Don't Go Baking My Heart

Reba

It wasthe oddest thing to be “taken care of” by Devon.

She hadn’t seen this part of Devon before, so when he told her to just relax on the couch, she didn’t argue anymore, too curious. She would indeed be taking that nap when he left to get the extra items he needed to try his own Rubik’s Cube cake. He had insisted he was ready, especially with the bake-off two weeks away. She was too exhausted to go back and forth with him over that or the ridiculous things he’d said in the car.

There was just no way he was serious about any of it. Devon didn’t want her for more than sex. He couldn’t. Why would he when he had told her over and over, in different ways, that she was a problem for his well-preserved control? High-risk, just as he’d told Jeremy.

Yet that tiny, winged thing had taken a place in her stomach again. It was flopping all over the damn place as she watched him retreat to the kitchen to prepare whatever this hangover concoction was. She had thought that damn annoying fluttering was some sort of weird side effect of mixing the white wine and the homemade one.

And now the ever predictable Devon was deviating from his script with this shit. She was too used to men trying their sweet talk on her to keep the sex going but balking at the idea that they could introduce her to their precious family just the way she was. Devon didn’t come across as a lyrics man, too serious to go that route, but what was she supposed to think? That he had suddenly had a whole ass epiphany about her?

It didn’t make sense.

Sex with Devon was more than great. After her mini-meltdown last night, she had been ready to throw that all away because she thought he wanted to see what he could do with Joya.

Because you didn’t want to get hurt first.

Now that Joya wasn’t even an issue, Reba was still thinking if she shouldn’t just jettison the entire sex situation.

Why? Because you feel the same as he does, but you’re a damn coward?

Nope. No, fuck that noise. That last thought had driven her to lay back on the couch and check her phone. Anything to not have to deal with her subconscious wilding out like this. She and Devon as anything other than fuck buddies was a joke. Not because she didn’t think she was a catch. She was. He’d be damn lucky to have her, but the mere fact was that he couldn’t seriously want her for a real relationship.

He could say all the right things, but did he mean them? Not that it mattered anyway. She didn’t want him to mean them.

On her phone, there was a message from Scott checking up on her and an entire trail of a one-sided conversation from Trina. She replied to Scott first, letting him know she’d be okay and thanking him for the rescue.

Trina’s monologue she’d deal with later. After that nap. She needed a clearer head for that one because she was going to get her ass reamed for supposedly leaving her on read. She set the phone to the side and had almost dozed off when Devon came back out with something in a glass. The colour was the dark green of spinach, which he had probably added in there. Reba did not do her veggies in liquid form.

“Oh, hell no.”

He didn’t budge. “It looks less than pleasing, but I assure you it will work.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What’s in it?”

“Some kale, apples, cucumber, celery, lemon, and a bit of ginger.”

She gagged because it brought back too many childhood memories of her mother trying to force her to take some bush remedy to strengthen her immune system. “I’d rather just suffer, thanks.”

He placed the glass on the table near her. “My mother swears by it, and the one time I did have to take it, I was fine after. With some food in my stomach as well.”

“That shit looks nasty. Probably tastes like the lawn outside. When did you even have to take this?” She couldn’t picture him drunk at all. She wondered if he was trying to trick her into drinking some nasty ass thing he had never actually taken himself.

“I’ll admit, it’s been some time. Years, actually, but I’ll never forget the moment. Or this drink because I never wanted to feel like that again. Or have to drink this, to be honest.”

“Tell me the story, and I’ll consider taking a taste.” She pushed up into a sitting position. As much as the couch was comfortable, she didn’t want him hovering over her like this. Too many ways for her mind to go into the gutter when she had just told herself she wasn’t going to keep having sex with him. Especially if he had supposedly caught feelings.

“I had just gotten accepted into the program I wanted to do at UWI, Mona campus. My friends thought a party was a good idea. I resisted naturally.”

“Naturally,” she echoed. She could picture a young, too serious Devon balking at the idea of such a celebration.

He picked up the glass of death and held it out, waiting for her to take it before he went on. “They managed to convince me, saying I just had to show up. It was at someone’s house, so I figured a safe space, you know. Nothing much could go down there that I wouldn’t be able to handle. Somehow they got into daring me to drink all sorts of shit. Telling me if I was so much in control, I could handle it.”

She sniffed at the drink. “Ah, yes, good old peer pressure.”

“The challenge aspect appealed, so I did it. Went way overboard, then had to be literally carted home because I couldn’t even make it to the car on my own. Felt like shit next morning, and my mother made me this.”

She took a tentative sip. The apple and lemon were working overtime to mask the taste, so it wasn’t too horrible. Not great, but she wasn’t going to throw it all back up. “Is that why you lean into your lists and routines like that?”