Page 63 of Devious Love

Chia launches into a story her cousin told her about last year’s party. I listen absentmindedly; my brain is too fried from lack of sleep. And Dominic. And his ex.

“When is this party?” I finally ask.

“On Friday,” Chia says.

“Does Matt usually go to these things?”

She nods, cringing. “Yeah. Dominic and Miles too. And a few other guys from the foot?—”

I stand, and she falls silent. She watches me warily as I gather my things and pull my leather jacket on. “I don’t have anything pink in my closet. Looks like I have some shopping to do.”

“Mind if I tag along?” Chia asks. “I don’t have an outfit either.”

Jeff slides toward the edge of the booth. “Have fun. I’m gonna drop by Tessa’s room and check on her.”

We say our goodbyes, and Jeff heads to the restroom while Chia and I head to the door. As I approach, it opens abruptly,and I come face-to-face with Dominic, Miles and Remi behind him.

His expression is feverish, desperate, the weight of his attention like an anvil on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Stop this, I tell myself. He can be my stepbrother. He can be my brother’s best friend. What he can’t be is the object of my desire.

Nothing would come of it; that’s the only axiom that stands true.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing forward.

He steps back silently, and I strut down the street without looking back.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” Chia asks.

I shake my head, swallowing the rage clawing its way up my throat.

CHAPTER 17

i’m a sucker for the whole damsel-in-distress thing

DOMINIC

Age 22

September

“Thinkmy car will be ready by Thursday?” Clay, the goalie for the California Thunders, asks. “I have a game Friday, and the team is headed to Vegas first thing Saturday.”

Shit. Considering I agreed to go to this stupid pink party tonight and hadn’t planned on spending my weekend at work, I doubt it’s possible I can have it wrapped up before then.

I blow out a breath and scan the shop. On the other side of the bay, a curvaceous blonde, who Clay introduced as Layla, stands beside the tool bench, holding a little girl in her arms, murmuring quietly. I don’t know who they are to Clay, but considering the glances he’s been throwing their way, they’re important to him.

“Don’t think I can turn it around that quickly, but I can drive it to Santa Clara on Friday,” I finally suggest.

Before he can answer, the bell above the shop door rings, and my attention drifts that way.

My heart trips over itself. Mia steps inside, surveying the space. She’s in a short floral dress and a black leather jacket, a little purse draped over her shoulder.

Muscles tense and eyes glued to her, I cross my arms over my chest. It’s been three days since I saw her tattoo and realized she was the mystery girl from the Halloween party.

And she’s given me nothing but stone-cold silence since.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.