The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(21)

“You were flirting.”

She groans and turns away from me to face the woman beside her. “Oh my God! Your shoes,” she gasps, clutching the woman’s arm as if she might fall over from shock. “I absolutely love them.”

The woman’s face relaxes into a smile. “Oh, I got them at Maxfield over on—”

“Melrose!” Keeley cries. “I’m there all the time! How have I not seen them? Are they comfortable? They look super comfortable.”

And that’s when I realize Keeley isn’t flirting. Or maybe she is, but she’s flirting with the entire world. I’ve spent my life trying to care about as little as possible, and she wants to care about everything and everyone she meets.

She is terrifying.

“Okay,” she says a moment later, sighing loudly as she slides into a chair. “Even though you just blew my shot at learning the secrets of Starbucks, I’m in. But we need some ground rules. First, you stay out of my room and I’ll stay out of my closet.”

“You might want to adjust to the fact that it’s never going to be a closet again.”

She doesn’t seem to believe that. I guess she’s still holding out for the Saudi prince.

“Second…” She chews her lip, unable to meet my gaze. “I’m a butterfly. I don’t stay anywhere long, and it’s best to get that out in the open. So this isn’t going to turn into some romcom crap.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” This is something I’ll probably say often over the next few months.

“Like, you’re not going to be all sensitive and tell me I’m beautiful when my feet are swollen, etcetera, etcetera.”

She’s going to be responsible for a human life in four months, but this is what she’s worried about? “Why the hell would I tell you you’re beautiful when your feet are swollen?”

Her eyes roll. “You’ve clearly never read a romance or watched a movie involving someone who’s pregnant. It always involves him reassuring her about her looks and ends with the couple having sex to make her go into labor.”

“Have sex to make her go into labor?” I demand. She’s got to be fabricating this. “Aren’t there drugs for that?”

“It’s a movie thing. I guess it knocks the baby out or something.”

“Knocks the baby out?” I repeat. “There is no way you’re a real doctor.”

“I said or something. I was spit-balling, not delivering a Ted Talk on childbirth.”

I have to stifle the urge to laugh. “Fine. I will never look at your swollen feet and tell you you’re beautiful, though, in my defense…I doubt it was especially likely in the first place.”

“Third, occasionally I’m going to eat junk food and you’re not allowed to comment.”

I glance at her side of the table. She just ordered a scone along with what is essentially a heated chocolate milkshake. “I’m not sure your junk food intake is occasional. And I have some rules too.”

She frowns. “You’re the one inconveniencing me. It doesn’t seem like you should get to make rules.”

“First, you can’t tell me I’m beautiful when my feet are swollen. Any other time you can, but not then.”

Her lips curve. “Done.”

“Second, you need to tell me when you have prenatal appointments so I can attend, without complaint.”

“Nice try, perv,” she says, sipping her drink. “But you have seen all you’re going to see of my vagina, which, by the way, will not be ruined through the delivery of this child. Julie, my OB, has promised to do a c-section if it’s big and to stitch things up perfectly afterward if necessary. But I’m probably gonna push for the c-section no matter what.”

I can’t believe she’s discussing her vagina at 11 a.m. in a public place, but I’m guessing it isn’t a first for Keeley. “I’m coming to the appointments. I also want to stay married until the baby’s born,” I continue. “I know it’s old-fashioned, but…I do.”

She blinks. I suspect she’d already forgotten we were married. “Fine, but aside from Ben and Gemma, let’s tell everyone it was all, you know, intentional. My dad would be really ashamed if he knew the truth.”

“Has he ever seen your apartment? I’d be shocked if he wasn’t already ashamed.”

Her mouth twitches. “Don’t make me start second-guessing this whole thing.”

So it’s happening…A spur of the moment suggestion last night—one I suspect I’ll come to regret—and it’s only hitting me now how huge it was. I haven’t lived on the west coast or with another human since grad school. My apartment, my job, my entire life is going to be left behind for four months. And from the looks of it, not a moment too soon. “We’ll tell them it was all intentional. I can help clear that room tomorrow if you want.”

“Tomorrow? What’s the rush?”

I glance at her breakfast again. “Given your eating habits, time is of the essence.”

She heaves a weary sigh, and another tendril of hair escapes her messy bun. I fight the urge to push it out of her face.

“Since there’s nothing left to discuss,” she says, rising and gathering what’s left of her scone, “I think I’d like to enjoy my breakfast in peace.”