The Devil Gets His Due (The Devils #4)(5)

“So…mission accomplished last night?”

“Mission?” I repeat, looking from her to Gemma.

“We had a whole conversation about your plan to sleep with Josh’s brother. You don’t remember?”

Her daughter walks over, dripping wet, and Tali wraps a towel around her before tugging her to her side for a cuddle. My mom was like that with me, even when I was nearly grown. If I was anywhere nearby, I was getting a hug.

I swallow and look away. “It didn’t go as planned.”

Gemma laughs quietly. “That’s ironic. Your plans failed while Graham apparently had a very busy night.”

My gaze darts to hers. “Oh?”

“Ben said his room looked like he’d held a rave there last night. I think—” her voice drops to a whisper, “he might have been with Elise. I don’t know if you’ve met her yet.”

Obviously, this whole Graham situation would be far less awkward if that were the case. I wonder if Elise is the reason he stayed out so late, and if so, how he wound up with me instead.

Tali’s husband, Hayes, appears at the foot of the chair, smiling at his wife and kid with so much affection in his gaze that I have to look away. All these fucking couples with their shared looks and their quiet complete-ness are pushing my mood lower by the second, and it was already on the edge anyway.

I was ready to finish up my residency, but I’m sad about it too. I’m going to miss my friends at the hospital. I’m going to miss the chaos, though I’ve spent four years saying I couldn’t wait to put it behind me. And I’ve got three months of training at NIH with no job lined up afterward, so what was supposed to be a celebration feels a bit less so, and I really don’t need all this endless proof that everyone else is moving forward right now, getting jobs or getting married, or exchanging long affectionate glances over their children’s heads. My bitterness makes no sense, given I don’t even want most of those things, but I feel it anyway.

Hayes lifts his daughter into his arms and her head rests against his chest as she pops her thumb in her mouth. She’s an adorable little thing. I’d have liked a daughter like that if things had gone differently.

“I need a drink,” I say, jumping to my feet.

I need a lot of drinks.

I walk to the bar. This is my last weekend at home before I leave for DC and I’m finally free of Dr. Patel, the world’s worst attending. I’ll be damned if all these happy fucking people are going to ruin it for me.

I smile at one of the guys behind the bar, and he hustles right over. “I’ll have—”

A hand lands on my ass.

“Two gin and tonics,” says Six to the bartender before he looks down and grins at me like the sure thing I am. “What happened last night? You went to the dance floor and never came back.”

I press a finger to one temple. Goddammit. My plan was one hundred percent on track and then Graham Tate somehow came in and ruined everything.

“I really don’t remember. I must have gone to bed.”

With someone else. By accident. So classy.

“We’ve still got today,” Six says. He signs the tab and slides me one of the gin and tonics. “Slam it. I just challenged people to a chicken fight, which should be right up your alley, little wild thing.”

He makes it sound like a compliment, while Graham could undoubtedly produce a long list of why being a little wild thing is not a desirable quality.

“According to my predictions,” he’d say, “you, Keeley, are ninety percent more likely than an average woman your age to be in a car accident, forget to pay a bill, or get reprimanded for dancing suggestively on a cafeteria table.”

Six leads me down the pool stairs, into water as warm as a child’s bath. He sinks as low as he can. “Climb on.”

“Who are we fighting?” I ask as I sling one thigh over his shoulder.

“Me,” says the deep voice behind me, and goose bumps rise on my arms. I turn as Graham wades in, looking a thousand times better than anyone as boring as him should. He does not have a single tattoo, but when you’re that sculpted, you don’t need any—his body is a work of art all on its own. If only he didn’t have to ruin it by running his mouth.

“Keeley, this is Elise,” he says, indicating the girl beside him, who I’d somehow failed to notice. She’s my exact opposite, by which I mean she appears too elegant and refined to be participating in a chicken fight in the first place. I’m going to destroy her. “She’s at Ben and Gemma’s firm.”

Ugh. A lawyer. How perfect for him. They can bore each other for hours on end.

My bruised pubic bone presses to the back of Six’s head—the universe reminding me Graham is, perhaps, not always boring.

Six and I wade farther into the pool while Elise climbs on Graham’s shoulders. “She’s tiny,” I tell Six. “This will be over fast.”

“You’re tiny too, wild thing.”

Tiny, yes, but fucking fierce. I’m pretty sure that’s Shakespeare, but I’m not sure Shakespeare used the word fuck all that often, so I keep it to myself. If I’m botching it, Graham will be sure to overhear and point it out.

“Ready?” Graham asks, and we turn.

He’s holding Elise effortlessly atop his broad shoulders with a smug grin on his face, and in response, I shiver. It’s probably horror, but it doesn’t entirely feel like horror. I have a few very distinct, sharp memories from last night. None of them involve horror. The opposite, really, but they give me the burst of energy I need to knock Elise off Graham’s shoulders in five seconds flat.