The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(59)

I force myself to smile. There’s no reason what he’s saying should hurt. I guess a part of me wonders if it’s entirely for Beth’s sake that he wants to keep it a secret. I’m hardly the sort of girl his buddies from med school seek out.

“I won’t say anything,” I tell him. “Jumping from one brother to the next wouldn’t do my public image a lot of good anyway.”

This really can’t go anywhere, but it only occurs to me now that I’ll probably never see him again after he leaves my room. He lives in some awful, war-torn country and has no plans to leave and if he did plan to leave, he’d have to lie to everyone he knows to make anything between us happen.

He raises himself on his forearm, pushing the hair away from my face. “I really like you, Drew. If I wasn’t already leaving…I’m not sure I’d be able to stay away.”

If he wasn’t already leaving, I’m not sure I’d have let this happen in the first place. But that’s a little too much truth for this moment, and the clock is ticking.

So instead, I pull him toward me and try to forget this ever has to end.





33





JOSH





It’s hard to believe I looked forward to this meeting in DC a few weeks ago. Yes, I knew even then it would be tedious, full of politicians attempting to sound earnest, like they really care about the state of Somalian refugee camps when they can barely care long enough to listen to me speak. But I was excited by the possibilities it offered. With more funding, we could improve security enough to get a decent medical team in place, if nothing else.

Right now, though, even that possibility pales beside the memory of Drew stretched out in bed Monday morning, naked beneath a thin sheet.

What would she say if I told her I needed to see her again before I leave? She’d probably panic.

We’ve exchanged a few texts since I left her cottage four days ago. Casual, funny texts when what I want to do is write her every minute of every day. I want to tell her that I can’t get Sunday night out of my head and that I felt obsessed with her before then, and now it’s like I’m never going to get a full breath again if I don’t manage to see her.

The morning session ends and afterward is the standard bullshit lunch in the Senate dining room, where phones are forbidden and the menu looks like something from 1940—every dish involving meat and gravy.

“I heard a rumor,” says the senator beside me, “that your brother plays guitar for Breaking Milk.”

Heads lift, and suddenly I’m an object of interest at the table.

I sigh. What’s wrong with our society when my idiot brother is fascinating but the plight of starving children and amputees without appropriate medical equipment is too boring to maintain interest? “Yeah,” I reply, cutting into my pot roast. “He is.”

“Ohmygod,” says the staffer across the table. She’s in her late twenties and seemed like a reasonable person until now, with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. “He was just in Hawaii. Were you with him?”

I attempt to smile, but I imagine it looks more like a flinch. “Yeah, family trip.”

“So you know Drew Wilson?” she asks, and suddenly the whole table is listening. My jaw grinds. I resent the fact that Drew’s name is linked with my brother’s at all. It never should have been for even a moment.

“We’ve met,” I say guardedly.

“Are they engaged?” she asks. “I heard they got engaged in Hawaii.”

My laughter is so angry it fools no one. “No,” I reply, cutting myself off before I can say more, before I can say She dumped him and he’ll never lay his hands on her again.

Except…is that even true? They travel in the same circles. Will they run into each other at a party? Will she forget all the reasons she wasn’t interested in him anymore? Once upon a time, the idea of the two of them together irked me. Now it makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

I rise, placing my napkin on the chair, and excuse myself. The second I’m in the hall I pull out my phone. I don’t know what I can possibly say or what I hope to accomplish. Swear to me you’ll never get back together with Joel would sound completely jealous and psychotic—which is pretty much how I feel. I open my texts, and the most recent one is from her.

Drew: I just saw you on TV.

And in the midst of all my stupidity and jealousy, I smile. And realize how much I miss her. How that one night with her in LA wasn’t nearly enough.

Me: I didn’t take you for a C-SPAN viewer.

Drew: Avid. When I’m not singing about how much I love nudity. You’re wearing a suit!

Me: I figured you’d make fun of me for that.

Drew: I was tempted to, but you look really good in a suit. It’s my new favorite outfit. Though I was mostly imagining you removing it while I was watching, TBH

I picture Drew on a hotel bed, watching me as I tug off my tie, sliding a skirt higher and higher while her thighs spread wide. Fuck.

Me: Well, now you’ve got me imagining it too.

Drew: Imagining yourself undressing? I’d think that wouldn’t be a novelty at this point.

I laugh.

Me: You’re there too.

Drew: Come to New York and I could be.

I suddenly feel breathless, my heart beating hard, this weird surge of testosterone like I’m a teenager again. It’s been a very long time since I’ve blown off my obligations for a woman.