I grab the sides of the toilet and scream, “Eat a bag of dicks, Declan!You could be a little more—”
And then I puke.Up goes the Philly cheesesteak and down goes my face near the toilet water.
I mostly hit my target, though there is a bit of splashing that makes it to Declan’s hipster high-tops.
I feel bad, but the guilt passes as soon as I twist my face around and get a load of his reaction.He’s really pissed off at me, not at all concerned about my welfare.He’s only concerned about himself.
“You threw up on me.”
I moan, waiting a moment to see if I’m going to do it again.I don’t.In fact, I feel much better already.I flush and stand up.“Holy crap.I feel a million times better.I almost don’t hate flying now.”
“You puked on me, Summer,” Declan whispers.He grabs a thick paper towel, wets it, and leans down to wipe off the tops of his shoes.Then he straightens, staring into the mirror as he gets a fresh towel, dampens it, and starts dabbing at his black T-shirt.
“It’s just your shoes and shirt,” I say, catching his eyes in the mirror.I grab my own towel, wet it, and wipe off my face.I hone in on the sink, pushing him aside with my hip so that I can rinse out my mouth.When I straighten, he’s still staring at me in the mirror.
“That shirt’s too tight, anyway, Declan.You look like you’re about to pull an Incredible Hulk.”
That’s no lie, either.It’s so close-fitting that I can see every bulky curve and edge of his wide chest and even the outline of his washboard abs.The man’s got a lot of individual muscles in his pack.I’ve seen a total of eight, because I’ve seen him damn near naked on more than one occasion.Working.Riding.Swimming in one of the ranch’s two lakes or soaking in its hot springs.
But I refuse to look at his boxer briefs.I won’t even think about them.Or how tight they are.Or what I saw when he spun around in surprise a moment ago.I won’t go there.
I just can’t.
Declan rounds on me and lowers his face so that it’s no more than two inches from mine.In the lavatory light, his eyes look otherworldly, like the violet of deep space.“It’s not tight,” he whispers.“It’sfitted.I happen to like the way it looks.At least Idid,before you upchucked on it.”
I shrug and squeeze past him so that I can stand in the aisle again and catch my breath.It was too close in there with Declan and his anger, his eyes, his muscles, and the boxer briefs that look like they were spray-painted over his bulging package.
He’s right behind me.“Tell me what you’re doing in my jet, Summer.”
“We’re going to stop the wedding.”
He shuts his eyes and slowly shakes his head.“Do you not see that I am on a damned date?”
“Is that why you’re not wearing any pants?”
He opens his eyes.I can see that he’s trying not to smile.And failing.And I’m failing too.
This is the frustrating thing about Declan.He’s permanently sixteen years old, and we’ve been in the friend zone for way over a decade now.No wiggle room for anything more and no benefits of any kind.I’ve worked for his family since I was a teenager.All that said, I can’t deny that he’s hotter than high noon in Death Valley.
No, that’s not exactly right.Icandeny it and I do,all day long, and to anyone who even makes the slightest snarky comment about Declan and me.But I can’t lie to myself, no matter how hard I try.
We’ve always had this thing—with a glance, we know what the other is thinking.We can crack each other up without a word.He’s my best friend.I like him.I love him.Like a brother or a cousin or… okay, that’s total bullshit and I know it.
But whatever he is to me and however I feel about him, it doesn’t matter, because he’s off-limits.
“Many men don’t wear pants on dates,” Declan says, one corner of his mouth hitching up.“You should try it sometime, Summer.”
Just then, his datedu joursteps from the cockpit where she’s been hiding.I generally try not to judge people by their exteriors, but she’s an interesting choice, even for Declan.She’s dressed like a Coachella reject.Enormous knockers are on full display in her transparent top and push-up bra.Frayed denim miniskirt.Four-inch heels.Fake extensions everywhere—lashes, nails, and hair.
And despite all that, she’s actually very pretty.
Hate her already.
“I’m confused,” the date says.“Are we having a party?”
Oh, wow.She sounds like a cat in heat.Declan narrows his eyes at me in warning.I know that look.It’s a warning backed by a legitimate threat.He ain’t messing around.I decide to keep my commentary to myself.
“We’re not having a party,” Declan tells her, his voice kind.“Summer was just leaving.”
