A Deal with the Bossy Devil by Kyra Parsi

28

“You were engaged?”

The question hurled out of me before the passenger door of the black SUV had slammed shut. I hadn’t meant to pull it that hard.

Adrien sighed as he clipped his seatbelt into place. “For a very short period of time, yes.”

“And that’s not something you thought I should know going into this?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s not a big deal.”

“In what world?”

The car turned out of the property, the ornate iron gates closing behind us. “It lasted less than a week. It’s not a big deal.”

He was lying. I could hear it in the forcefulness of his tone, see it in the tension he held in his shoulders and jaw. But why?

“Wear your seatbelt, please,” he said, eyes glued to the empty street ahead.

“Is that the real reason I’m here?” I had one hand on the dashboard, my torso twisted in the seat to face him. “She’s going to be at the party, so... you didn’t want to go alone?”

His jaw worked. “Seatbelt.”

“She’s getting married?”

“Sanchez...”

“Your mom mentioned something about Mandy shopping for wedding dresses, and Alice said they’d be at the party. So... her and her new partner?” No wonder he didn’t want to go solo.

He didn’t respond.

My fingers were fiddling with the dashboard as I studied him. Something slimy and hot was tangling unpleasantly in my gut.

“How long ago was it?” I asked. My heart was thumping restlessly, and I couldn’t figure out why. Who cared if he’d been engaged? Or if he was still in love with her, and had brought me here to make her jealous? It wasn’t like that changed anything. It wasn’t like I had actual feelings for him. He was hot and the sex was mind-blowing. That was it.

The silence stretched long enough that I assumed he wasn’t going to answer. But then he said, “A little over a year ago. Fourteen months to be exact.”

Oh.

A part of me had been hoping that it might have been a long time ago. That they were young, and stupid, and realized a week into the engagement that they were making a huge mistake.

“Sanchez. Seatbelt.”

Fourteen months was kind of fresh for a relationship you thought would last a lifetime... right? And how was she already engaged to someone else? Didn’t that seem too soon? Dating, sure. Getting married? Too soon. Maybe.

I wondered which one of them had broken it off.

I wondered if that was where he’d gotten the ring from. Had it been hers at one point? Was he trying to rub salt in her wound by making his new “fiancée” wear it? Because that would be a terrible idea, and not just because it made me want to vomit.

And I was so deep inside my own head that I didn’t realize the car had pulled over until Adrien looked at me, brows ticking expectantly. And when I didn’t move, he sighed and leaned forward, reaching for something behind my back. Except I didn’t see his arm move, which was what led to my miscalculation of why he’d leaned in. It was the only reason I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his. I swear.

He inhaled sharply, freezing momentarily as if taken aback. And then he thawed right into me, his palm coming up to cradle the back of my head while his other hand slipped underneath my thigh, pulling me closer.

And that hot, slick tangle in my stomach? It eased the moment my tongue caressed his, teasing a low, guttural sound out of his chest.

One caress led to another, and before I knew it, he’d unclasped his seatbelt and we were full-on making out like a couple of teenagers with pent-up hormones on prom night. Hands roamed, grips tightened, we touched and pulled until—

HONK.

I startled back, my head hitting the roof hard enough that I should have felt it. But my body was buzzing with too much static tension and heat to notice.

“Shit. Sorry. Elbow,” Adrien said, each word punctuated by a heavy exhale. He leaned back into his seat and raked a hand through his dark hair. After a few long breaths, his head turned in my direction, and he grinned. “Just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

“You’re the one that leaned in,” I protested, willing my chest to calm the fuck down. “I just closed the gap.”

And either I was seeing things, or his dimples and eyes were twinkling. “I was trying to put your seatbelt on.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“It’s cool. I’m flattered.”

I wasn’t smiling. My mouth was allowed to curve upward without being accused of smiling.

He chuckled. “You know that one Jessica Simpson song?”

“Don’t you dare bring 90’s pop into this,” I demanded. Again, I was absolutely not smiling.

“Am I irresistible to you, Sanchez?”

I glowered at him.

He laughed, then leaned toward me again. “Sit properly for me.”

I sunk into the seat and glared at this dimple as he reached for my seatbelt, clasping it into place. My gaze did not immediately dip down to his mouth; my thighs did not clench when I caught a whiff of his intoxicating cologne; and my chest absolutely did not stutter when he pecked my cheek and shot me a wink.

“Where are we going anyway?” I asked, crossing my arms. My knees came up to the dashboard, and I decided right then and there that the only place I’d be looking for the remainder of the car ride was out the window.

“The weather’s kind of nice. We can start with a walk by the harbor, then go from there.”

That actually sounded really appealing until he instructed the car to blare Jessica Simpson, then proceeded to bellow the lyrics at the top of his lungs. I rolled my eyes so hard, it was a miracle they didn’t pop right out of their sockets.

I did not have to press the back of my hand against my mouth to muffle my laugh. It was not funny.

* * *

There was a teeny tiny chance that I was going to die, and it was all—of course—Adrien’s fault.

By the time we managed to crawl back to his car, the sun had started to set, and I’d forgotten what it felt like to properly breathe. My eyes were swollen from the tears, my cheeks felt bruised and sore, and my stomach muscles hurt so much I couldn’t stand straight. Every time I so much as glanced in Adrien’s general direction, I burst into a torturously fresh bout of hysterical laughter and inched closer to the sweet release of death.

He looked so fucking stupid.

We’d spent the majority of the late morning and afternoon walking along the harbor, drinking hot chocolate, eating, and banter-bickering about everything we could possibly banter-bicker about. I made fun of him every time someone came up to ask for a picture, he poked fun at me every time I choked on something trying not to laugh at his jokes. And then, it happened. We walked past one of those face-painting stands for kids.

He didn’t even hesitate.

One second, he was walking next to me, our laughter overlapping, steps swaying, hands brushing. The next, I was holding his bagel while he plopped himself onto the too-small plastic stool, pointed at a large tube of blue body paint on the table, and instructed the makeup artist to, and I quote, “Go crazy.”

The lady seemed confused (and maybe a little concerned), and triple-checked with him to make sure that he did indeed want to be painted a bright, eye-catching cobalt blue. He took off his jacket and watch, then said, “Yup. Arms, neck, face. Let’s do this.”

And that wasn’t even the best part. I didn’t know how he did it, exactly, but within minutes, he’d somehow recruited a small army of tiny hands to help spread the paint over his tanned skin. There were squeals, and giggles, and parents taking pictures of their little monsters wreaking blue havoc on Adrien Cloutier.

And once he was sufficiently coated in a sloppy, uneven paint job (that had inevitably also stained his white T-shirt), he stood up, bumped a whole bunch of small blue fists in celebration, paid for all the kids to get their own faces painted, and asked the lady if there were any costume shops around.

She’d said yes, and our slow descent into madness had stopped being slow. He’d slipped his fingers through mine, and I’d giggled all the way down the street to the store she’d recommended.

Yes, they did have large bull horns. And yes, they did have a blue tail. It was short, fluffy, and looked like a fox’s tail on acid, but, according to Adrien, it was “perfect and exactly accurate.”

Unfortunately for us, though, Stevie (the owner) had just run out of fake fangs, but, “I do have a full set of raptor teeth lined with black gums if you’d like.”

They were thin, sharp, fangless, had a greyish-yellow tint, and were too big for Adrien’s mouth. But, once again, they were deemed “perfect and exactly accurate.” As was the black samurai wig he put on in lieu of a man-bun.

I tried to stop him when he went for the loincloths, but I was cry-laughing by that point, and my arms were too weak to wrestle the leather out of his hands. Thankfully, I was able to at least convince him to put the slutty strip of fabric over his pants.

The horns and tail were also attached to his person, and he puffed out his chest proudly when he came out of the changing room.

He looked like he’d walked straight out of my childhood nightmares; or a 90’s grunge album cover.

“How turned on are you right now, Ssanchesz?” he lisped through his large fangs as soon as we left the store, his spit spraying everywhere.

It sent me into hysterics. I crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down my face as my forehead hit my knees. And from that point on, every time I looked at him or he spoke, it became funnier. Until I was convinced this was the end. That this was how Adrien had decided he’d end my life as payback for what I’d done on Halloween.

By the time we made it back to Alice’s borrowed SUV, I was clutching my sides, gasping for breath, and begging him to stop talking. I climbed into the car and sunk against the seat, my arm draped over my liquid stomach.

Adrien took off the horns and tail before getting in.

“Sseatbelt, Ssanchesz.”

I huffed a weak laugh, my head rolling against the seat. My hand flailed for the seatbelt, but my muscles were too weak to pull it all the way across my torso. So I just gave up, letting it spring back to my shoulder.

Adrien chuckled before clipping it in place for me. “Sspoiled brat,” he murmured affectionately. Or maybe it wasn’t affectionate, and I was just punch-drunk.

“These pictures are going to be all over the internet by the end of the week,” I predicted.

“I don’t fink anyone recogniszed me after I put the teef in. Didn’t ssee any phones.”

That was because said teef bulged out of his mouth and pushed his lips back. And he was right. Between that, the blue skin, and the rest of his ridiculous costume, he was almost entirely unrecognizable.

“I took lots of pictures. I’ll be more than happy to share,” I said. The ones we’d taken in the photobooth were gold, and they’d been his idea. He’d practically thrown me over his shoulder and carried me inside. The man’s survival instincts were about as sharp as safety-scissors.

He shot me a look as the car pulled out of the parking lot. “You promissed.”

I had. And I fully intended to keep my promise. But that didn't mean I couldn't tease him about it.

“At the very least, it’ll be my wallpaper for the foreseeable future. I’ll order a life-size cut-out when I get home, put it beside Jamie’s bed while she’s sleeping.”

Speaking of giving my best friend a heart-attack, I needed to call her at some point and let her know I’d slept with her future husband.

“This was fun,” I muttered at the window, watching the lights and the trees blur by. The sun was starting to set.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. Good exercise, too. Feels like I did a thousand sit-ups.”

Adrien pulled the monster teeth out and chucked them into a plastic bag, then wiped his palm against his thigh. Once, twice. “Would you want to do it again?”

“What? The costume thing?” Because yes. Yes, I would.

“No, I mean... would you want to hang out like this again?”

And for the first time in the last two hours, I didn’t feel the urge to laugh when I looked at him. Was he asking what I thought he was asking? Or was my brain doing that thing where it made shit up and lied to me?

“I dunno,” I said carefully. “It depends.”

He seemed very adamant on keeping his eyes strictly on the road ahead. “On?”

“Well, what would we do?” I began fiddling with a loose thread on my sleeve, my heart skipping a beat. Then two, then three. A tickle ran up my spine as the atmosphere shifted to something lighter, more fluttery. Like a basketful of butterflies had been let loose in the car.

I mirrored him, fixing my gaze onto the red taillights in front of us.

“Whatever you want,” he answered. “Something casual like today. Or we could go to dinner. Drinks.”

I paused to think before answering. “I’m going to leave tomorrow.”

“And we can’t see each other when we’re both back in Toronto?”

The butterflies had infiltrated my stomach. “I’m not sure if...” But I stopped. I wasn’t sure whyI stopped, but I did. “Can I think about it?” I asked instead.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

I brought my knees up to the dashboard and turned toward my window.

And, no, I did not spend the rest of the comfortably silent car ride fighting a smile. My reflection was a damn liar.