Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Gram turns to me and rolls her eyes. ”It was a particularly bad jock itch.”
The silly expression on her face causes me to choke on my orange juice, and Declan gently pats me on my back until the coughing subsides.
He teases Gram about her reality TV obsession, and she retaliates by telling embarrassing childhood stories. There’s a rhythm to their banter, an ease I’ve never seen in him before.
Eventually, Gram leans in, voice dropping to a confidential whisper. “So, are you two serious?”
I nearly choke on my orange juice again. Declan says, “Deadly serious,” and looks at me, an eyebrow raised like he’s daring me to disagree.
I want to tell Gram the truth, that I’ve never felt like this about anyone, that Declan terrifies and excites me in equal measure, that I’d follow him into a burning building or, worse, a city council meeting. But instead, I just nod, unable to find the words.
Gram beams, satisfied. “Good. He needs someone who can keep him in line.”
Declan rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile there. For a second, I think I see what he might have been like before all the scars and discipline, before the world started needing him to be so hard.
When the bill comes, Gram refuses to let anyone else pay. “You two are young. Save your money for something stupid.” She winks at me, and I can’t help but laugh.
Outside, the sky is clear and blue, and I can smell honeysuckle on the breeze. Gram hugs us both tight, then whacks Declan on the arm. “Bring her by again. Sooner this time, or I’ll come find you.”
He promises, and I believe him.
On the drive back, Declan’s hand never leaves my thigh. The silence is warm, companionable. For the first time in my life, I feel like maybe I belong somewhere.
Maybe even here.
CHAPTER 9
DECLAN
As I navigate the winding roads back from Gram’s, my right hand rests firmly on the curve of Natalie’s thigh. My left hand clutches the steering wheel with a firm grip, turning my knuckles white against the black leather.
The air inside the car is thick with the subtle aroma of her jasmine perfume, mingling with the faint scent of pine trees from outside. The rhythmic hum of the engine underscores my thoughts, and I glance over at her, seeing the soft glow of the dashboard lights dance across her serene face. She’s woven into the fabric of my daily life, and the very thought of facing a day without her by my side sends an unsettling pang through my chest.
She’s humming some shitty pop song under her breath and drumming her fingers on my knee. Her nails are short, efficient, painted a muted pink I bet she picked out thinking it would disappear. But nothing about her disappears. She infects every surface, every sense, every synapse. I’m so fucking happy it’s almost unrecognizable. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was coming down with something.
She doesn’t say a word for the last ten minutes of the drive. Just stares out the window, watching the scenery flicker past. When I pull up to the building, she unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to look at me. Eyes all molten, lips soft. I want to say something like, “You’re home,” but the words jam up in my throat and all I can manage is, “Let’s go.”
We take the elevator up in silence. Not the charged, about-to-explode kind of silence we have at work, but the heavy, sleepy, domestic kind you get at three in the morning with someone you trust.
She walks out ahead of me when the elevator doors open on the top floor, but I catch her wrist and haul her back, not rough but not gentle either. She lets herself be pulled, lets me tuck her against my chest like she’s made for it. Her hair smells like my soap. Her heart hammers against my sternum.
I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other bracing her back. She’s light and warm, and she yelps in surprise, arms flying around my neck. “What are you doing, you lunatic?”
"Carrying you to bed."
"You do realize I can walk, right? It's called walking on two legs, a modern wonder."
I ignore her and carry her through the entryway. She laughs, that rare unguarded laugh that always knocks the wind out of me. I set her down at the threshold of the bedroom, but my hands linger at her waist, digging into the soft flesh there just to prove to myself she’s real.
I expect her to say something snarky, but she just turns, hands still braced on my ribs, and looks at my face like she’s trying to figure me out.
She’s got no idea how much she’s rattled me. No idea that I haven’t slept a full night since the first time she rolled her eyes at me, and I wanted to slam her against a wall and never let her leave.