The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(69)

She shrugged. “Did you expect fireworks and bodyguards?”

I expected your ass to be competent. But saying that would only land me in trouble with the law, and already, Devon thought I was incapable of making myself an omelet without burning down his “flat.”

The entire journey back, I had to talk myself into not going back to the station and giving the officer a piece of my mind.

I parked in the underground lot of Devon’s building. He had two parking spots and used none of them. He opted to park outside, in the open air, even when it was freezing cold.

Taking the elevator up, I got out on his floor and stepped into the hallway of his loft, when I heard the sound of utensils clinking coming from behind the door. I checked my watch. It was nearly one AM. Homeboy sure didn’t adhere to the no food after six rule.

My heart immediately somersaulted, this time with hope.

This is good. He’s home.

This time yesterday, he was out. Probably at Badlands or with Louisa—or both.

I punched in the code to the door and pushed it open, butterflies swarming inside my chest.

This time, I was going to take an honest stab at not being a raging asshole. Whatever happened between Devon and Louisa, he was still the father of my child, and we still needed to get along.

I found Devon sitting at the dining table across from Louisa, grinning at her while she pressed a cool glass of wine to her cheek as she laughed like a vixen.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

For the first few seconds, I stood frozen to my spot at the door, watching them.

The pain in my chest was excruciating. They looked close. Intimate. Like a couple. They made sense together. No matter how I spun it, Devon and I looked like an unlikely couple. The Prince and the Prostitute.

“Oh, look, it’s your little friend,” Louisa exclaimed with fake sympathy, like she’d learned to like me in a span of two weeks.

Devon didn’t even turn his head to look at me.

His eyes remained focused on his food.

“Night, Emmabelle.”

Emmabelle. Not Sweven.

“Thanks, Dev. I can look out the fucking window.”

“Delightful,” Louisa muttered. “How’re you feeling, Emmabelle? You should come home earlier. Give the baby some rest.”

“I hadn’t realized you were a doctor,” I said cordially.

“Oh, I’m not,” Louisa smiled.

I smiled right back, in a way that said, so why don’t you shut up?

“Just trying to be helpful!” She leaned her shoulder against Devon’s. I noticed that he didn’t push her away or even look mildly uncomfortable.

God, this was awful. I was going to die of jealousy, wasn’t I? The first person in the world to be deceased from the feeling.

“We have some asparagus and steak left. I made you a plate. It’s in the fridge,” Louisa noted.

Wow. Her Understanding Trophy Wife game was strong. Not only had she cooked for him, she also somehow managed to make me the side piece in a few easy steps.

“Fantastic. Well, don’t mind me on your way to negotiating the whitest marriage in the history of the world, complete with likely-inbred kids and definite infidelities down the road,” I chirped, making my way to my guestroom. “Enjoy the rest of your night!”

When I flung myself on the bed, I took out the card the officer gave me and blinked at it in fury.

The police weren’t going to help me.

My story didn’t even make any sense.

I tore the card to pieces.

I’d be my own protector.





Fourteen Years Old.



Dawn breaks across the sky in brilliant pinks and blues.

Coach Locken and I are the only people in Castle Rock reservoir.

“Thought you’d work on your times without the other harriers. I’ve been weeding out the good track and field camps for you for the summer,” he says.

I feel myself turn a brilliant shade of pink, at least five times darker than the dawn above our heads.

Coach Locken looks particularly good this morning. Clean-shaven with gray sweatpants that highlight his strong legs and a blue hoodie that clings to his muscles. I saw that creepy geography teacher on TV, and I’m sorry, but you just can’t compare them. I can think of at least fifty girls at school who would disappear with Coach Locken in the wrestling room and open their legs for him. That other teacher was old and gross.

“Not gonna let you down, Coach.”

Then I’m off.

Running in the woods is my favorite. I like the cool temperature, the fresh air. The unfamiliar sounds.

I run a two-thousand-meter loop. Three rounds. Coach starts his stopwatch. He is standing on the edge of the loop, and when I look back before I disappear into the thick blanket of trees, I notice his eyes linger on my legs.

I’m not going to lie, I’m wearing super short shorts. It’s not accidental. Lately, my daydreams about kissing Coach Locken leak into the nights. I always wake up sweaty and damp between my legs. I try calming myself down with cold showers and watching movies with other hot guys, but it’s not working. He’s the only boy (well, man, really), I truly like.

All my other friends are already kissing and making out. I’m the only one who hasn’t yet. But even if I did want to get a boyfriend to kiss, I know it’s not going to feel as nice, as good as Coach’s fingers on my knees and thighs, so what’s the point?