Chapter 12
12
Declan
I ’m trying not to focus on the pain in my ankle, but it’s impossible to ignore. Every shift of my weight sends a dull ache up my leg, and even sitting perfectly still, it throbs, reminding me that this isn’t just a nice moment between two growing acquaintances. Today has been bizarre at best and slightly traumatizing at worst.
Still, I’m doing my best to play it cool. Jade’s been more than generous, and the last thing I want is for her to think is that she’s not doing enough to make me comfortable. She’s already done far too much today to put me at ease. So, I suck it up and try to focus on the game in front of us. She’s surprisingly competent for someone who claimed to be terrible at cards, and even though I’m losing, I can’t help but enjoy the back-and-forth banter.
“Another loss,” she says with a grin, laying down her final card. “You sure you’re not letting me win?”
I snort, leaning back in my chair, but immediately regretting the movement.
“Not a chance,” I tease, though she honestly is beating me fair and square. “You must just be very lucky.”
“Lucky, huh?” She raises an eyebrow, shuffling the cards with practiced ease. “I wouldn’t call anything about this situation lucky.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Touché,” I agree, looking over my cards at her. “But it could be worse. You could be stuck here with someone who’s much better than you at cards.”
Her laugh is soft, almost musical, and it does something to me. Something I don’t want to think too hard about. Already my interactions with her have made me feel disloyal to Cassidy, and that almost hurts worse than my injured ankle. Instead, I shift in my chair, biting back a wince as my ankle protests the movement.
Jade notices.
Her sharp eyes flick to my leg, then back to my face, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re still in pain,” she says, not quite a question.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, waving it off. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
She doesn’t look convinced. Instead, she sets the deck of cards aside and gets up, heading toward the kitchen.
“Wait here,” she says over her shoulder.
“I won’t move an inch,” I mutter, leaning back against the chair. I hear her rummaging through a cabinet, the clinking of glass and the sound of something being uncorked. A moment later, she’s back, holding a bottle of amber liquid and two mismatched shot glasses.
“Figured this might help,” she says, setting the glasses on the table. “I don’t have painkillers, but whiskey works just as well.”
I raise an eyebrow, watching as she pours a generous amount into each glass.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” she says with a smirk, sliding one of the glasses toward me.
I take it and lift it in a mock toast.
“What should we toast to?” I ask her genuinely, trying to come up with my own option. “Not freezing to death?”
“To surviving this godforsaken storm,” she counters, clinking her glass against mine.
We toss back the shots, the whiskey burning a fiery path down my throat. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything stronger than beer, and it hits harder than I expected, warming me from the inside out. Jade doesn’t even flinch, setting her glass down with a satisfied sigh.
“Not bad,” I say, setting my own glass down on the table.
She grins, already reaching for the bottle.
“Another?” she asks, holding the bottle out toward me.
I probably shouldn’t. The first shot is already making the corners of my brain feel hazy and I don’t think this situation needs less inhibition. But it is also helping the pain, and it’s the first time in several hours that I’m not thinking of the incessant throbbing in my ankle. I pick up my glass and hold it out to her.
“Why not?” I say, watching as she pours. The pain hasn’t disappeared, but it’s dulling slightly, and the warmth spreading through my chest is a welcome distraction.
We keep playing cards, taking shots in between rounds, and before I know it, the tension I’ve been carrying all day starts to melt away. Jade’s sharp edges soften too, her laughter coming more easily, her smile lingering longer. It’s strange, this easy camaraderie we’ve fallen into. It almost feels like a date, though a very unconventional one. Strangest of all, I don’t mind it anymore. The whiskey has also dulled my guilt.
She stands, heading toward the stove to check on a pot of something she’d started a few minutes ago.
“I hope you like canned chili,” she says, glancing back at me. “I’d prefer homemade, but circumstances being what they are, this is the best I can offer.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, and I mean it. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to go out of her way to please me.
She brings the bowls to the table, and we eat while continuing the game, the combination of food and whiskey making the cabin feel even cozier. The wind howls outside, the snow piling higher by the second, but in here, it’s warm and bright.
As the night goes on, the line between casual and flirtatious starts to blur. The whiskey certainly isn’t helping things, but it’s more than just that. Every now and then I catch her watching me with her big, dark eyes, a look of interest and curiosity and every time our eyes meet, I feel a spark between us.
I laugh more than I have in years. I have to admit that this is so nice. I’ve been so isolated since I first moved here. I was so lost in my grief, I couldn’t even imagine that one day I might be sitting across the table from a beautiful woman and enjoying myself. It’s like a part of me is coming alive again, and I don’t feel the need to condemn it back to death the way I normally would.
At some point, she shrugs off her hoodie, leaving her in a thin t-shirt that clings to her in ways I’m desperately trying not to ogle at. The firelight casts a warm glow across her skin, and I can see the faint outline of her silhouette through the fabric. My mouth goes dry, and I quickly look away, trying and miserably failing to focus on my hand of cards.
The alcohol and the rising lust have made me forget what we’re even playing. The numbers on the cards swim in front of me, blurring together as I try desperately to concentrate. I know it’s my turn, that I need to put a card down or pick a card up, but I feel like I can barely breathe.
“You okay over there?” she asks, her tone innocent but her smile anything but.
“Fine,” I say, though my voice comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat, forcing myself to meet her gaze.
She sets the glass down. “I think I’m out,” she says, glancing at the empty bottle.
“Take mine,” I offer, sliding my glass toward her.
She hesitates for a moment, then takes it, her fingers brushing against mine briefly as she lifts it. Instead of drinking from it right away, she leans forward slightly, her eyes meeting mine.
“You sure?” she asks hesitantly, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice feeling strained and tight. “I’m sure.”
She takes it and throws it back, her gaze never leaving mine, and I swear the air in the room shifts. The space between us feels smaller somehow, the warmth from the fire wrapping around us like a cocoon. She sets the glass down, her fingers lingering on the rim, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then, without thinking, I lean forward, closing the distance between us.
The kiss is slow at first, tentative, like we’re both testing the waters. Her lips are soft and warm, and the faint taste of whiskey lingers on them. I feel her hesitate for half a second, and then she’s kissing me back, her hand sliding up to rest lightly against my chest.
It’s been years since I’ve let myself get this close to anyone, and the intensity of it takes me by surprise. There’s a hunger in the way she kisses me, a desperation that mirrors my own, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. The storm, the pain in my ankle, the weight of the past. It all fades into the background, leaving only her.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless, our foreheads almost touching. Her eyes search mine, and for the first time all night, she looks unsure of herself.
“Declan,” she gasps, nearly a moan, sending sensuous vibrations straight to my dick.
“Stop me if you don’t want this,” I breathe huskily.
Her hand starts a lazy trail up my chest, ghosting over my neck, tangling through my hair. Our breath becomes one as I pull her closer to me, until she’s nearly in my lap. I don’t notice any pain, any guilt, or anything at all that isn’t her skin pressed against mine. My hands move to the space on her waist where her t-shirt has ridden up. I stroke the warm skin there, causing her to hiss in pleasure.
I slide her shirt up her stomach, pulling away slightly to ask her silent permission. She nods, reaching her own hands down to pull it off completely, throwing it down somewhere on the floor.
Her chest is as flushed as her face, her breasts heaving in just her thin sports bra, and I can see the evidence of her desire peeking out through the thin fabric.
“Maybe we should move this to somewhere more comfortable,” I whisper, kissing her chastely as she nods her agreement.