Declan groans.“Yeah, fair enough.That was bad and I apologize.”
I enjoy a little window shopping as we make our way down the Strip.The only good thing about Las Vegas is that you can get anything here.Including things I’ve probably never even thought of, such as the infamous cum in a hot tub cocktail.
I realized just a few minutes ago that if I’m going to some fancy-schmancy restaurant tonight, I better buy something to wear.I didn’t bring anything with me, and these are the jeans and shirt I rescued from my bedroom floor before the ass crack of dawn.Also, these are the clothes I yarfed in.I lift the front of my shirt and sniff.
Not too bad, but I still need something else to wear.
“I gotta get some clothes.I can’t go out to dinner dressed like this.”
“You look fine in what you’re wearing,” Declan snaps.
I’ve been thinking about Kirk on our walk, which has led me right back to Declan.His red face.The wallet-measuring contest back at the burger joint.I can’t figure out why he’s acting so unhinged.
Kirk is very good-looking, no doubt about it.But it doesn’t faze me.I work on Yosemite Ranch, where the water has done something to male DNA.It turns boys into action-star hotties constructed with at least six feet four inches of muscle and accented with dark curls, violet eyes, and freakishly handsome faces.
Except for Special K, who’s more on the blond end of the spectrum.And taller than the others.And heavier.Which makes him a freak of nature.
That’s why good looks don’t make me goofy.I’ve built up a lot of immunity to badass hotties since I wandered onto the ranch at sixteen, looking for work.I had no idea that I’d find a lot more than a paycheck there.That I’d also find a home and a family I love with every cell in me.
I would never do anything to jeopardize that.
But I’m not blind.I’ve always known that Declan’s good looks are different from his brothers’.For a lot of years, I wondered why I felt that way, since objectively, they all look like MacLaines.
Then it occurred to me that I find him more appealing not only because of his outward appearance, but for a whole list of other things that have nothing to do with how good-looking he is.It’s the light behind Declan’s eyes.The sound of his belly laugh.His go-with-the-flow brand of contentment.The pleasure he takes in simple things.
The way he is with Jasmine.That little girl worships her uncle Declan.And he dotes on her.They have so much fun being silly together.It’s because Declan’s still a kid at heart.
And that makes my heart melt.
The only reason I’ve managed to keep my cool around Declan all these years is how it started with us.We met each other and immediately entered the friend zone with rock-solid boundaries.From the beginning, that zone of ours has been a lot of fun.Our favorite things were—and still are—bickering, teasing, pushing, joking, annoying, daring, and calling each other on our shit.
And laughing.So much of that.
Declan is my best bud.My ride or die.
But lately…
Declan returned to Yosemite Ranch nearly three years ago now.The comfortable rhythm of quick visits home and long deployments abruptly ended.He’s back for good and has created StellaR Tech with his brothers.He built his own house in the ranch compound.He’s not going anywhere, ever.
Which makes me worry sometimes.I swear he’s looked at me differently since he moved back.Heavy silences interfere with our snarky give-and-take.There have been touches, like with the barbecue sauce on my cheek just a while ago.I touch him sometimes, too, like when I hip-checked him at the lavatory sink or wrenched his nose.
So touching him’s not anewthing, but lately, it’s a more intense thing.It’s obvious.When we touch, it’s like a static charge slices through me.I think he feels it, too.
Or, I’m just a total nut job and I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
I look up at Declan’s red face again.He’s going on and on about Kirk.He claims Kirk exhibits all the telltale signs of a serial killer who’s dabbled in cannibalism.It’s pretty over the top, even for Declan.
I have to wonder why some random stranger has turned Declan into a mentally unstable guard dog.He usually doesn’t get riled up.He definitely doesn’t feel threatened by anything, as far as I’ve been able to tell.But he’s acting as if he’s afraid of me going on a date with Kirk von Hottiehammer.
Wait.Has Declan never seen me go on a date?
Of course he has.Though it’s not exactly a common occurrence.
First off, I live on Yosemite Ranch at the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, which is about fifteen minutes from Sweetbriar, which is already smack-dab in the middle of bumfuck Nowheresville.So, the pickins are slim.
Also, I admit it—I’m not exactly the approachable type.I’ve been told I have a terminal case of resting bitch face, though I prefer to think of it as a “suspicious-of-bullshit” face.I don’t get asked out much, and I like it that way.I usually shut that shit down immediately.
I’m picky, too, and I won’t make excuses for it.A girl’s allowed to be picky.
