Annoyingly Hot Lumber Enthusiast: On my way.
With Declan? It’s a five-alarm situation, and every rational thought I possess just went up in flames.
Declan’s sitting on the floor across from me, leaning against one of the lounge chairs, his long-sleeved tee hugging his muscles. He trails his hand across the floor while the puppy chases it, her energy bottomless.
I wish I were that t-shirt. It must be the best job in the world, hanging onto him all day.
Ohmigeez. What’s happened to me?
I’m not normally like this. I’m the girl who doesn’t give her number to guys I dance with on girls’ trips. Not this version sitting on my couch watching an oversized lumberjack’s sea-blue eyes light up as we trade sibling stories.
“…And somehow,” I continue, “Heath smuggled that baby squirrel through the kitchen.” The memory of my brother zooming past me, holding the edges of his baseball cap closed with both hands, is as vivid as if it happened yesterday. “Heath was probably ten, so I was nine. Anyway, I hear this horrific screeching down the hall, and when I fling open the bathroom door, there he is, trying to give the poor thing a bath in the toilet.”
Declan chuckles. “Sounds like something my brother, Brock, would do. He brought a snake home, and it took Uncle Luke a week before he found it in the back of Brock’s closet.”
“Just loose?”
“No, thank gawd. I think he took a Pyrex mixing bowl and glued an old screen to the top. He even made a flap for it, securing it with bread twist ties. Luke bought an aquarium for it. It was just a little garter snake. Brock had it for a couple of years.”
“Your uncle sounds like a great guy.”
“Definitely. He could be strict, though. If we were late for curfew, we had to wake up an equivalent number of minutes early and do chores. And these were the crap chores, like washing out the garbage cans and cleaning the windows.”
I wince. “That’s brutal. What else did he do?” I tuck my legs underneath me, watching his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Oh, yeah. Fighting wasn’t allowed. Luke made us write apology letters to each other, regardless of who started it. Then we had to sit knee-to-knee and read them to each other using various accents. His favorite was the British Cockney. And if any of us smartasses laughed, he made us start over.”
I picture Declan sitting with his brothers, trying not to laugh, and my insides warm. “He and my dad must have traded notes. When Heath was sixteen, he and his friends switched all the place cards at one of our mother’s charity galas so the rival socialites ended up sitting together. My dad required my brother to host a formal tea party for Mom’s garden club and serve them personally. He roped his friends into helping, and the garden club thought they were the nicest boys.”
“Ladybug, no!”
The little puggle zips past, holding Declan’s shoe in her mouth, and runs down the hall. As we chase after her, Ladybug scoots into my reading nook. I flip the light switch and see her little tail wagging from underneath my reading chair. It’s so cute. As soon as we step close, she disappears fully under the chair.
Declan and I drop to the floor, crawling on our hands and knees, circling the chair from opposite sides. We meet in the middle where Declan’s eyes lock with mine.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt, Austin.” His smile fades into something more intense before he leans forward. His eyes ask the question his lips don’t, and I answer by closing the distance, my lips touching his.
The kiss is electric and immediate. My hands seek his shoulders for balance as we kneel facing each other. Our noses bump, making us both laugh softly before he tilts his head and captures my lips in a deliciously slow kiss, his hand holding mychin. We both end up on our knees, somehow, in a tangle of arms and heat.
Declan’s mouth moves against mine with unhurried confidence, each sweep of his lips sending sparks down my spine. I thread my hands into his dark hair, the soft strands curling around my fingers as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips in silent question.
Heat pools low in my belly when I open for him, his kiss just as magical as I remember. His hand slides up my back, palm blazing through the thin fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer until our chests press together. A soft groan rumbles in his chest when I tug gently at his hair, his kiss more urgent, his hard length growing against me.
His thumb strokes circles at the small of my back like he’s memorizing the curve of my spine, and against my better judgment, I decide that I want Declan in my bed. Right. Now.
My attraction to him is so intense, so primal, that I don’t think I’ve ever felt something this electric in my life.
Who cares that he’s a serial dater. You only live once, right? He has the word pleasure written all over him, and I want to experience what he has to offer.
Just as I shift my body to climb on top of him, my phone rings from the living room, and I freeze. Isabelle’s a texter and only calls if it’s urgent.
“I need to get that, Declan. It’s my sister.”
A look of concern clouds his face. “Of course.” He helps me up, but by the time I get to my phone, she’s hung up. I press FaceTime, my stomach in knots.
Me: Izz. What’s going on?
