Devil's Despair Box Set: Books 1-3 (81 page)

Gasping dramatically, I put my hand over my chest. “You like to play to country music?”

“Sometimes.”

“When no one’s looking?” I ask, now with a short smile.

“Only when I think you are,” he returns, causing my face to fall.

He’s making it impossible for me to forget our time together. And he’s doing it on purpose.

“Guess that fits you. I remember the pictures of you in your cowboy costume.” I try not to laugh out loud. It’s tough, but I manage. Bean gave us pictures of us when we were younger, and Hayden brings them out from time to time to humiliate Travis.

“Don’t go there, squirt.”

Bringing me out of laughter, I ask him something I’ve wanted to ask for the last couple of years. “Why do you still call me that?”

“Squirt?”

“Yes.”

“Habit, I guess.”

“Habit or that’s how you still see me?”

His eyebrows furrow. He makes things difficult to explain. “See you? Sarah, I haven’t called you that for years, you just never noticed until now.”

Shit. How’d I miss that?

“You’ve all called me squirt for as long as I can remember. It’s a childhood nickname. I’m not a kid anymore.”

I hear him utter, “Obviously” under his breath, but then he asks, “Would you rather I never call you that again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, leaning in and moving the hair from my face and gently placing it behind my ear.

I avoid closing my eyes and just tell him, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Once we sit back again and get comfortable, I ask, “What’d you do tonight?”

“This.”

“All this?” I mock, swinging my arms around my body. He backs up to avoid them.

He stretches his arm across the couch behind my back and kicks his bare feet up next to mine on the table. “Stayed in.”

“I see.”

“Is Devon taking you out again?”

Silently, I want to admit that my answer should be no. Maybe, that Devon annoys me too. And maybe that I missed him the entire time I was gone. “Probably.”

“He’s not your type.”

“You said that.”

“He’s nothing you’d need.”

“You said that,
too.
”

“I don’t like him.”

“Travis, stop.”

“If he hurts you, Sarah. Even a little, or at all. . . .”

“He won’t.”

He finishes what I wouldn’t let him say out loud, “I’ll kill him.” His hand comes down from the couch and he runs his fingers gently over the crown of my head. “I didn’t mean to be a dick before you left.”

“You weren’t.” I shrug. “You were Travis.”

“I was dick to him, not you.”

“Is that an apology?”

“Fuck no.”

“I’ll pass on your apology to him next time I see him.”

“Wasn’t a fuckin’ apology.”

“Didn’t think so.”

I grab the beer sitting between his thighs and he tenses slightly until he sees what I’m doing. I lift it to my mouth slowly, waiting for him to stop me. He doesn’t. Instead, he watches me bring it to my mouth and take a drink. As carefully as I had removed it, I put it back between his legs. He reaches across and roughly wipes the beer foam from my upper lip. I sit in awe as he puts it to his mouth and removes the foam with his tongue.

“Want to watch TV?” I ask, before I start to stand. I feel the desperate need to get out of the room for a few minutes.

“I’d rather watch you, but okay. Just don’t think I’m watching
Snapped.
”

“Find something
you
want to watch then. I’m going to change.”

His tone is surprised, if not accusing. “Find something I want to watch? What the fuck is that?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Devon’s made you fuckin’ soft already. That was too easy.”

Bending down toward him, I push him back further into the couch. I clutch his thighs as he waits to see what I’ll do. My arms brace on either side of his head and I tilt my head to the side. “I’m
never
going to be soft.”

“You’re right,” he answers, grabbing my wrists. If it weren’t for the beer in his lap, I imagine I would’ve ended up in it had he used an ounce more force. “He’s not for you.”

“Who is?” I ask with feigned innocence, walking the fine line of our evolving “friendship.”

“Me.” His answer doesn’t surprise me, but my body warms hearing it stated so plainly. “Go and change back into clothes that
I like
seeing you in.”

I stand, look down on him and question, “You don’t like me in this?”

His eyes travel up and down my body, exposing me in a sense. The shadow from the television’s light doesn’t offer enough light for me to truly catch his expression.

“The next time you wear clothes like that, I plan to be the one taking them off.”

“Okay,” I say with the little breath that hadn’t escaped me, and I make a move to turn around and walk away.

Forgetting I was going to tell him something earlier, I turn around, look down, and find his eyes on my body.

Every fucking inch of it.

I freeze, his eyes lift to mine, and his intense, hungry look causes brief shivers to run down my back and then scatter throughout the rest of my body.

“I’ll go change,” I say again, this time with more emphasis as I point to my room and start to walk away.

“I’ll find something to watch,” he mumbles while adjusting himself to get comfortable in his seat.

* * *

Travis

This isn’t good.

Not any of it.

What’s worse is that I don’t know what to do about it.

I’m denying myself until she’s ready, and it’s fucking exhausting. Take tonight for instance, when she came out of her bedroom wearing that dress, about to go out on a date with a man I hate, I was pissed.

But I was also jealous. Of him.

She’s finding her own way now and I’m struggling to let her have that for herself. I want her to embrace her freedom, but it leaves me wanting a piece of her I’m not certain I’ll ever have. She’s in denial, but I’m determined. Between the two of us, we’re at a constant give and take, but neither of us is close enough to the end to see how good it can be. Neither of us is sure what the other is fighting for or against.

After Lacey and Raegan left, I called the guys to see if anyone was able to get out for a drink. I needed the distraction. They were busy so I sat around the apartment, listened to music, watched television, and drank.

My mind was with Sarah. Because of this, I’ve agreed to talk to Ellie.

I called Ellie and made plans for dinner Sunday night. She works most weekends and is on call a lot so it makes it difficult to really plan anything around her schedule. From the sound of her acceptance, she was happy to hear from me. I was hesitant to commit to any plans, but I thought about what Lacey had said. It pains me to admit that she was right. Just because I’m not looking to be in a committed relationship with anyone but Sarah, doesn’t mean I should stand in the way of her happiness with whomever she chooses.

I hate this.

“Ready,” I hear Sarah call on her way to the kitchen.

She flips the overhead light on and I hear her behind me grabbing something from the refrigerator. I don’t look back, but try to quickly find something I want to watch. Otherwise she’ll snag the remote and force me to painfully endure one of her ridiculous Goddamn shows.

Sarah’s addiction to the television has lessened, but still, she knows the television schedule like most women know shoes and purses.

“Find anything?” she asks, plopping down next to me with another water for her and a fresh beer for me.

“Nope,” I answer, accepting the bottle from her outstretched hand.

“Worthless,” she calls me as she snatches the remote from my lap and flips it to some ridiculous pop music channel. The screen fills with a reel of photos of Adam Levine and I hear Sarah sigh.

Whatever.

Putting her drink down on the table, she leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder as the volume goes up. The perfume or spritz shit she put on earlier envelopes the area around us.

“I’m tired and my feet hurt from those Goddamn shoes.”

“Tragic,” I respond, not feeling the least bit sorry knowing Dev-fuck got to enjoy watching her legs walk in them.

“It really is. I think I have a blister.”

“Suppose looking hot must be hard on the feet.” I sigh with no emotion.

Sitting up, she drops the remote on the table, turns to me, and gives me her full attention. Her voice sounds almost accusatory. “You called me hot.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Shocking. I used to be cute.”

“You were never that.” I smile because it’s true. There are several words to term Sarah as a child and “cute” isn’t an accurate description.

“Wow. Hater.”

She starts to stand up and I catch what she’s wearing,
again.

About a week after Sarah moved in, I noticed some of my shit had come up missing. It started with a pair of jogging pants, then I saw a pair of my boxers in her room. She did laundry, I wasn’t going to question it and even if I did it would surely lead to an argument. It always did.

However, recently she’s moved in on my t-shirts. I don’t normally complain about it, but this one is off limits.

I point to her and narrow my eyes. “My fucking shirt again, damn it.”

Looking down, she smirks as she takes in what she’s picked out of
my
closet. “Your favorite shirt, I thought. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, damn it! Take it off.” I snap. My AC/DC classic concert t-shirt is off limits to everyone, including Sarah. “Why were you in my room? You’re not supposed to be in there, remember?”

“Take it off?” she repeats my demand and ignores my question. Her hands fall to the hem and she starts to lift it over her head. Her belly button piercing shines in the light of the television as her body twists side to side. “All right, but this may make you uncomfortable.”

Sarah’s choice in clothes always makes me uncomfortable. But Sarah without clothes will fucking kill me if I can’t touch her. Reaching up, I stop her. “Don’t. Stop wearing my shit, Sarah.”

“Is this one your favorite?”

“You know it is.”

“Good. I was nervous it wasn’t,” she says playfully.

Aiming my eyes toward the ceiling, I exhale, trying not to give her what she wants. My frustration. Just as I’m about to focus on the television, Sarah walks to the other end of the couch, lies down, and rests her feet near my lap.

“Rub ’em,” she tells me, lifting one foot near my face.

I swat it away. “I’m not rubbin’ your Goddamn feet.”

“Rub ’em,” she repeats.

“Damn it, what’d I say?”

“They hurt!”

“That’ll teach you to go out in hooker heels.”

Her eyebrows furrow and in the barely lit room I see her anger. “Did you just call me a whore?”

“Did you hear me say that?”

“Whatever.”

She turns to rest on her side and situates her hands under her cheek, curling into the fetal position. She’s quiet.

Lifting one of her ankles, I place it on my lap, waiting to see if she refuses. She doesn’t.

Gently, I run my fingers up and down the bottom of her foot, forgetting Sarah isn’t ticklish. My hand moves to her calf and I start to massage the length of it, working my way down to her foot. I admire her perfectly painted toenails and consider how far she’s come since Bean’s death.

She stays quiet and lets me do this for a few minutes. I take turns rubbing her foot and finishing my beer. My hand rests on her leg, and I’m thinking I’m about finished.

“That felt good,” she nearly moans as she closes her eyes. “You’re good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” I return, setting one foot down and grabbing the other.

“I
know
what you’re good at,” she jokes, but I don’t find it funny. I stop rubbing and look at her, still focused on the History channel. I don’t say anything for fear of saying the
wrong
thing. “Sex,” she mumbles through a grin.

“Sarah,” I warn, setting her foot back down on the couch. “Don’t joke about it.”

“Don’t stop rubbing!” she pleads. “I’ll be quiet but don’t stop. It feels really good.”

I stand, stop in front of her, and look down. Her eyes are shining with laughter and I can’t help but return her contagious mood. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

“You always are.”

“Rude,” she remarks before I can make it out of the room.

Grabbing my phone from the counter, I check messages before getting another beer.

Hayden 09:52 p.m.
Lacey’s putting together game night. She’s invited Ellie and Devon.

Fuck.

10:56 p.m.
Great.

I assumed he was sleeping or forcing himself on my sister. It’s wrong to think that’s what he does to her, but the idea of her enjoying what he does to her body sickens me.

His return text is almost immediate.

Hayden 10:57 p.m.
I know.

Putting down the phone with a little more force than needed, I walk back to the couch and exhale in hopes of relaxing some. “Sarah?” I call again, finally making it to the couch.

Her eyes are closed and she’s curled into a ball again. Her features are still, which is rare for Sarah. She’s always in constant motion. Just being who she is must wear her out. I know it does me.

After ensuring the door is locked, I shut the kitchen light off, turn off the television, and walk back to the couch. Bending down, I reach under her knees and small waist, lift her carefully and carry her to her room. The nightlight she’s always needed shines in the corner and gives off enough light that I’m able to lay her down in her unmade bed without interruption.

After I have her situated, she opens her eyes and whispers, “Thank you, Trav.”

As I stand above her, my arms at my sides, I feel her hand reach out to touch mine. She holds it and uses her thumb to caress my fingers.

“Thought you were tired?” I ask.

“I am,” she answers, still not letting go of my hand.

“Sleep, Sarah,” I tell her and try to back away. She stops me so I kneel down beside her.

“Devon may be kind of bossy,” she says.

I remind her, “You say I’m bossy.”