It didn’t seem like a lot to ask. I had never really felt unconditional love. Not in the way of a parent or a boyfriend. I had the love of a few friends, the affection of some classmates and teachers. Social workers who had expressed a great deal of concern for me. So if I was going to be involved with a guy, why should I settle? I wanted love.
Which was why I was suddenly grateful that Devin wasn’t kissing me. I wasn’t sure I could resist going there with him and yet, how would I feel afterward? I didn’t want just sex. “Is that being romantic? Or just… aware of my own worth?” I asked him.
Something about my answer seemed to stump him. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. But finally he reached out, his thumb running over my lip. “And that is how you survived foster care,” he said hoarsely. “Just so you know, I think your worth is priceless.”