19. Hayden
19
HAYDEN
I felt the smile stretch my face as the shock faded into happiness. A week ago, I would have laughed in their face if someone said I would be married and actually kind of happy about it. Not that we knew for sure we were really and truly married.
The gold band circling my ring finger grabbed my attention. My thumb ghosted over it. The weight of it scared the crap out of me, but it also gave me hope, the likes of which I’d not had since before she walked away from me.
Declan was right when he said this would end. We were too fucking similar, but standing here, staring at the ring I didn’t remember him putting on my finger, I decided to enjoy it while I could. I’d deal with the fallout when he wizened up and walked away.
I pulled clothes from my duffel and changed before he came out of the closet. I hadn’t brought much with me, and neither had the guys. Living on a ship at sea taught you to prioritize and pack small. Declan had brought an actual suitcase, but it wasn’t ginormous or anything. Just more than I would have brought for a Friday to Sunday trip.
When he came out of the bathroom, I nearly swallowed my tongue. He looked fucking delicious. He always did. GQ hot the night I picked him up, then the cowboy showed up to play last night, and today, he was something else entirely, and it pushed all my buttons.
His long legs were bare, his feet in deck shoes. Black shorts hit him mid-thigh. They were snug without being indecent. His untucked white linen shirt, open at the neck, revealed his chest hair and his sunglasses perched atop his head.
He was a chameleon, at home in whatever he wore. Confidence oozed from him, but instead of making him a brash, arrogant bastard, he was humble and down to earth with an easy way about him that drew people in—including my friends. There’d been very few moments where he and I weren’t attached at the hip, but when it had happened, my buddies each pulled me aside and commented on what a great guy Declan was.
“Damn, Papi. Let’s get out of here and find some food before I toss your ass back in bed.”
I reached forward, taking his hand in mine, and pulled him from the room.
* * *
We found a diner and stuffed ourselves until we groaned. Instead of heading back to the hotel pool as planned, we hit the strip, taking in the sights. Every step of the way, Declan was right next to me, his hand in mine, either leading or following. I would’ve thought it would be annoying. It had been with her . I’d figured it was that voice in the back of my head telling me we were all wrong for each other, but then it had been the same with Lucia, who I adored, who got on my nerves after a while. But not Declan. There was never a moment when I thought, ‘God, just let me go.’ Instead, when we let each other’s hands drop, I felt the absence in my soul.
Jesus, that thought alone should make me gag.
But it didn’t.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
On the way back to the pool, I kept looking at him, then at our entwined hands, and back at him, trying to figure out what was different. The questions that ran through my head drove me bonkers.
Was it me?
Was it him?
Was it that I was ready now when I hadn’t been with Lucia?
Was it because he was a guy?
Was it the sex?
Or maybe it was this new dynamic that he unlocked?
When we settled into the lounge chairs next to the pool, the guys took off looking for snacks and drinks, or in Priest’s case, sex. At least that’s what he said when he told us he’d see us later back in the room.
“Now that we’re alone, how are you doing, Papi?”
My head rolled against the seat back so I could look at him. The dark aviator sunglasses shrouded his eyes, leaving me with an intense longing. His eyes were so expressive, but with them covered, I was at a loss. I sucked my lips into my mouth, licking them before rubbing them together while trying to come up with a decent response.
“Don’t hold back. Don’t choose your words. Just throw it out there.”
Mad respect for him came over me, and I smiled. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“Me or us?”
“Both.”
“Same, Papi.”
“Do you want to get a quickie divorce to go along with our quickie marriage so we have a matched set?”
“Do you?”
“No. I told you, I think this is the only way I’ll ever take this chance. Now that it’s happened, I’d like to see where it goes.”
“And if it takes a turn?”
“Then we agree to part ways without drama or fanfare.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“I think anything is possible if we both work toward the same goal.”
“And the weird Daddy/boy shit we’ve got lurking in the background?”
“You complaining?”
A long, slow, deep breath got sucked in and held before he let it out in a huff.
“Yes and no.”
“Well, that’s a noncommittal committal.”
“Oooh! Do you like Madam Secretary too?”
“What’s not to like? There’s drama, politics, love, intrigue, spy shit. Plus, Téa Leoni is smoking, and Tim Daly isn’t so bad either. For an older guy.”
His eyes narrowed, and he said, “Cut it with the old guy crap, youngen.”
I smirked as I dropped my sunglasses on my nose and laid my head back against the lounge chair. If this was what a relationship with Declan Holt would be like, I could get on board with it. He was seemingly a good, honest man who was also smart, funny, and hella sexy. The sex was outta this world incredible. He was submissive enough that my control freak didn’t wig out and dominant enough to keep things interesting.
Glancing over at him, at my husband, my ass twinged.
And… he had a fucking spectacular cock.
Yeah. I could get used to having a husband if it was Declan Holt.