Page 62 of Not In The Contract

Jamie glared at Devon while I chewed over the pride at Devon’s response. I hadn’t imagined how she would respond to Jamie, purely because I’d never imagined they would ever meet. But Devon’s politely veiled answer warmed something in my gut, loosening the hold the unease had on me.

“Right,” Jamie hummed, her voice lined with disbelief. “So, I’m not interrupting anything, then?”

Devon sucked the inside of her cheek between her teeth, likely biting down on a retort that would send Jamie into a blind rage.

“What’s for dinner?” Jamie asked, scooting past Devon like she didn’t exist and walking toward me.

“Uh, I’m probably going to have to order in if you’re staying for dinner.”

“Hmph.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” I pressed, and Jamie shrugged.

“I guess,” she pouted. “Only if you want me to, obviously.”

Devon’s eyes widened skeptically behind Jamie’s back and I was grateful that Jamie couldn’t see her.

“Of course you can stay,” I said, forcing a smile despite the discomfort. “I’ll order your favorite, is that okay?”

Jamie nodded, and an hour later I found myself at the dining table with Jamie and Devon, the tense silence broken only by the scrape of cutlery on the plates.

“So, what do you do, Jamie?” Devon asked, leveling a calm gaze at Jamie.

“I’m an artist,” Jamie responded, not bothering to look up from her food.

I fought the urge to kick her under the table.

“What’s your medium?” Devon pressed.

Jamie gave a tiny sigh and lifted her head. “I’m a musician,” she quipped. “I write my own music.”

“That’s cool,” Devon said, that same vacantly polite expression smoothing her face into a mask of careful indifference. “Do you have a favorite instrument?”

By the look in Jamie’s eyes, she didn’t appreciate the way in which Devon had asked the question, as if she was asking a toddler what their favorite toy was. I couldn’t fault her for it, because I knew that Jamie’s abrasive nature was an acquired taste.

Not one that many people cared to become acquainted with.

“If you must know, I play the guitar and the piano.”

“I’ve always loved the piano.” Devon smiled. “One of my favorite sounds.”

“It’s usually pleasing to the untrained ear.” Jamie sniffed. “What is it that you do again? You’re a student?”

“Yes, I’m studying psychology,” Devon answered, and I wondered if I was the only one whose heart sat thumping in their throat.

“And that’s it?” Jamie drawled, her lip perpetually curled.

It was painfully obvious that she didn’t like Devon, and I couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it. All I could do was wait it out and hope they didn’t tear each other to shreds.

“If you quantify almost eight years of full time study asit, then yes.” Devon smiled. “That’s it.”

I stifled a groan and stared at the untouched food on my plate. I had the suspicion that Devon would grill me about Jamie the same way my friends did, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

“And what do you plan on doing once you’re, you know, done?”

I lifted my head to find a flicker of uncertainty flit over Devon’s otherwise calm expression.

“I’m considering a few options,” she answered. “I don’t want to close off any opportunities just yet.”