The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(9)
“Amazing,” I reply, quickening my pace. The sun is beating down on me and my shirt is glued to my skin. I really wish he’d give me one of the water bottles from his daypack. “How ’bout you? I mean, at your age…don’t you have to worry about stuff breaking?”
“I’m thirty-two,” he huffs.
“Huh,” I reply a little breathlessly as I hoist myself up a step so large I have to hold onto a tree to manage it. “I’d have guessed older. Maybe it’s just because you and Sloane seem so dead inside.”
“Speaking of old,” he says, as our steps fall into a rhythm again, “nice fanny pack. Did it come with a motorized scooter or do you have to buy that separate?”
“It’s for my inhaler, asshole.”
He’s silent for one blissful moment, and there’s no sound but the small rocks slipping under our shoes. When he speaks again, his voice is absent its normal disdain. “How bad is your asthma? You seemed fine this morning.”
“Don’t get all excited,” I say. “This hike isn’t hard, so it’s unlikely to kill me off.”
“There’s still time,” he says cheerfully. “My mom has planned a lot of hikes.”
I stifle a laugh and then sigh heavily as he barrels right past the lookout point—trust Joshua to make this hike as unenjoyable as possible—and in the process of giving him the finger I accidentally make eye contact with two girls walking down the hill. I see recognition in their faces, and my spine stiffens. It’s the fucking hair again. I might as well wear a neon sign that says Notice Me.
“Excuse me,” says one of them from behind us, and I force myself to turn, ignoring the slow sinking in my stomach. “Are you Drew Wilson?”
There are two ways an interaction like this can go: I politely tell them I’m in the middle of a hike and can’t stop, and they’ll spend the rest of their lives talking about what a bitch I am to anyone who will listen. Or I can give them everything they want, and they’ll talk about how nice I was, though they thought I’d be thinner.
It’s really not even a choice.
I plaster a cheerful smile on my face, while Josh’s eyes bore into me from behind with the power of a thousand suns. “Yes, hi.”
They ask for a picture. A separate one for each of them, and I oblige while they ask me questions about the next album—about which I know nothing aside from the fact it will suck. They show no signs of leaving until Josh makes impatient noises behind me.
“Is he your boyfriend?” one of them asks, sweeping her appreciative gaze over him.
“Him? No. Satan isn’t allowed to take a companion on the Earth’s surface, as far as I know.”
They leave at last, and when I turn back up the hill, Joshua is standing there with a brow raised. He hands me a bottle of water, thank God. “Satan isn’t allowed to take a companion, huh?”
“So I’ve heard,” I reply carelessly. “I’m sure you’re more familiar with the rules.”
His tongue darts out to tap his upper lip. I see a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but he stoically manages to repress it. He nods at the girls and sighs. “They’re already posting those ridiculous pictures online.”
I shrug. “Do you want one too? You can post it on Instagram and talk about how I was nice, but then mention I’m not as pretty in real life.”
He looks back at me, his eyes brushing over my face. Lingering on my mouth. “I don’t have Instagram.”
I smack my forehead. “Oh my god. Are you serious? Tell me how old you are again, because even my great-grandfather has Instagram. Although he fills up his IG with infographics about the Russian Revolution, so he doesn’t get a lot of likes.”
He grunts and starts up the hill again. “Why the fuck would I want Instagram?”
“You could post pictures of Somalia,” I suggest. “Here’s a pretty sunset. Here’s a child with a gunshot wound.”
“Sunsets only happen once a day,” he says darkly. “So it’d be option two more than often not. Glad you find it so amusing, however.”
“Jesus,” I sigh, scrambling after him. “Has anyone ever suggested you lighten up?”
Rocks go sliding downhill as his feet turn toward me. “Certain things bother me.”
“I’ve noticed,” I reply, taking another sip of water. “Mild pleasure, societal advancement, what else?”
He turns to look at me with an expression that makes me feel an inch tall. “Spoiled princesses making fun of other people’s misfortunes,” he says, and then he stalks off, leaving me in a haze of dust and mild regret.
Six would have laughed at my joke, I think defensively, trying to ignore the small knot in my stomach that suggests Joshua might have a point.
He’s waiting at the first bunker, studying the view as if he plans to lay siege to it later.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly because I really hate apologizing. “I was being an asshole.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “Yeah, you were. But you’re not the first person who’s suggested I could stand to lighten up.”
“So we were both wrong? That’s what you’re saying?”
His mouth moves, slightly. “Yes, exactly. That’s what I was saying.”