Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I give him the wrong one because I'm so nervous, then correct myself, my cheeks burning. The corner of his mouth quirks up, the dimple in his cheek making him look a tiny bit less feral.
“There. I've sent you a message. Keep the number, Bridget.” He grows stern again, his brow low and serious. “And do not come back in here ever again. Unless you have an invitation from someone who has the right to give you one.”
When he opens the door, Erin is standing in the hallway, blinking in the noise and lights. Declan deposits me beside her with the quiet efficiency of a man completing a task, his hand on my elbow the entire time, then steps away. “There's a car outside. A black one. It'll take you home.”
“We don't need—” I start.
He looks at me. I stop.
“Thank you,” Erin whispers, with the instincts of someone who has already learned to read the room. Declan nods. His eyes move to me for a moment—something unnameable in them—then he's gone, swallowed by the dark and the music like he was never there.
I stare at the contact on my phone the entire way home.
Declan M.
I was supposed to lose my virginity tonight. Instead, I got sent home in a black car with my sister, my wings thoroughly clipped. I should be annoyed about that. I am a little.
But I can't quite regret who clipped them—the way he looked at me, the low rumble of his voice and what it did to me, or the kiss he gave me, which I’ll measure every other kiss against for the rest of my life.
Declan.
I think about the way his voice rumbled over my body. I use the last ounce of courage still floating through me from the drinks and the decision that brought me here tonight, and I send him a text.
Got your number so you can invite me anytime you want…
I bite my lip and immediately wish I could take it back. That was either very brave or very stupid, and I genuinely cannot tell which.
My phone buzzes with a response, and my heart leaps into my throat. My hands shake as I open it.
Declan
Be a good girl, Trouble.
Chapter One
BRIDGET
Did you mafia anyone today?
Declan
That’s not how that works
Okay, fine, did you dungeon master someone today?
Declan
Also not how it works
Want to show me how that works…? The Dom thing, not the mafia thing
Declan
Are you trying to get me killed?
Who, me?
Declan
Trouble. Behave.
I type out the next response.
Make me
But I never send it, and I tell myself it’s because Mercury’s in retrograde, and I know better than to tempt fate.
Declan
Hey, missed you at the wedding, saw you were in Tahiti?
Haha I wish. Tahiti backgrounds are just a thousand times better than the inside of a hospital room
Declan
Any background’s better than a hospital room
Except… a funeral home maybe
Declan
Christ
I look up from my phone when my nurse enters. I place my phone face down and hear the buzz from his response, but don’t want to be too… eager.
“Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.” The nurse pauses in the doorway, her clipboard tucked against her hip. She's one of the youngest ones here, round-faced, with kind eyes and the earnest smile of someone who really wants to help. I take a quick look at her name badge.
Dora. Cute.
“No, thanks,” I say with a smile. I want to see what he said.
Declan
Are you hungry?
Not that hungry these days. Just sometimes.
Declan
If you could have anything right now, what would it be?
That Italian wedding soup from D’Agostino’s. The one with the little meatballs. Maybe some crusty bread.
Declan
Got it. I’m on my way.
We’ve been texting now for a few months, and I have to admit… it’s the highlight of my day. No one can make me smile the way he can.
I keep every one of his texts and would never admit how many times I reread them. I’m basically a texting pen pal with a known member of the McCarthy family mafia.
And I’m pretty damn chuffed about it.
Dora’s fluffing the sheets. I bite my lip and swallow hard. “I have a visitor coming. That's okay, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
I don't even know why I ask her because people come all the time. My sister, my dad, Mam.
Oh my god, my mother. I forgot she’s coming.
I text her quickly and feel guilty for lying, but the truth is, I’m really not up for a visit today.
I’m not feeling well. Let’s postpone the visit? I’m fine
Mam
Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?
Maybe later. I'll let you know how I feel. I need rest.
The guilt churns in my belly as I shut off the phone. It's a particular kind of lonely, lying in a hospital bed, lying to your mother so you can see someone who isn't coming to see you the way you want him to.