He side-eyes me and shrugs. “I always wanted one. My parents were against it, always afraid I would fall out.”
Huh, I wonder if he is attempting to grab hold of something he missed.
“Okay, but what are you going to need five bedrooms for?” I challenge.
Declan raises a brow at me. “I’m sure I’ll have parties where people need to stay over.”
My jaw drops, and I gasp. “Oh. My. God. You also hostthosekind of parties?”
His eyes grow bold, and he chuckles. “That’s where your mind went? I was thinking of people staying over because they’ve had wine or beer and can’t drive back to the city.” Declan wraps his arm around my shoulders as he walks us back to the kitchen area. “And no, to answer your question, I leave the hosting to Brent.”
Ease hits me, because for the past thirty seconds, an unknown jealousy boiled inside of me at the thought of him with someone else, both in his past or future.
I can’t think about it, I have no right to. “What do you think of the kitchen?” I ask to keep us on the friends-looking-at-a-house situation.
We stop in the middle of the kitchen and lean against the island, and Declan purses his lips out as he studies the area. “I would probably need to update the appliances, and I’m not so sure about the countertops.”
“You’re right about the appliances,” I agree. “But what’s wrong with the counters?”
He rotates his body, with his hands instantly landing firmly on my waist, before he lifts me up onto the counter, stepping between my knees and leaning in with his hands on either side of me. Our body heat collides, as he is dangerously close, and our eyes hold in what feels like a fire starting.
“I’m not sure if it’s sturdy enough for kitchen activities.”
“You mean cutting vegetables?” I pretend not to understand.
Declan glances down at his finger skirting the edge of my dress. “I was thinking along the lines of straddling or bending over and holding onto the counter for support,” he rasps.
“I don’t want to know your future plans.” It comes out playful, but really, it’s the truth. Is he lost in this moment or thinking about his future romps in the kitchen with whoever isn’t me?
“My only future plan involves grabbing dinner after this,” he says it so casually, but his damn thumb is circling my inner thigh.
I scoff. “I’m kind of tired of room service and takeout. How about I’ll cook at my place?” And twice in one day, we get the award for surprising us both, because I’m changing the scene on us and inviting him to my place, to cook. I’m not sure that’s in the fuck-buddy manual, but whatever.
“Sounds good.” He doesn’t seem to mind, nor does he seem worried about the rulebook.
“Okay.” I shake my head before thinking too deep. “But this counter, it’s your deciding factor?”
“Would it be comfortable to lie on?” He sounds far too serious.
“I think you’re going for uncomfortable, no?”
“Can you get a good grip?”
“I guess,” I volley.
“Sturdy then?” He questions again before he slides my body to the edge.
This man is so inappropriate, and I love it.
The clearing of a throat breaks our little scene, and we both look to the side to find Jimmy.
“It’s Naples quartz, that’s the best of the best,” he announces.
If only the earth would swallow me whole right now.
Declan smirks proudly then speaks directly to me in a low voice. “Let’s get out here and head to your place.”
13
