Page 10 of Devoted (Love and Burlesque #2)
CHAPTER TEN
VIVIAN
Fries before guys.
“ D o you think they will be okay?” I ask Emma between sips of my strawberry milkshake. We’re at The Burger Shop, way too close to work than I’d like to be right now. But Alek and Ezekiel needed some space to talk things out.
“Yeah, I do.” Emma nods. “You should have heard the worry in Ezekiel’s voice when he called, but you were too busy breaking our damn coffee table.” She points at me as if she’s scolding a child—though a child wouldn’t be as tipsy as I am right now.
I feel myself turning pink. My blush is even more evident after the margaritas I shared with my brother earlier tonight over karaoke and Dance Dance Revolution .
Since I was little, singing and dancing have always been an escape for me.
I picked up my first moves from watching teenage Alek animatedly cook dinner for Thomas and me when Mom couldn’t bother to be home with us.
“Me too. I love them together,” I sigh, my voice sounding a little more wistful than intended.
I made a comment to Ezekiel earlier about how I was tired of the Adlers doing what they wanted, and thankfully, he seemed too concerned with Alek to ask me for clarification. I have no clue what I would tell him anyway—I’m just frustrated with Knight.
One minute, he looks at me like I’m his whole world, and a second later, he glares at me like I stomped on his freshly polished shoe.
Okay, well, I might have stepped on his shoe during our last encounter, but almost falling down the stairs and him coming to my rescue happened so quickly that I can’t exactly remember anything other than how good I felt being in his arms.
Before I can spiral into overthinking, a large sheet tray full of chili cheese fries magically appears at our booth.
“Fries before guys, am I right?” a masculine voice interrupts.
Seeing Rhett’s bright smile instantly lifts my mood, and I notice how a slow, matching grin starts to appear on Emma’s face as well.
“Damn right, babe,” I agree with him. “Hold on—I need to document the before and after of this battle.” Angling my phone, I turn on the front-facing camera so that Emma, Rhett, I, and the massive tray of chili cheese fries are in the frame.
My screen flashes as I snap more than a few shots, just in case of a stray hair or shut eyes.
Emma and I thank Rhett before he heads back into the kitchen.
“Tag me, Viv!” Rhett’s shout echoes.
My social media following isn’t small; I’ve done some big costume collabs and wedding dresses for some famous people, but it’s nothing compared to Rhett’s.
Emma starts on the fries while I take a moment to scroll through the photos. Nearly all of them contain the same bright smiles—mine slightly goofy from the alcohol—but we all look happy with our delicious food.
One picture stands out, though. In the last photo, Rhett isn’t looking at the camera anymore. His face is turned toward Emma, his eyes look soft, and his smile is less posed than before as he stares at her. It’s a look that was meant to be private.
It doesn’t feel right to post that one. I can’t explain it, but it feels intrusive, even if it might have been an accidental look caught in a snippet. Instead, I post one of the first photos and make sure to tag The Burger Shop and Rhett.
Setting my phone down and shoving a few fries in my mouth, I’m startled again by yet another familiar masculine voice.
“Mind a third wheel?” T, my older brother, asks. He’s dressed nicely, in tan vintage jeans, a white T-shirt, and a sage-green blouson jacket. I smile when I recognize it’s one of the outfits I styled for him.
“Why do people keep interrupting our date?” I joke, looking over at Emma to see her laughing as well.
“Sure thing, Thomas, but you gotta get your own tray, honey,” she replies, scooting down the booth seat to give my giant brother some room.
“I’m not hungry.” T settles into the seat, his long legs bumping against mine in the process. With a small wince, he apologizes before finding a comfortable spot.
“Got a date tonight?” I ask, wondering why he’s dressed up.
Ignoring Emma’s comment, he steals a cheesy fry and pops it into his mouth. “Had a date,” he grumbles. I didn’t think it was possible to be in a bad mood when you’ve got fries, but T is proving it can happen.
The side-eye Emma shoots him only lasts a moment and then her face softens into understanding.
With a subtle nod to her, I tell her I agree.
He can get away with stealing our food this once.
Being around literal giants who are always working out and always hungry has made Emma and me a little possessive about our food.
My curiosity is piqued. This is the first date after T’s big breakup. “What happened?” My question is mumbled a little as I shove a few fries into my mouth.
Pinching a napkin between his fingers to remove the extra grease, T also wipes the corner of his lips before speaking.
“There wasn’t any connection,” he sighs.
“I really hate first dates… The awkward small talk, conversations about nothing. It exhausts me to no end. It sounds ridiculous, but I just want to click with someone right away.”
Nodding, I think about what he’s said, and I can see where he’s coming from. It takes a lot for him to open up. Out of the three of us, T is the more reserved sibling and often the voice of reason for whatever mischief Alek and I get up to. It’s always been that way.
“Have you tried dating someone you already have a click with?” My question is more of a statement than an inquiry.
When I was learning about different sexual orientations and coming to terms with being bisexual in a family that wouldn’t support me, I read up on a lot of different materials and resources.
I’m not one to put labels on anyone, because fuck that, but for a while now, I’ve had the inkling my brother might be demisexual.
“Hmm…” Mulling it over, he takes a handful of fries with the hand he cleaned two seconds ago and chews in thought.
“Damn, take my napkin. You need it.” Emma slides the napkin across the small space between them, and T hums a little thank you.
We sit in silence for a bit, scarfing down chili cheese fries like there’s no tomorrow. Pretty soon, Emma and T start up a conversation about what’s been happening at the club. Thankfully, she leaves out whatever is going on with Knight and me.
Thinking of the devil himself, I pull out my phone to check out The Garden of Eden’s social media. Even when I’m not there, I like knowing what’s going on and how the costumes are holding up with the performances.
Opening the app, I immediately see a weird notification from the picture I posted of Em, Rhett, and me about twenty minutes ago.
Upon first looking at it, there’s nothing weird about the profile that liked my photo.
But I haven’t seen any interactions from them before, and they don’t follow me.
Okay, that’s kind of odd. Maybe it’s spam?
Clicking through the profile, it seems to be an art page that’s old but fairly inactive. Something about the art, though… It feels familiar.
Another notification distracts me for a moment.
Ezekiel Adler Text
Ezekiel
Hello, Vivian. Alek will be coming to my house so that we may further talk, and we ensured your apartment was locked before leaving.
I am hoping tonight did not put a strain on the relationship between you and me. Alek is very special to me, and anyone he loves is also special to me. Please text me when you and Emma return home so that we know you two are safe.
Well, goddamn, I can see why Alek loves the guy so much. I wish some of that sincerity rubbed off on the other Adler man.
Vivian
We’re headed back soon.
Wishing the best for the two of you. Please tell Alek to call me in the morning.
After updating Emma and T about Alek and Ezekiel’s situation, we polish off the rest of the fries, clean up our booth, and head out the door after waving a quick goodbye to Rhett.
On the way home, the inconspicuous profile I saw won’t leave my mind. The art. I know that art. It’s a struggle to place it because of all the art I had to study in design school not long ago.
Once we get home, Em heads upstairs to her room to get some sleep.
She says she’s got a day with Caleb’s family planned for tomorrow and needs all the energy she can get.
Wishing her good night, I head into the kitchen for another glass of water, hoping this one will be the one to stave off a nasty hangover.
As I fill up a glass, I notice the sketchbook I left on the dining table earlier today. Maybe looking through it might help me place where I’ve seen that fucking art before.
Sitting down, I start flipping through my sketches and collages, only to freeze when I see a drawing I made in early September.
And then, it all clicks.