Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
D eclan
“Dad, can I buy Daughtry’s album?”
I look up at Alex from where I’m buttering toast. Or, over-buttering the toast. No solitary slice of bread really needs a full quarter cup of softened butter. “What are you talking about?” I scrape half the butter onto an empty plate.
Today, Alex has on neon pink eyeshadow and some sort of sparkly lip balm that smells like fake strawberries. “Daughtry’s album. I want to listen to it. Please?” He holds out my phone with her album already pulled up on the screen.
Daughtry looks fucking hot on that album cover, which does absolutely nothing to help my sleep deprived state. She wears a thin purple tank top that slings low over the curves of her breasts. Her hair is ashy blond on the cover, in long, sexy waves, and her eyes are painted with liner in the shape of feathers. She doesn’t show her ass on the cover, but the memory of it last night is enough to get me hard again. Her ass is perfection, a Venn diagram of all the things I find attractive.
Call me good girl.
She looks like a sexy rock angel, and there is no way I’m going to be productive if I have to look at that photo any longer.
Adjusting myself as discreetly as possible, I hit the purchase button and hand my device back to Alex. “She needs a sweater for that cover.”
“You are so old.” Alex fits his headphones over his ears and takes his toast and copy of The Misfits to the kitchen table.
Right. Old. I’m too old for Daughtry, or at least too old for her one-time-only policy. Is that a normal thing? I am not the person to ask, and there is zero chance I’ll talk to Ciaran about it. Besides, four years seems like a much smaller age gap in our thirties than when she was eighteen and I was twenty-two.
Of course, this is the same refrain that prevented me from getting more than one hour of tortured sleep the night before.
I pour myself a third cup of strong coffee and do ten jumping jacks. Perfect. Now I’m tired, horny, and out of breath.
“Hi, hon.” My mom walks into the room looking bright and chipper as a chipmunk on speed. She kisses my cheek then bypasses me for the coffee machine. “Sleep well?”
“Sure thing.” Lies. I took a shower after I got home, during which I tortured myself with thoughts of showering with naked Daughtry, then woke up at midnight with my cock aching. Then at four with the same issue. I’ve never masturbated three times in one night.
One time only. Really ?
The second I kissed her, it felt like this beautiful symphony of inevitability. Like my whole life had spiraled hers until it dropped us together in that one moment. When I was deep inside her, feeling her fall apart around me, all I could think was how I wished that fucking Daughtry Sutcliffe was an Olympic sport. I’d quit my job and focus solely on practicing.
Sex with Josie had always been fun, but never like that. I definitely never said half the shit that had fallen out of my mouth with Daughtry. I don’t even know where any of that came from.
But it was our one time.
My mom waves her hand in front of my face and I jump back to the present. “Earth to Declan. You okay?”
I snap to attention. “Yeah. All set for the day. The wine and stuff is in the truck already.”
Alex lifts his headphones from his ears and stares directly at me. “Don’t forget you promised that Daughtry could introduce me to the Vendetta today.”
Shit. I completely forgot. “I don’t know if she remembers.” Keeping my distance from her is the one thought I have to prevent me from making an ass of myself and tracking her down.
“She will,” Alex says simply, then puts his headphones back on and devours half his toast in one bite.
Mom sips her coffee. “Call me if you need help. I’ll be over around four to take over the tent so you can enjoy yourself.”
“Great. What’s Ciaran up to?” I can see his SUV in the driveway, parked at an angle beside mine. It’s going to be hell getting in the driver’s side of my truck. I mentally bang the door against his SUV a few times, and a small feeling of satisfaction settles over me.
She shrugs. “He came in late last night. I haven’t seen him yet today, but I think he said something about the medical tent.”
“Far be it for him to inform us of his plans. Is he ever going back to his own house?”
Mom shrugs. “I’ll never kick either of my children out of this house. You moved home when you and Josie split to help me and your dad out, and I appreciate it. But we still want all of you to live your own lives. Maybe you should look at moving out, spreading your wings at some point.”
An alarm pings on my phone. “We’re late. Alex, let’s go.”
The next three minutes are a flurry of running to the bathroom, complaints he cannot find his shoes despite them being right there under his backpack , and me sloshing coffee all over myself.
Wonderful. There is no way I’m showing up at the festival with coffee stains all down my shirt.
I run to the laundry room. I remove my dirty Foster Family Vineyard polo and dump it in the hamper, then grab a fresh one from the stack.
Running back into the front hall, I slide the polo over my forearms and then freeze in my tracks.
Daughtry stands in the open front door beside my mom. Today she has on a rockabilly-style dress with large pink polka dots, black mesh gloves like a Madonna tribute, and gray chunky-heeled sandals with tarnished bronze buckles on them. Her pink hair is up in a messy bun, free tendrils escaping around her face. Her amused hazel eyes flick down my shirtless torso, a hint of a smile playing around her mouth.
And like the douchiest of douches, all I can think of is flipping up that skirt and calling her good girl again.
“Hon,” my mom says, her expression all innocence. “Put a darn shirt on. Did I forget to mention that I volunteered you to drive Daughtry into town? We need good reviews, since she’s our first guest, so you know we need to go the extra mile.” She chuckles and elbows Daughtry, who smiles in a good-natured way. “Hah. Literally.”
My hands are handcuffed by my polo shirt, or I might have strangled my beloved mother. “Sure. Town. No problem.”