Down and Out

Loud banging jerks me awake. I stare at the stained roof of my car, disoriented, as someone pounds on the window behind my head.
“Open up, I know you’re in there.”
My heart jumps to my throat as it all but stops. Scrambling up, my blanket falls into the floorboard as I grab my purse, frantically searching for my little can of mace.
More pounding. “Open the goddamn door, Savannah.”
Wait, is that—
“Declan?” I lean over, peering through an uncovered sliver of space between the cardboard and my door, and catch a glimpse of tattooed muscle. Relief floods me, but it doesn’t last long.
What’s he doing here?
I pop the lock and open the door. “Declan, what’re you—”
“I knew it.” He’s shaking his head as he paces the length of my car, looking at some unseen point down the street. His jaw works under tense muscle as he grips his phone so tight that his knuckles start to turn white, and all I can do is stare up at him in confusion.
Why does he look so mad?
“I f*cking knew you were lying to me.” He stops and faces me, giving me a look so lethal I shrink back slightly. “Sleeping in your car, Savannah? Really? Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”
Oh, shit. “It’s not what it looks—”
“Do not lie to me!”
I flinch as his shout splinters through the quiet night, echoing off the dark, empty buildings. It’s a cowardly response and I’m silently berating myself for showing fear, but I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t hurt me. Declan’s essentially a stranger and I honestly have no idea what he’s capable of. What I do know is that he’s twice my size and could overpower me like I’m nothing more than a pillow.
“Jesus.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. After composing himself, he gets down on his haunches so he’s closer to eye-level with me. “I’m sorry, Savannah.” He’s calmer, quieter. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
Some small, na?ve part of me wants to believe those beguiling green eyes looking at me so earnestly, but I know a beautiful face and hot body does not make you a good person. Pretty packaging can mask some of the worst kinds of ugly.
“Why should I believe you?” The words are quiet as they leave me, and I wish they had an edge of hardness or bitterness or something. Instead, they just sound small and helpless.
Quiet assessment from him as he stares me down, his eyes smoldering and intent, and I feel my icy exterior start to melt. How does a single look from him have this effect on me?
Before I can dwell on it, he stands and walks around to the back of my car, lifting the hatchback. I scramble out and stare at him incredulously as he pulls out my belongings. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting your stuff. You’re staying with me.” He says it without pausing, without even looking at me.
I make a surprised choking/laughing sound in the back of my throat and say, “No, I am most certainly not staying with you.” I’m fully grown and have been taking care of myself since I can remember. I don’t need Declan or his handouts.
Well, except for the job. I need the job.
He sets a laundry basket on the pavement and glances at me. “It’s either that or you make room for me in your car. Your choice.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. I think I’m struck stupid. “Why are you doing this?”
He glares at me. “Why am I refusing to leave an attractive girl alone in her car overnight? Gee, I don’t know. I must be some kind of a*shole.”
Anger flares in me, and I’m thankful for the familiar emotion. Declan’s got me all mixed up, and I don’t like it. “Point made, a*shole, but I’m not some stray cat you can just take in.”
A smile flirts with his lips as he nods to my pile of stuff. “Get your things, Kitten.”
My jaw clenches at his nickname. I don’t like it, not one little bit. “Don’t ‘Kitten’ me, you son of a—”
“This Kitten has some claws.” Declan smiles—a real, true smile that lights up his face and reveals a set of dimples I didn’t know he had. They’re perfect and cute, and they just piss me off even more.
“And this a*shole’s full of shit,” I shoot back, crossing my arms as I glare at him.
Declan matches my stance. “This a*shole is giving you a place to stay. So quit your bitching and follow me upstairs.” He stares down at me with a look that dares me to argue.
My mouth snaps shut and I blink. “I don’t need your help,” I say simply.
His face clouds over as he looks at the ground. “Everybody needs help now and then. There’s no shame in it.” He stacks two laundry baskets on top of each other, balancing them in one tattooed arm as he closes my trunk with the other.
“You’re really gonna make me stay with you?” I ask, disbelieving. “Even though I don’t want to.”
“Yep.”
I follow him across the street as he absconds with my things. “Some would consider that kidnapping, you know.”
When we reach the gym, he nods to a duffel bag on the ground. “Can you get that?”
I pick it up and he leads me up a flight of concrete stairs. At the door atop the stairs, he pauses.
“My keys are in my pocket. Mind digging ’em out for me?” He shifts the laundry baskets to expose the one closest to me.
“You want me to stick my hand in your pants and dig around near your crotch? Seriously?”
He barks out a laugh and tilts his hip toward me. “C’mon, it’s not gonna bite. I promise.”
My brow arches as I switch his bag to the other hand. “All right, but don’t come crying to me when your pissed-off hostage punches you in the balls.”
Tentatively, I slip my hand inside his pocket, hating the way my heart beats faster just from touching him. I try to tell myself it’s only because I’ve gone two months without sex and being this close to a guy is stirring up old, familiar feelings of lust, but I know that’s not true. It’s Declan who’s making me feel all light-headed and electric.
A soft laugh threads through the air between us, making the tiny awning seem even smaller. How can a laugh sound sexy? It shouldn’t even be possible.
“Kitten,” he says, his deep voice snaking around that damn word like a caress, making it easier to bear. Shit, I think he could read the phone book to me and I’d be riveted. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier,” he continues. “I seriously doubt you’d be anything but nice to my balls.”
I freeze, my hand stuck inside the pocket of his faded, slightly-too-tight jeans as my mouth flops open.
He did not just say that to me.
He’s smirking around the pile of crap in his arms, and as my face turns bright red, he winks at me.
I have the sudden urge to punch his boys just to spite him. “You may be pretty, but you’re kind of an ass.” I give him an acidic smile as my fingers touch the cold metal lump of his keys.
“That’s what they all say.” His dimples are in full force as he grins at me. It’s like he honest to God likes this back and forth between us.
I don’t know what to make of that or how to react, so I ignore it and pull out his keys. “Which one is it?” I ask, sifting through the knot of tangled metal.
“The black one.”
I easily spot the black key, briefly studying the painted-on and punk-looking white skull and crossbones at the top before lifting it up to the deadbolt. With a flick of my wrist, the door’s open and we’re inside.
The light from the hallway filters into the dark living room. It’s just enough to see the giant flat screen hanging on the wall and the big, dark sectional opposite it. His floorplan is open-concept, and the living room seamlessly blends into the kitchen to my left. It’s all stainless steel appliances and gleaming countertops.
I bet it’s granite. Formica doesn’t reflect light like that.
This posh, obviously recently remodeled apartment is not at all what I was expecting from the beautiful, tattooed ass-hat/potential serial killer.
Declan carries my things down the hallway, and into the dark room on the left. Setting his bag on the couch, I hang back, craning my neck to see where he went. I’m so not about to go into a dark room with a six-foot-three stranger, who looks like he can bench press five of me. I don’t care how pretty he is or what dirty things my vagina keeps whispering to me. Some things—like getting made into a lampshade—just aren’t worth it.
Light floods the room as he flips the switch. “You can stay in my room.”
I pop my head in, seeing him strip the king-sized mattress. He’s set my stuff off to the side of the room, and I edge my way over to it, keeping my back to the wall. Bending down, I sneak my hand in my purse, discreetly trying to pull out my can of mace, just in case.
He bunches up the sheets and tosses them into the hamper, then opens his closet door and disappears. After a second he returns with a new, folded-up set. “You can retract your claws, Kitten. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
My back straightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Save it,” he says, spreading out the fitted sheet. “I saw that can of mace in your purse, and I saw you grab it.” He pulls the fabric over the corner and looks up at me. “You’re not as stealthy as you think. Now get over here and do those corners.”
Begrudgingly, I set the mace on the nightstand and pull my corners over the mattress. “I could be a murderer, you know.”
Those dimples flash again. “I think I can handle myself against the likes of you.”
Hell, he can probably handle himself against a grizzly. “Well, I could steal from you. You could wake up in the morning and find all your shit gone.”
He does this cute little half-frown, half-smile and says, “Don’t?”
I bite my lip, trying to quell the smile tugging on the corners, and fail. “Well, okay. But only because you asked so nicely. Otherwise, I would’ve cleaned you out.”
Grinning, he shakes his head. “You’re too much. What am I gonna do with a little firecracker like you?”
Warmth creeps into my cheeks as I look down at the sheet. I don’t know how to respond to a line like that. It does funny things to my stomach and makes my knees wobbly. I’m used to guys with less finesse, who call me “baby” and promise the world to me. We both know those promises are about as deep as my shot glass, but those extravagant and empty ones are the ones I can handle, because I know they’re harmless. This line from Declan is like a promise of something to come, and I have no doubt he’ll deliver.
I trace my finger along the sheet’s honeycomb pattern. The varying shades of gray match the black leather headboard nicely. “You don’t have to give me your bed,” I murmur. “I’d be just fine on your couch.”
The flat sheet billows as Declan flings it out, spreading it over the bed. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch. I’m not a total ass.” His eyes briefly meet mine before he grabs the folded-up gray blanket from the bench at the foot of the bed.
It’s one of those plush, super-soft microfiber blankets, and I’m barely able to contain my glee as he spreads it out. I bite my lip, looking at the giant bed and blanket longingly when a pang of guilt hits me for displacing Declan from his own bed. “You really don’t have to do this. The couch is fine, honestly.”
“I’m your boss and you have to do what I say, and I say you’re sleeping in here. So get over it.”
My mouth twitches into a smile, matching the one he’s wearing. Where did the moody and brooding guy from earlier go? “Thanks. . . It’ll be nice to spread out in an actual bed.”
His easy-going smile fades until he’s glowering at me from across the bed. “I still can’t believe you were sleeping in your car. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Not to mention reckless and stupid.”
Indignation swirls in me like a tornado, picking up hurt and embarrassment along the way until they’re all crashing around inside me with no place to go. So I let them out.
“It must be nice never having to worry about finding a safe place to sleep at night, where the chances of getting raped or murdered aren’t gone, but just a little less likely. And it must be nice never having to decide between eating and doing laundry, because you can’t afford both.”
Declan blanches, but I keep going, practically hissing my venom-laced words at him. “The things you take for granted are the things I would kill for, so don’t you dare stand there and judge me when you don’t know the first thing about me or the choices I’ve had to make.”
He looks sick. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Savannah . . . I’m so sorry.”
And there it is—pity. God, I hate that look. Declan can take his pity and shove it up his ass. I don’t need it and I don’t want it.
I’ve survived just fine without it, f*ck you very much.
My angry words linger in the space between us as the seconds pass. His silence only makes them more pronounced.
I wrap my arms around myself, because I need the physical barrier. I know I’ve said too much and I suddenly wish I could take it back. Emotional outbursts like that are not commonplace for me. I’m so good at keeping everything contained and suppressed, and I have no clue what the hell that was or where it came from.
“Don’t.” I look away from him as my jaw clenches and embarrassing, unwelcome tears prick my eyes. I hate that my body’s natural inclination is to cry when I get really mad. Why doesn’t it know that crying solves nothing? “Don’t look at me like I’m some broken little thing that needs fixing. I hate that look.”
When I steal a glance his way, I see his jaw tensing so hard it looks like stone. Before I know what’s happening, he grabs one of my laundry baskets and stalks out of the room.
Shit, I’ve really done it now. He’s kicking me out.
I run after him and call his name, but he ignores me. I can’t blame him for doing it—I’m a straight-up bitch sometimes—but it’s not like I enjoy being mean.
It’s just a coping mechanism.
People don’t want to get close to you if you’re mean, and if people don’t get close to you, then they can’t hurt you. And really, it’s not like I’m worth knowing. Emotionally speaking, I have nothing to offer anyone. I’m all tapped out.
My brows furrow when Declan hangs a right towards the kitchen instead of back out the front door. There’s a utility room adjacent to the kitchen and he starts throwing my clean clothes inside the washing machine.
He’s . . . washing my clothes? Why?
I try to take out what he’s put in, but it gets lost in the continual avalanche he keeps shoving inside the big metal drum. “What are you doing?” He sees me fighting him. Why won’t he just stop?
“I’m doing your laundry, what does it look like?” His words have bite that I don’t appreciate. I didn’t ask him to do my laundry. I didn’t ask him for any of this.
“Will you stop?” The clothes are a lost cause so I go to the source, grabbing his huge arms as I try to stop him. “Declan!”
He finally stops and faces me. His dark brows are drawn tight and his jaw is a solid stretch of muscle as he stares down at me with a look so intense, the air in my lungs just up and evaporates. What I’d mistaken for some kind of misplaced anger is actually . . . anguish.
But why?
I suddenly don’t know what to say anymore. I’m confused and stunned. “Why are you doing my laundry?” The words are almost inaudible as Declan’s glare pins me in place.
His jaw slowly unclenches. “Because I want to help you.”
There’s more to it than that. I saw it in the flicker of his eyes just now.
“I appreciate it, but—”
“Just let me do this for you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his voice that I don’t understand, but instead of dwelling on it, I let it go, because there’s a very good reason why he doesn’t need to do this for me. And for once, it has nothing to do with my pride.
I swallow, afraid to admit my transgression. “Those clothes are already clean. I snuck them into the gym today and washed them.” Chewing on my thumbnail, I glance up at him and then lower my eyes to the thin white cotton stretched across his chest. I’m too ashamed to maintain eye contact. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Using company property for personal use is a fireable offense at almost any job, and if he fires me, then so be it. I’m guilty, after all.
“Hey.” His voice is soft as his rough fingers slip under my chin and gently tip my head back, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t care. You can use those machines anytime you want.”
This sweetness coming from a man who looks so sour is disconcerting. I don’t know what to make of him or how to respond.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
He frowns as he lowers his hand away from my chin. “I’m just doing what anyone in my shoes would do.”
Something close to a scoff bubbles out of me before I can stop it, and I immediately feel like an ungrateful twat. I am thankful for all that Declan’s doing, but he’s putting too much faith in humanity. Anyone else in his shoes would have turned a blind eye.
“Don’t ever feel like you need to hide something like that from me, okay? If you need to do something, do it.”
I give him a stiff nod, still steadfastly avoiding his gaze as he adds, “Unless you’re stealing from me. Then by all means hide it, because I don’t want to know.”
Almost instantly, my awkwardness melts away, and I can’t help the smile curling my lips. Banter, I can do. Intense stares and actually saying what’s on my mind? Not so much.
My smile only grows when I glance up and see him grinning wide with those cute little divots on each side of his mouth. Those dimples are going to get me in trouble, I just know it.
“Deal.” I point to the black lace still clutched in Declan’s hand. “Now can I have my panties back?”
“What?” His eyes go wide as they dart down to the crushed fabric. “Jesus.” He tosses them to me like they’ve burned him.
I’m laughing so hard it hurts. My side cramps as tears blur my vision. He’s nervously wiping his hands along his jeans, looking anywhere but at the underwear I’m holding to my chest. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed this hard.
Maybe never. . .
Declan scratches the back of his neck and eases past me. “I’m, uh, gonna make us something to eat. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need to use it.”
My laughter dies as I swipe my thumb along my lower lash line and cross my arms, reestablishing that barrier between us. Sometimes I need that wall like I need the air in my lungs. It’s comforting and familiar. Some kids had security blankets or a favorite stuffed animal. I hid behind a mask of indifference.
“I’m not hungry.” I’m starving, actually, but I don’t want him to do anything else for me. I’m not a charity case and he’s already gone above and beyond. We have to draw boundaries somewhere, and him feeding me sounds like a pretty good one.
Declan’s brows pucker as his face hardens. “I don’t care. You’re too skinny. You’re gonna eat.”
My eyes widen in anger. I open my mouth, about to tell him to shove it, when he holds up his hand and winces, like he knows what barrage of insults await him. “Just do it for my sake, okay? I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I think you’re hungry. Let me see you eat something, and then I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”
I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I think you’re hungry.
His words echo through my head and I stand there, wondering why he even cares, when I belatedly realize my confused look could be misconstrued as a glare.
“Please,” he says.
There it is again—that tortured, anguished expression. It tugs at something inside my chest, buried deep and long-forgotten, and I find myself nodding a “yes” to him as I close my mouth and tighten my arms around me.
He turns to leave and a second later, I hear the flick of a switch as the kitchen is inundated with light.
I stare at the haphazard pile of my clean clothes, littering the floor and hanging out of the dark gray machine. With so many knobs and a big digital screen, it looks more like a time travel device than any washing machine I’ve ever seen.
Sighing, I start stuffing my clothes back into the laundry basket. Just as I finish, Declan calls out, “It’s ready.”
Leaving the basket on the floor, I make my way to the dining alcove off the kitchen. Declan’s already seated at the small round table, his elbows resting on the dark, glossy wood as he takes a bite out of his massive sandwich. I glance to the empty chair across from him and the plate before it, piled high with turkey, lettuce, and tomato. My feet freeze.
That can’t be for me. That sandwich is the size of my head.
Declan’s eyes land on me as I pull out my chair. “I didn’t know if you liked mayo, but—” he shrugs “—I figured you could use the calories.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to let on how much that stings. “Sorry my body’s not to your liking.” I’m not blind—I know I’ve lost a good fifteen pounds in the last two months, what with not being able to afford luxuries like food and all. But coming from Declan? Gorgeous, “he’s so perfect I don’t know how he’s not photoshopped” Declan?
Well, his insinuation that I’m somehow not good enough hurts. The last thing you want someone you find attractive to point out is that you’re, well, not.
He’s probably used to girls like Stripperella, with tan, tight curves and tits so big their cups runneth over. I’ve got the chest of a fourteen-year-old boy compared to girls like that.
Declan takes another bite of his sandwich, his gaze level with mine as he chews, then swallows. “I never said I didn’t like it, I said there needs to be more of it.”
Warmth bursts across my face as I drop my eyes to the untouched sandwich before me. God, I’m acting like a stupid ostrich. Just because I can’t see him doesn’t mean he can’t see me and the blush coloring my cheeks.
I pick up my sandwich, frowning as it starts to fall apart. “This isn’t a sandwich, it’s a buffet.”
Somehow, I manage to take a few bites without everything falling out the other end. I can feel Declan watching me the whole time. I don’t like being watched while I eat, especially by someone super-hot. He’s making me horribly self-conscious, and I can’t even bring myself to look at him.
Incidentally, the sandwich is really good. So good, that I’m trying not to let my eyes roll back and moan in a way that wouldn’t be appropriate outside a sexual act. I think this might just be the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had, but that could very well be because I haven’t eaten anything all day.
I finish half of it and set the rest down. Swallowing my current bite, I grab the tall glass of milk next to my plate. I take a sip, looking off to the living room as Declan’s eyes bore into me.
“My culinary skills are pretty limited, so. . .”
Setting the glass down, I lick my lips, hyperaware of any stray crumbs lingering on my mouth. “No, it’s good,” I say, forcing a smile.
He frowns at my uneaten half. “Then why aren’t you eating?”
Because you won’t stop staring at me, and I’m afraid I’m gonna smear food all over my face like some incompetent fool.
“I’m full.” I push the plate away, although I could probably polish it off if I didn’t have an audience. 
Declan pushes it back. “I don’t care. Eat.”
Nothing brings out my ornery side faster than a bossy attitude, and his demand just sent me into bitch mode. “Not if you’re just gonna sit there and watch me like some kind of weirdo.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What if I sit here and talk?”
“It’s not like I can stop you.” As evidenced by the evening’s turn of events. . .
I pick up the rest of my sandwich and take a careful bite, giving him a “well?” look.
“How’d you wind up sleeping in your car? Did your boyfriend kick you out or something?”
Of course he’d ask me that. Stifling a sigh, because I’m not going to talk about it, I lift the glass of milk to my lips and take a long sip before I set it back down. My movements are slow, lingering, and slightly sexual. “Is that your way of asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
“No. If I wanted to ask you that, I’d come right out with it and ask you.” His eyes roam down to the bit of skin exposed by my tank top before they flick back up to me. A smile plays with the edges of his mouth, but it never fully forms. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “No. I don’t do relationships.”
Declan grabs his beer, preparing to take a sip. “You know, most girls who say they’re not looking for a relationship actually are.”
I shrug, smiling coyly. “I’m not most girls.” That was quick, even for me. He forgot all about asking me how I ended up in my car after only a few suggestive moves.
He takes a sip and asks, “So why don’t you do relationships?”
My brow lifts as I stare at him. “Are you telling me you do?” No. No freaking way does this beautiful, tattooed god prefer monogamy over an endless stream of women who would jump at the chance to jump him.
“Why does that sound so preposterous?” he asks, frowning.
I blink as my eyes widen marginally. Apparently he’s going to make me spell it out for him. “Well . . . look at you,” I say, gesturing to the sleeves of ink sticking out from the sleeves of his plain white tee. “You don’t really look like the relationship type.”
“What type do I look like?”
The reckless type who specializes in amazing sex.
I shrug, instinctively licking my lips as I look him over. “Short-lived fun.”
He leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. His shoulders lift in a lazy shrug as he gives me a cocky smile. “Well, you’re not exactly wrong. I don’t do relationships either, only casual hookups.”
My lips press into a thin line, trying to suppress my smile. I knew it. I freaking knew it. “You’re giving me shit when I was right? You ass,” I say, playfully kicking him under the table.
He laughs, deep and throaty, as his head tilts back. I kind of like the sound. When he looks back at me, his green eyes are alight with warmth. “So tell me, Kitten, why don’t you do relationships?”
My eyes narrow on him as I pick up my sandwich and take another bite. I shouldn’t like that nickname at all, but it’s kind of growing on me. After I chew and swallow, I say, “Why don’t you?”
His lips twitch in amusement. “I asked you first.”
My eyes roll at the immature response, but this conversation’s turning out more entertaining than I thought, so I throw him a bone. “Because it’s a waste of time and perfectly good mascara. I say, save yourself the heartache and the drama. Buy a vibrator instead.”
Declan’s chair tips forward as his elbows lean on the table, his face growing animated. “Wait—do you have a vibrator? Can I see it?”
I nearly choke as laughter erupts out of me. “No! And hell no.” I’d never show it to him. I’d rather die first.
My face heats under his gleeful gaze. I should’ve known he’d take this whole vibrator thing and run with it.
“Just answer one question for me. How big is it?”
My jaw practically hits the floor and I swear my face is about to burst into flames. But his cocky grin has me pressing my lips back together, trying to keep from smiling as I say, “Bigger than whatever you’re packing, I’m sure.”
Laughter bellows out of Declan as he claps and throws his head back. “By all means, Kitten, look under the table and compare them for yourself.” He bites his lip and shifts in his seat, tugging on his jeans under the table.
Oh my god, he’s hard.
I blink and drop my eyes, picking up the rest of my sandwich just so I’ll have something to do, because I’m seriously tempted to have a little look-see.
“That can’t be very . . . fulfilling,” he continues. “No pun intended.”
I roll my eyes as I eat. No pun intended my ass.
He shrugs. “There are lots of things a man can do that a vibrator can’t.”
Flashing him a cynical smile, I pop the last little bit of sandwich into my mouth. “Maybe,” I say around it, then swallow. “But a vibrator can’t break your heart.”
Declan watches me as I grab my glass of milk and finish it off. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna go through life celibate?”
“I never said I was celibate, I said I don’t do relationships. Sex and monogamy aren’t mutually exclusive.” The glass clinks on the tabletop as I set it down and grin lasciviously. He doesn’t need to know that I’m celibate for now. A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone.
His brows pinch. “I think I love you.” Chuckling, he says, “Seriously, where have you been all my life?”
Despite the smile toying with my lips, I roll my eyes. “Love’s a myth. It’s just a bunch a chemicals wreaking havoc on your brain.”
Grinning, Declan bites his lip and slaps the table. “That’s where you’re wrong. Love is real, I’ve seen it.”
My brows lift at his passionate response. “Oh, really?”
He nods. “My pops was married to my nana for forty-one years before she passed, and up until the day she died, he looked at her like . . . I don’t know. Like she was Christmas morning.”
My snark dies at his faraway expression. He’s clearly recalling a life and family filled with love that I can’t even begin to understand. In my experience, love doesn’t exist outside of movies or books.
Without thinking, I say, “I take it your dad never looked at your mom like that?” and immediately wish I could take it back. It’s kind of a rude question, and it’s none of my business.
Declan’s lips turn down as he’s thrust from whatever pleasant memory he was just reliving. “Nah. He usually reserved those looks for something special, like a bottle of Jim, Jack, or Jose.”
“Oh,” I say, aiming for indifference. So his dad has a drinking problem. Or had. I’m not sure, and I’m not about to ask.
Asking people questions about their past makes them think they can ask you about yours, and they can’t, not with me. Well, they can, but I won’t answer them.
His head tilts to the side as he crosses his arms. “You never did answer my question, you know. About how you wound up sleeping in your car. You got me sidetracked with your talk of sex and vibrators.”
“Um, you got you sidetracked with the vibrator talk.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s studying me. “You’re doing it again.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah, I am.”
Damn. Declan’s more perceptive than I thought.
He stares me down for several seconds, his eyes searching mine, but he doesn’t seem mad or annoyed. He seems . . . intrigued. “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”
Declan’s definitely astute, I’ll give him that much. I shake my head, pressing my lips together in a rueful smile. “Not tonight. That’s too personal.”
His brows lift. “And talking about sex isn’t?”
I shake my head again. “Sex isn’t personal.”
A crooked smile touches his mouth. “Then you’re doing it wrong.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at his cheesy line. Instead, I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward, giving him a good peek at my small but visible cleavage. “And I’m sure you’d like to show me how to do it right, wouldn’t you?”
His eyes flicker, like he’s trying not to look at my tits. At my mocking smile, he says, “And on that note, I think I’m gonna go to bed before I do something stupid.”
Pressing his palms on the table, he stands, and the outline of his erection through his jeans is impossible to miss. My eyes widen at what is undoubtedly bigger than my vibrator, and he smiles down at me, like he’s thinking the same thing.