Page 67 of Devil's Thirst

Yeah, but I have my own fun little quirks as well. It’s hardly my place to judge, right? I mean, he’s sexy as hell and makes me feel like a queen. That’s all that should matter.

My inner debate partner goes eerily silent, and I don’t like it. She always has something to say.

Deciding not to borrow troubles, I allow the security of Sante’s presence to lull me into a deep and dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 32

AMELIE

“Look who’s joined us again.”Kennedy flashes a seductive grin at Sante from the stage as he selects a chair to occupy during practice. I’m walking up the stage steps to go back to the dressing room when her flirtatious words bring me to a stop.

Is she seriously hitting on him right in front of me?

The awkwardness intensifies as she continues. “Little Amelie here never told us she has a brother. Are you military? I could see you serving with big guns. If that’s the case, I hope you’ve had aproperwelcome home.” She begins her warm-up as she talks, stretching in the most seductive ways possible.

I’ve never been in a catfight in my life, but there’s always a first time for everything. My vision bleeds red, and all the venomous words I want to say tangle into a useless knot on my tongue.

Fortunately, I don’t have to say a thing. Sante handles her in the most blasé, crude manner possible—and it thrills me from head to toe.

“That’s because Amelie doesn’t have a brother, and I don’t fuck my sister.”

Kennedy scoffs, rallying to save face. “I don’t see how that’s possible. She spends every waking minute practicing. If I had aman like you waiting for me, I’d make plenty of time for him.” She shoots me a spiteful glare.

Sante gets out his phone, not even looking at Kennedy when he responds. “No leading roleandno man. Sounds like you should focus on yourself and less on Amelie.”

I honest-to-God snort out loud, then scurry backstage before I devolve into a fit of giggles. I don’t need to see what happens next. Sante executed a perfect KO, though I’m the one in the ring with my arms held high.

I dance my heart out at practice. Only one more rehearsal before opening night, but that’s not the sole source of my inspiration. I feel like I’m dancing with a sign on my back that readshe’s mine. I’m so fucking proud of that sign. I want everyone’s eyes drawn to me so they can see what it says.

I think Sante may have been right. I couldn’t see it before, but I did choose him, and I’m growing more confident with that decision every day.

By the end of evening practice, I’m exhausted. Sante suggests we pick up food on the way home.

“That sounds like perfection.” I rest my head back and melt into the seat. My muscles feel like a mound of Jell-O, jiggling with the slightest pressure.

“Good, because I’ve already called it in.” He drives us to a steakhouse, which is a bit more upscale than where we’ve gone before.

“I thought you said takeout?” I ask in confusion.

“It is. You need the protein. Don’t want you fueling up on junk before the big night.”

“Okay, but I’m not dressed to go in there.” And I’m not entirely sure the concealer I used to cover the hint of bruising on my jaw is still intact.

“You stay put. I’ll grab it.”

“Thank you.” I smile appreciatively.

He’s so freaking incredible that I can hardly believe how lucky I am.

Sante leaves the car running when he gets out, locking the doors behind him. I watch him walk down the sidewalk toward the restaurant until a car pulls up behind us and the reflection of their lights in the side mirror forces me to look away. I’m lost in a stare at the dashboard lights when a knock on the window startles me half to death.

A uniformed police officer is bent at the waist, looking inside the car. He motions for me to roll down the window.

Suffocating unease fills the car like water from a flash flood.

I don’t like cops. I don’t trust them, and I have no idea why this guy would possibly need to talk to me, but I don’t feel like I can ignore him. With my luck, I’ll end up arrested for belligerence over nothing.

He knocks again, spurring me into action. I roll down the window halfway. A compromise.