A Deal with the Bossy Devil by Kyra Parsi

19

Was I drunk?Yes.

Did I regret it? Absolutely not.

But also, a little. The ground was starting to twist and slide a bit, and it was making me dizzy.

The plan had been to get just tipsy enough that it took the edge off all the shame and guilt I was feeling. I just hadn’t expected said edge to be so relentlessly sharp. And it got progressively worse as the day went on.

I lost count of how many shopping bags we racked up and stopped trying to say no about halfway—and three champagne flutes—into the four-hour appointment. There was no point. Julie would wave her hand and tell Luke to “add it to Ria’s pile. She’s just being shy.”

The lingerie selection was the worst part. I had to chug two full glasses to get through the digital catalog Luke had slipped onto my lap. Finally, after scrolling through sixty-four pages of silk and skimpy lace without having selected a single item, he suggested going with the Autumn Honeymoon Collection. I didn’t know what the collection entailed, but I was more than ready for the experience to be over, so I agreed and put the tablet aside.

The spa was located one floor above the department store. It was also just as ridiculously exclusive, and just as secretive about its pricing. There wasn’t a single number listed beside any of their services.

We were greeted by warm, ambient lighting, soft color palettes, subtle wafts of lavender and mint, and more champagne as soon as we walked through the glass doors. And I slowly started to lose track of... everything.

The alcohol was fizzing underneath my skin, warming and numbing me enough that I began to float through the experience instead of resisting it. There was the massage and the mud bath and the facial, the healthy lunch filled with light chatter, laughter, and (more) bubbles, and finally the hair, brow, and nail appointments.

The sky was dark by the time we finally left, Alice wasn’t trying to avoid talking to me anymore, and all my limbs felt like soft goo.

The guilt was going to come back tomorrow with a vengeance, I knew it would, but I was too relaxed and drunk to care anymore. All I wanted to do was float on this fluffy, careless cloud of bliss forever.

“It sounds like the boys are out back,” Julie said softly when we entered the house. I didn’t know where all our shopping bags had gone, but I hadn’t seen them since we left the department store. “Come on.” She reached for my hand, wrapping her smooth fingers around my palm.

I liked Julie. She was kind and generous and soft, and she spoke about her kids with so much love that it made my chest squeeze in a strange, longing way. She’d gushed about Adrien over lunch. About how proud of him she was, how hard he always worked, how happy she was that we’d found each other.

“I was starting to worry about him,” she’d said, tearing up. “Between the stress of his job, all the bad press, and everything that happened last year… Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m just so glad you’re here, and I’m so happy he’s finally happy.”

Tomorrow. The guilt was going to suffocate me tomorrow.

“I’m gonna shower then head to bed,” Alice said, stretching her arms all the way above her head. “I’m tired from all that relaxing. Night, Mama.”

“Night, sweetheart.” Julie gave her daughter a warm kiss on the cheek, and my heart squeezed in that peculiar way again. The new way I wasn’t familiar with.

“Night, Ria.”

“Goodnight,” I replied softly, offering her a small smile.

Then I was being guided through the foyer, the living room, the kitchen. All the way to the sliding doors that led to the backyard. The large, lavishly decorated patio was illuminated by a mixture of soft lighting and an outdoor fire pit. And it was just so… warm.

“There you are,” Anthony said, standing up. He tsked playfully at his wife as she released my hand and floated straight into his arms. “Our dinner reservation was over an hour ago,” he chided softly, smiling into her hair.

Another pang.

“We got carried away,” Julie replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You had fun?”

She hummed. He smiled.

Pang.

And I was so busy watching their interaction that I didn’t notice Adrien until he stood up. I blinked, my lazy gaze refocusing. He was wearing a pale blue shirt with the top buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up to reveal those tanned, corded forearms. A watch. Belt. slacks.

His eyes were black in this lighting. And they seemed stuck. Like time had frozen for them midblink. His mouth was parted ever so slightly, and it… they weren’t mediocre. His lips. I’d lied.

Pang.

This one was different. This one didn’t squeeze my chest with yearning; it kicked and swooshed with something much more unsettling.

You’re staring again, Sanchez.

The musical sound of soft laughter plucked me out of my drunken daze. “It suits her, huh?” There was a smile in Julie’s voice.

Hmm?

“Your hair looks very nice, Ria,” Anthony agreed kindly.

Oh, right, yeah. My hair was a lot shorter now, trimmed down to my collarbones. It was also lighter—both in color and weight—fading from my natural chocolate brown to a honey blonde. I ran my fingers through the strands again and almost purred. Feathers and liquid silk.

“Addy,” Julie nudged, “what do you think?”

Adrien’s throat worked and he gave me a curt, professional nod. “Looks nice.”

“Thanks,” I muttered as his parents looked between us expectantly.

This wasn’t how couples greeted each other. They didn’t stand awkwardly apart, staring at one another from ten feet away. Even my alcohol-riddled brain knew that. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t get my body to initiate any physical contact. Because just the thought of slipping into Adrien’s arms ignited a hurricane of flutters in my stomach that I couldn’t make sense of.

Was it fear of rejection? Did I think he’d push me away in front of his parents if I tried to hug him? And why did it matter? Who cared if he was disgusted by the idea of touching me?

Adrien held out an inviting hand, his brows flicking once. We were being weird. This was awkward. I needed to move.

I stepped forward and slipped my fingers into his large palm, and then he took over. His warm hand curled around mine and he gently pulled me to him. My cheek pressed to his hard chest, my arm snaking around his waist. He felt… broad. And warm. Pleasant.

“Your hair does look very… nice,” he whispered. The words were too quiet for our small audience to overhear.

Swoosh.

I needed another drink. Or maybe it was the alcohol that was causing the fresh bout of swirls and unsteadiness.

“Breathe, Sanchez. It’s just a hug. It won’t kill you.” The light chuckle in his voice was laced with something I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

I released the lungful of air I’d been holding, but that turned out to be a mistake because it meant that I had to inhale again. I really hated how good he smelled.

And before my greedy lungs could defy my strict orders against another inhale, Adrien peeled himself away. He didn’t let go of my hand, though, and used his grip to guide me to the couch. We sat down, arms touching, knees brushing, and when I tried to slip my hand out of his grip, he gently squeezed it. No.

“Did you already have dinner?” Anthony asked. “I can fire up the grill if you want.”

Julie shook her head. “We were talking about ordering pizza if that works for you guys.”

“Sounds good. Shall we open a bottle of Pinot while we wait?”

“We spent the whole day drinking champagne,” Julie informed him happily.

Anthony kissed his wife’s plump, smiling cheek. “Good. Then you’re already warmed up, and we can dive into the hard stuff.”

She giggled and off they went, fingers intertwined. I watched as their backs retreated into the house, a little awe-struck. I wondered what it would feel like to find your person. A best friend. Someone who loved you and cared for you in such a—

“Sanchez?”

My gaze snapped to Adrien’s dark eyes and my heart kicked again.

His face spread into a slow grin, his lopsided dimples popping. Then he brought a hand to my chin and very gently pushed up, until my mouth closed. I hadn’t even realized it was hanging open.

“How drunk are you right now?” he teased.

“Um… just a bit.”

His chuckle was deep and dark, and it sent another swoop through my stomach. I didn’t like that feeling. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

“You had a good time?” he asked.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Well, there’s around fifty shopping bags worth of dresses and clothes and shoes that you’re going to have to return once we, uh, break up or whatever. I tried to stop her, I swear, but I’m not used to mom-guilt.”

Mine had left when I was two. It wasn’t something I’d ever needed to worry about.

“Relax. It’s fine.”

“No. You don’t understand. We went to this, like, private department store, and none of the tags had prices on them.”

“I know. It’s fine.”

He still wasn’t understanding. “Adrien. We were in a VIP suite and our assigned private shoppers brought the clothes to us.”

His dimples dipped deeper, amusement flittering across his features. He hummed.

“It’s not funny. I feel terrible.”

“Really? Because you looked very relaxed when you walked in here five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, my masseur’s hands were pure magic,” I admitted. “He was also funny. Made me laugh a few times and it helped. Plus, all the champagne. I expect the guilt will hit me full force tomorrow once I’m sober and my muscles are back to a solid state.”

Adrien’s smile waned slightly. “What was his name?”

“Whose name?”

“Your masseur.”

Oh. “His name was Lee. He gave me his card if you want.” And it wasn’t until I tried reaching into my pocket that I realized we were still holding hands.

I blinked down at where our fingers were leisurely intertwined on my lap, and my brain just sort of... fizzled. But before I could get it to work again, something weird happened. Adrien’s thumb moved across the back of my hand in a tender stroke, and I remained fully entranced as visible gooseflesh spread over my forearms.

Five full seconds passed, and then he did it again. A spark shot up my spine, spreading to my cheeks.

What is he doing?

What are you doing? Pull your hand back.

I didn’t know whether it was all the alcohol or the fact that my muscles were too liquid to take orders from my brain, but instead of pulling away, my thumb moved. One stroke across the side of Adrien’s large hand.

The hairs on his arm rose in response, almost in slow motion, and something subtle in his breathing changed.

But then he slid his hand out of my grip and cleared his throat. “We’re good. They’ve stopped looking.”

My mind stumbled a step before reality hit. Adrien’s eyes were on the large window looking into the kitchen. His parents were there, at the bar, pouring amber liquid into crystal tumblers.

Heat crept up my chest, expanding over my neck and shoulders. Of course. Of course, that was… what that was.

I blinked, trying to clear my head. Apparently, bubbly alcohol really messed with me.

“Do you think they believe it?” I asked Adrien quietly, crossing my fists over my chest.

“Believe what? Us?”

“Yeah. Do you think they believe we’re actually engaged?”

He shrugged. “We haven’t given them a reason not to. Not yet, anyway. So why would they doubt it?”

I shifted an inch away from him. “Because we couldn’t be less believable as a couple if we tried. We don’t make any sense.”

A small pause. “And why’s that, Sanchez?”

I looked up to find him watching me curiously with his head tilted. I lifted a shoulder, trying very hard to ignore the fact that my hand was still tingling where his thumb had brushed it. “We just don’t. There’s no way you and I would end up together in real life. And I don’t think I’m the only one who realizes it.”

Adrien’s brows were starting to scrunch. “Why?”

“Stop asking why. It’s just… we’re too different, I think. Our lives are too different. There’s no… I don’t know, Adrien. It’s a chemistry thing.”

The scowl dug deeper. “A chemistry thing.”

“Yeah.”

He brought his arm up to rest behind me on the couch, and the movement sent another waft of his clean scent my way. “What does that mean?”

My fists were tight against my thumping chest. He was starting to lean a little too close, his narrowing eyes flicking to my nose every time I opened my mouth.

“Uh… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. Some people have very obvious chemistry. You and I don’t.”

For the next twelve seconds (I counted), the only sounds echoing through the backyard were the soft crackles of the fire pit and the hiss of the cool night breeze weaving through leaves.

“I just mean…” I started, mostly because I was starting to vibrate against the intensity of his stare. “If you look at your dating history, for example, how many of the women you’ve been in serious relationships with were like me? In terms of their lifestyle and jobs and looks and personality and—”

“None.”

My mouth stuttered. “Well then, there you go.”

His dark gaze meandered over my features, slowly, before coming back up to my eyes. “And what about you, Sanchez? I’m really all that different from the men you’ve dated in the past?”

“You know, you say my name a lot more than is necessary. There’s no one else here. I’m not confused about who you’re talking to.”

The right side of his mouth curved up. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s just not necessary.”

“So you do like it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“And your new plan is to avoid answering my questions directly, so your nostril won’t give you away?”

“Just until my consultation with the rhinoplasty specialist.”

“Plastic surgery won’t help. Your eyes also have a tell.”

“Well, then I’ll have those traitors sewn up too.”

The corners of his lips continued their subtle climb upward. “Why don’t you answer my question about your dating history first? Is it all just a collection of cinnaman-buns and blue horny aliens?”

I bit the inside of my lip, punishing it for wanting to expand into a smile. “First of all, it’s cinnamon roll. Those books are not about dudes with man-buns, that’s not what that means. Second of all, it’s not horny blue aliens, it’s blue aliens with horns.”

His throat worked as he tried to suppress a chuckle. “That’s my bad.”

“Although, the blue aliens are alsohorny a lot of the time. Strictly for reproductive purposes, obviously. But that’s neither here nor there.”

He hummed. “You know what I think of every time you say blue aliens?”

“Please don’t tell me.”

“Do these blue aliens live in blue houses with blue windows per chance? And do they da ba dee and da ba di?”

My teeth sank harder into my bottom lip. Alba and I had been obsessed with that song when we were kids. I still had my Eiffel 65 poster tucked away in the back of my closet somewhere.

“Have you seen the music video?” he asked, his gaze dipping down to my bite. “It’s a masterpiece.”

“Haven’t seen it.”

He nodded at my nose. “Lie. But that’s how I’m imagining them in my head. Four-foot nothing, massive bald heads, scrawny bodies. But with little devil horns added.”

“That’s… aggressively inaccurate.”

“Is that your type?”

“Are scrawny blue aliens my type?”

“Yes. Is it the idea of an extraterrestrial being with blue, hairless skin and tiny horns that turns you on? Or do they have to be holding a cinnamon roll for it to work?”

A chortle escaped that time. Damn it.

“I’m just trying to understand where the cinnamon roll thing comes into… play,” he went on, leaning in a little more. “Do they feed it to you? Eat it off you? Do they unravel it and then try to tie you up with it?”

Jesus Christ. “How weirded out would you be if I said yes to all that?”

One dimple. “We all have our kinks. I’m not one to judge.”

Heat licked at my stomach, thickened the air around us.

Two dimples. “You’re blushing, Sanchez.”

“Do you hear how much you actually say my name?”

“I can switch it up if you’d like, Ria.”

Swoop, swoosh, tingle. “How about we just put a ban on names altogether?”

He clicked his tongue. “No.”

“How would you like it if—”

I started at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“Sorry,” Anthony whispered quietly. “You were so engrossed in your conversation, I didn’t want to interrupt. I brought drinks, and the pizza will be here in around forty minutes. I’ll leave you alone until then.”

There were two crystal tumblers filled with amber liquid, ice, and curved orange peels sitting on the table in front of us.

“Uh—thank you,” I said quietly. My head felt a little fuzzy. “That’s very sweet. You’re free to join us if you’d…”

But he was shaking his head. “I’ll let you have your space. I’m more than happy to catch up with my wife for now.” He left with a friendly wink and knowing smile, and when the patio door slid shut, my heart bounced.

Suddenly I was very, very aware of how close Adrien and I were sitting. Of how his arm had curled around the backrest of the couch, his hand grazing my shoulder. Of how he hadn’t taken his eyes off me once since his dad had walked out here.

I leaned forward and grabbed one of the tumblers off the table, making sure to scooch a few inches away from Adrien in the process.

He leaned over, grabbed his glass, and scooched a few inches closer to me in the process.

I took a sip, gaze glued to my lap.

He took a sip, gaze glued to my face.

“Sorry,” he eventually said, amusement tilting his deep voice. “I didn’t hear him come out over the deafening sound of all the chemistry we don’t have.”