“No, I said it’s time for you to let go. As in you need to stop being afraid of what your family wants and finally start taking what you want.”
Chapter Seven
I think about what he said all through lunch and well into the day, after countless games spent avoiding his eyes. Confusion has been my companion, and not because I didn’t understand his subtle insinuation that I’ve been letting my dad’s disapproval color my entire life—I mean, I freaking hate working at that law firm—and rule everything I do.
I even freaking choose the toilet paper I buy according to someone else’s standards, because eventually one of my brothers will be by for their quarterly check-up and I know they only use certain brands.
How pathetic does that make me?
No, what I’m confused about is why Devon suddenly seems more interested in me than he’s been all my life. I’m not dumb, the guy’s throwing out signals obvious enough to land a freaking jet.
I just can’t understand why.
And then it hits me. I’d caught the tail end of Lila’s conversation with him, and she’d definitely let it slip that I still have my V-card—something I have yet to throttle her ass for spilling.
Could Devon Baxter really be one of those assholes who sniffs around a girl because he wants to go where no man has gone before? But no, I’d come on pretty strong the night of Grey and Lila’s engagement party—I’d been bombed off my ass on the tequila Lila hadd been slipping me—but Devon hadn’t batted a lash. Hence my renewed stammering around the guy.
Nothing kills your confidence like the subtle brush off. In his case being totally ignored, as if you don’t exist.
But now, now I think he’s totally flirting with me—okay, so I don’t really know, since I’m not familiar with the phenomenon, but I think—and the thought of Devon wanting more from me than a few days of friendly companionship is so…perfect!
Okay, not perfect, since I suspect he’s going to pull a pump and dump on me; he’s a player, I’m sad to say. But I can work with that if it’s all I’ll be getting.
At least I’ll get my biggest wish since I’d turned sixteen and realized my feelings involved a lot more heat than my girlish mind had thought. I’ve been thinking about him as my V-puncher since then and have only recently, in the last four years, let go of that fantasy.
I’m happy to report that if my spidey senses are in tune, the guy wants to do me, maidenhead or not. I just have to figure out a way to tell him I am so on board with that plan.
Problem is, I am not even slightly knowledgeable about seduction. At all.
“What’s got you so dinky?”
Oh, where to start? By the way, I almost killed your mother with a flying horseshoe and then ran like a yellow-bellied chicken? Maybe not the best idea, since the woman looks like she went a round with Apollo Creed.
“If I tell you something, you have to swear, like, on your ovaries, that you won’t tell another living soul,” I whisper, leaning in to her so no one hears.
Lila gets her serious face and makes a cross over her heart before kissing her fist.
“Okay, so I think Devon may be like, flirting with me? And I’m not very sure about what to do. Is that even possible?”
“Well of course it is, silly! I keep telling you you’re super-hot with that hourglass figure and your big bajongas, but you won’t see it. And yeah, I agree, he seems to be into you. Just look at the way he’s been staring at you all night.”
I manage to restrain myself and keep from staring over at him, because I’m pretty sure my eyes resemble cow eyes at the moment.
“So what should I do? I couldn’t seduce an eighty-year-old on Viagra, and we both know it. God, the last time I tried to talk to a guy he kept asking me if I had something in my eye.”
Yeah, and then I’d gone home and eaten half a gallon of store bought chocolate mousse and a spray can of whipped cream.
“You don’t have to seduce, Becks, you just have to let him know you’re up for it if that’s what he wants.”
“Oookaaay. How. Tell me like you’d explain to a half-deaf foreign national who doesn’t understand a word of English.”
We both crack up at that, because I say it in a voice that leaves no one in doubt that I need her to talk really slowly. By the time she’s done ‘schooling’ me we’re both laughing so hard we don’t notice that the whole table has gone quiet and everyone’s staring at us.
And I’m pretty sure I snorted at some point—okay, all the time I was laughing—while giggling at her theatrical representation of how to go down on a man.