Declan smirks. “I’d like to see what else you can work around in your mouth.”
“Ugh. Gross. And typical. Gross and typical.” I roll my eyes, but the protest sounds flimsy even to me. We’ve said filthier things to each other over DM back when it was a game, a fantasy I invited.
But somewhere between the Wheel of Fortune stalking me and watching my own patterns play out at Ember, I’ve figured out that there’s a lesson to be learned here. Maybe if I’m a better person—less impulsive, less chaotic—it will finally stop shitting all over me. So I’m making a quiet little vow to act like the kind of person good things happen to. Fake it till I fucking make it.
His expression shifts, the humor on his lips flattening into a thin line. “Typical?”
“Yes. Typical.”
“You knew exactly who I was on the app.” He takes a step closer. “I never once promised you anything else, and now you’re pissed I’m not handing you some different version of myself because we’re finally standing in the same place.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off with a curt, “It’smyturn.”
“Your turn for—”
He presses a finger to my lips like he’s hitting a mute button.
Rude.
“To read you. To tellyouwhatIsee.”
Before I can protest, he catches my hand, yanks me closer, and unceremoniously lifts my palm.
“You liked the fantasy. No.” He drags his finger along the line that swoops down beneath my index finger and trails all the way to my wrist. “You begged for it. For me.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t—”
“It’s still my turn,” he cuts in, gaze pinned to mine.
I go quiet, the words dying in my mouth.
“Now we’re here, in person, and suddenly you’re furious I’m not soft. That I’m not sweet. You want topunish me for being the man you wanted when it was safe, when it wasn’t real.”
Heat prickles across my skin as he drags me closer.
“But here’s the thing. The ‘universe’”—he lifts his free hand and makes actual air quotes—“doesn’t give handouts. You can tell yourself you’re changing or evolving, being a better person to reap the rewards, but it’s all bullshit. You’re lost. Waiting for someone else to decide for you.”
My skin goes hot, shame rushing up my neck like a rash. I’ve spent years building this glossy, mystical armor he’s ripped off in one motion, leaving me exposed…pathetic.
My vision tunnels. My ears buzz. I can’t breathe past the thick knot in my throat.
“You’re not some empowered woman, Amanda. You’re a scared little girl.”
The slap cracks through the air before I register raising my hand.
Decan exhales through flared nostrils and takes the blow, nodding like it confirms something he already suspected.
I yank my other hand from his, drop to my knees, and start scooping my things from the sand. All of it is gritty and sun-scorched and mostly useless.
“I’ll figure this out myself,” I mutter, half to him, half to the blazing, sandy nothingness that stretches away from the tents. “I don’t need you. I’ll figure out where we are and how to get home.Alone.”
I clutch my bag to my chest and pivot toward the row of tents when a dark shape slips between those farther down the stretch of sand. Another follows, drawing closer.
Someone’s coming.
I freeze, my hot skin cooling with an icy rush of adrenaline. My fingers tighten around my bag as my heart kicks my ribs.
I glance over my shoulder at Declan. He stiffens, jaw tight, body coiling with tension. Without a word, he jogs forward and steps into the slim shadow of a nearby tent. He lifts the edge of the silk, gestures once, and disappears inside.
