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Your lips were made to be kissed
I laugh. That’s the urgent message? I was hoping it might be an invitation to meet him in the basement or something.
“What’s so funny?” Devon asks next to me.
I quickly tuck the phone back in my pocket. “Nothing.”
I really do hate lying to him. But every time I open my mouth to say the words, they get stuck. What if Devon’s so upset it ruins their friendship? I’d never forgive myself.
But that’s just silly. Devon thinks the world of Enzo, and once he gets over his big-brother-protectiveness thing and realizes Enzo and I are . . . well, not serious maybe, but seriously interested in each other, he’ll be thrilled for us.
Won’t he?
“I’m glad it’s back on track,” Tris says. “When do you leave?”
Enzo stares straight at me. I know what he’s thinking. But this is not the way to do it.
“Thursday.”
“Must be cold over there now, huh?”
Enzo takes a swig of his beer and avoids eye contact. This is clearly hard for him too. So what was he thinking, showing up tonight? He knew I planned on telling Devon this week.
I pull my phone back out to ask him.
Unlike me, he doesn’t pause. His answer buzzes in my hand a few seconds later.
Wasn’t thinking.
Needed to see you.
Now I feel all warm and fuzzy—he hopped in his car for a two-hour drive just because heneeded to seeme. No guy’s ever done that for me before. And in return, I’m pretending we aren’t three seconds away from throwing ourselves at each other.
I make a decision.
I’ll tell him tonight, I text.
Which is when I notice Devon peering over my shoulder.
“Chari, what the hell?” he says.
“Why are you looking at my phone?” I shoot back.
Everyone stares at us. Most of our friends look confused, but Lisa has anoh shitlook. She, at least, knows what’s about to go down.
“Because you’ve been acting super weird. And now I know why.”
The room stays painfully silent, Devon’s eyes boring holes into me.
“Excuse us,” I say, pulling him away from the bar and out onto the covered patio.
Devon crosses his arms, beer and all. “Care to explain?”
Part of me wants to continue to bemoan his breach of privacy. An old argument with us. But it would be childish to deflect the blame—I know this is my fault for not being honest.
“We were going to tell you.”
He doesn’t make it easy. “Uh-huh? And what, exactly, were you going to tell me? Why is Enzo texting you from three feet away?”
