Down and Out

After examining my makeup one last time, I throw on my robe and scurry out of my room. I can’t believe I’m running so late. Macy’s going to kill me.
The women’s league is getting introduced at tonight’s fight, which means there’ll be a lot of eyes directed my way. Being the center of attention makes me about as comfortable as a pap smear, so it took a little longer than I thought it would to get ready. Everything has to be as close to perfect as I can get it, and perfection, apparently, takes about twenty minutes too long.
I’m just about to burst into the bathroom when the door swings open and I’m hit with humid air and a nearly-naked Declan. I stumble back, right as big hands grab my arms and steady me.
I really have to start checking to see if the bathroom’s occupied before I try barging . . . in . . . there.
The thought dies in my head as I register the bare chest and abs before me, and the droplets of water clinging to them. The way they drip down those muscles, hugging every groove and curve until they hit the towel wrapped around his waist. . . Why, it’s quite possibly the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
“See something you like?”
My eyes flick up at the sound of Declan’s deep voice. His wet hair looks almost black, and he’s staring down at me with the faintest trace of a smug smile.
I’m not sure which is worse—that damn mask of neutrality he’s had for weeks, so cold and detached, or the cocky look he’s got right now. Both of them make me want to punch him.
I glance behind me, then back at him. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”
Our uneasy truce over the last couple weeks has only lasted as long as it has because it’s still super tense being around him, so I tend to avoid him whenever possible. If I don’t give him the chance to hurt my feelings, then he can’t.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
Declan’s lips curl at my jab. “Who else would I be talking to?” He leans down and lowers his voice. “There’s no one else staring at me like I’m a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day.”
I scoff. Or, at least, in my mind I do. In reality, the air in my lungs wheezes out of me like I’m an old tire who just snagged a nail. “Cocky, much?”
His dimples deepen. “You of all people should know exactly how much cock I have.”
Oh. My. God.
If I thought absence from this boy’s words could make me immune to them, I was wrong. Dead wrong.
Everything south of my navel clenches while I struggle not to close my eyes and absorb his deliciously naughty words. And now, thanks to one sentence, I have to change my panties before I leave tonight.
Declan’s hands land on my shoulders, ending my lewd thoughts as he turns me sideways. “Now, if you’re done shamelessly flirting with me, I have to finish getting ready.” He brushes past me, crossing the hall and disappearing into his room.
I’m left standing in the bathroom doorway, with my jaw practically touching the floor, as his door closes. I don’t know whether to kiss him or kill him.
What the hell was that? Is he done punishing me? Or is this some new, twisted form of punishment?
Lust-induced torture. . . Is that a thing?
It is when Declan Whitmore does it.
Well, Declan and his army of sexual innuendos can suck it. I’m not caving. I’m still doing the fight.
It takes me a minute to gather myself, but when I do, I snatch my flat iron off the countertop and march back to my room. I think I’m leaning toward “kill.”

Declan stands from sitting on the couch when I walk into the living room, his face clouding over as he looks me up and down. “What is that?” The line of his jaw tenses as he looks at my clothes and scowls.
I pretend not to notice, and say, “It’s a dress,” as nonchalantly as I can while putting in my earrings. Checking my reflection in the mirror next to the front door, I see him come around the sectional.
“Like hell it is. It looks more like a napkin.”
Declan’s not too far off with his assessment. The clingy black fabric is not only sleeveless, but super-short, and it has a huge oval cut-out on the back that stops just short of my ass. It makes wearing a bra with this dress impossible. At least the front is fairly modest, though, since it has a cowl neck that covers up what little cleavage I have.
Hey, if he’s going to fight dirty, then so am I. He has his words and wields them like a samurai sword. All I have in my arsenal is my body.
Shrugging, I say, “Napkin. Dress. As long as it covers my lady bits, I don’t really care.” I feign interest in my reflection, smoothing the tight fabric over my hips.
I went for “edgy” tonight, seeing as how I’m supposed to be this badass fighter. I don’t quite feel like one yet, but I figured I should at least look the part, so I went with dark makeup, a high, stick-straight ponytail with a little pouf in front, and killer heels I borrowed from Macy.
They’re black leather, dizzyingly tall, and have little silver spikes on the back of the heel. Totally badass, and totally liable to break my neck if I trip in them.
“You’ll care when you get outside and freeze to death,” Declan mutters under his breath.
Picking my keys up from the entryway table, I turn and face him. He obviously went for “yummy” tonight.
My eyes flicker as I look him over. How can a simple white Henley and a pair of beat-up jeans look so damn sexy? It’s not fair. I put so much time and effort into looking slightly better than normal, and he just showers, throws on some clothes, and BOOM—my ovaries explode.
Tearing my gaze away from him, I say, “My car has heat.” Sort of.
Declan looms in front of me, so close I have to take a step back. “Nuh-uh,” he says, snatching my keys out of my hand. “You’re not driving anywhere in that rusted piece of shit looking like that. If you break down. . .” He shakes his head and shoves my keys in his pocket. “Nope. Not gonna happen. I’m driving.”
I hate that he’s right. My car’s not exactly reliable, but I’m also not a child. Why can’t he offer a ride instead of telling me I’m getting one?
And why is he choosing to be a bossy a*shole now, after all this time of acting like he doesn’t care? What the hell is going on with him tonight?
I’ve wanted Declan to acknowledge my existence for weeks, and this is how he finally does it? By being an ass? I don’t think it’s cute or funny right now, and I’m wondering how I ever did.
“What’s wrong with how I look?” I know I’m just being nitpicky at this point, and I’m just looking for something to fight about, but I can’t help it. His confusing one-eighty has put me in my own pissy mood.
Declan returns my glare before he moves past me to open the front door. “It’s not what’s wrong with it that’s got me worried, it’s what’s right with it.”
I blink at him as he stands there with the door open, letting in the chilly night air. He’s got a mocking “ladies first” expression on his face, and the chivalrous gesture pisses me off even more. “I’m not yours to worry about,” I mutter, pushing past him.
“That’s not gonna stop me from doing it,” he calls out as he shuts and locks the door.
“That’s not gonna stop you from doing a lot of things, will it?” I storm down the stairs as carefully as I can. Fun fact: it’s not very effective when you’re going at a snail’s pace.
The concrete staircase shakes as Declan bounds down, and I pause, holding onto the metal handrail as he passes me. Stopping on the step below me, he turns and says, “Nope,” as he scoops me up and flings me over his shoulder.
A surprised yelp erupts from me as he turns again and starts down the stairs, jostling me with every step. I beat against his firm back. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Speeding things up. At the rate you’re going, the whole night’ll be over before you make it down these stairs.”
He might have a point. And I’m loath to admit that the view’s actually pretty nice. I have a front row seat to the greatest ass ever known to man, both literally and figuratively. Then a cold gust of wind hits dangerously high on the back of my thighs and it dawns on me that he’s got the same view.
“Put me down!” I squeal, beating against him with renewed vigor.
Declan swats my ass. “I’d stop fighting if I were you. You’re only making that napkin of yours ride higher. . . Actually, on second thought, keep going. I can almost see what panties you’re wearing. Or not wearing,” he says, lifting up the hem of my skirt.
I smack him as hard as I can and he chuckles. “Ooh, you’re wearing my favorite pair,” he says.
I’d completely forgotten what pair of underwear I put on, but now that I think about it, yep, I’m inadvertently wearing his favorite pair. The tiny black lace number.
Son of a bitch.
He takes his time putting me down when we get to the bottom of the stairs, letting his hands run up the backs of my thighs and curve over my ass before settling on my hips. “Are they for me?”
(Cue record screeching to a halt.)
Did he seriously just ask me that? After the way he ended our last sexual encounter? Really?
I ignore the way my body’s responding to being in his arms and the feeling of his hard, muscular body pressed against me. I don’t care if my nipples are stiff peaks beneath the soft, stretchy fabric of my dress, or that my core’s tightening with need, because the cocky smile hitching up the side of his mouth right now?
It makes me want to do mean, violent things.
I can’t believe he has the balls to ask me that!
Pushing his hands away from me, I tug down my skirt to a level that wouldn’t be considered indecent exposure. “No. They’re for some other lucky a*shole I meet tonight.”
I freeze as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Shit. Where’s the rewind button when you need one? I was just pissed at him and I lashed out. I didn’t mean it, not really. How could I, when I know that no one could ever compare to Declan?
A flicker of pain flashes across his face, but it’s gone and replaced with an ice cold look in the blink of an eye. “Well, we’d better go. Wouldn’t want to keep Prince Charming waiting, now would we?”
He walks around me and I turn, helplessly floundering for the words to make this right. I’m not sure there are any. Panic fizzes through me. “Declan—”
Opening the passenger door to his car, he gestures grandly. “Your chariot awaits.” His hard, unflinching eyes make my throat tighten.
Goddamn it, why does this hurt so much? I know I f*cked up, but it almost feels like I cut myself right along with him.
I swallow the dry ache, ignoring the tiny stabbing sensations in my eyes. “Stop.”
“Oh, believe me, I will. I’m done.” His jaw clenches as he walks around to the driver’s side and throws open the door.
And there you have it. How to successfully push people away in less than three minutes. That’s gotta be a new record for me.
The car roars to life as I stand in the empty parking lot, shivering as another gust blows past. Reaching down, I take off my shoes and climb in the car, closing the door behind me. I shiver again as we pull onto the street.
I think it’s chillier in here than it is outside.

The ride over to the Dormandy Hotel doesn’t disappoint. It’s every bit as awkward and tense as I expect. Declan’s jaw remains a rigid line the whole time.
At least, I imagine it does, since I can’t bring myself to actually look at him. I sense anger rolling off him in waves, and I’m afraid of doing something to set him off. Physically, I know he won’t hurt me. Emotionally, though . . . well, he’s the only one who can.
So I sit and stare out my window, counting down the seconds until we’re free of this confined space and praying I don’t do anything to incur his wrath. It’ll be easy enough to keep our distance once we’re there, and then I guess I’ll hitch a ride home from Macy. She took the night off from servicing the party to attend as my plus one.
Now if I could only figure out how to get my keys back from Declan without actually having to talk to him. . .
I’m MacGyvering a plan involving a fishing pole, my keys, and the air ducts when we pull up to the hotel. Declan makes no move to get out, so I pause with my hand on the door. “You’re not coming?”
The faintest shake of his head has my heart crumbling to pieces. Tonight’s a big night for me, and I really thought he’d be there for it. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of what I said, or if he never planned on coming.
“I’ll get a ride home from Macy,” I say quietly. “And for the record, I didn’t mean what I said. There’s not— I mean, I haven’t—” I exhale softly and chew on my lip. “There’s been no one else.” I risk another glance at him, watching his expression soften as he stares out the windshield. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”
I climb out before he has a chance to say anything, because I’m afraid he won’t.