The Rake (Boston Belles 4)

“Good. My date likes variety,” Dev said. I had a feeling he was referring to my sexual conquests.

“Any particular order you want the food to come out?” The waitress was now half leaning against him, and again, I wanted to pick up the fork from the table and stick it between her eyes.

“Ask my date. While you’re at it, could you kindly keep an eye on her? She is very good at making me worry.”

He took my prescription and driver’s license and dashed across the street to the pharmacy to grab my morning sickness pills.

When he returned, I noticed the bag he was carrying was far larger than it should have been.

“Did you buy out the entire place?” I raised an eyebrow, sipping a terribly green and offensively healthy juice.

This baby better come out ready for a triathlon because I was doing everything right.

Devon turned the bag upside down and poured its contents on the table.

“Did you know there’s an entire aisle dedicated to pregnant women?”

“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I didn’t. So I decided to buy whatever they had to offer. We have things for heartburn, dietary supplements, morning sickness, constipation, and vaginal imbalance.”

“You mean pH imbalance. If my vag was imbalanced, I’d send her to a pussy shrink.”

Devon sputtered the sip of coffee he took while sitting down. He was laughing hard. I felt his laughter bubbling in my own chest.

“My mother is going to love you,” he deadpanned.

Surprisingly, I found myself cackling out loud despite my best efforts not to. Not only because the idea of my ever meeting his mother was deranged, but also because he was right. His family would probably have a collective heart attack if they ever met me.

“Did you tell her about your new status?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She wasn’t impressed,” he admitted.

“And …?” I probed, my heart sinking a little.

“I’m in my forties and in a position to do whatever the hell I please. And what I wanted to do was you. Case closed.”

There was so much more I wanted to ask—to know—but I had no right to probe. Not after I drew a thick glaring line between us.

“So tell me a little about your fear of elevators, cars, planes, etc,” I said as I tore into some eggs Benedict.

He grinned. “Nice try. You didn’t gain my trust in the last half hour. And, to be frank, I don’t think you ever will.”

“Why not?”

“Trust cannot be placed in the hands of someone who does not trust themselves. I’m not against telling you my story, Emmabelle, but weaknesses should be exchanged in the same way countries exchange war hostages. It’s a rather bloody and bleak thing, isn’t it? Our insecurities. One should not relinquish information without gaining some.”

“Ha.” I smiled, buttering a piece of carrot cake, even though it made no sense. “So you’re not, in fact, perfect?”

“Not even close. Not even in the realm.” His smile was contagious.

I ducked my head down and tried to concentrate on the food.

“Well, I’m not ready to put my trust in you yet either,” I admitted.

“Would it be so bad?” he asked kindly. “To have some faith in another person?”

I gave it some thought then nodded slowly. “Yes. I think it would.”

He held my gaze. I had a feeling I was making a terrible mistake, and yet I couldn’t stop it.

“Am I waiting for you, Emmabelle?” he asked quietly. “Is there even a reason for me to wait for you?”

Say yes, you idiot. Give him something to hold on to, so you’ll have something to hold on to.

But the word slipped out of my mouth anyway. Harsh and blunt, like a stone. “No.”

For the next hour and a half, we talked about everything that wasn’t our respective phobias of confined places and relationships.

We talked about our mutual friends, our childhoods, politics, global warming, and our pet peeves—his included when people said ‘literally’ when what they meant was not, in fact, literal; mine consisted of using the same knife for the peanut butter and jelly, and when people told me I was not going to believe something, when I absolutely was going to believe it.

“Humans are just deplorable!” I threw my hands in the air, summing up our brunch. Devon paid the bill and, if my sneak-peek wasn’t mistaken, was also leaving one heck of a tip.

“Inexcusable,” he cemented. I was glad he was okay with our conversation after I told him not to wait for me. “But one must deal with them anyway.”

“Thanks for not being completely horrible, boo.” I pressed my fist to his bicep in a friendly manner. Bad call. I was met with his bulging muscles through his clothes and immediately wanted to jump his bones.

Devon looked up from the bill and rolled his thumb against my brow. “Darling, do you have a fever? I do believe you just paid me a compliment.”