Chapter 18 #2
“I was studying societies. How they function. People’s roles.
And everything we did—everything we did on the show made me believe we were better than everyone else.
Except that didn’t fit with my studies. There was no class of society that was supposed to be the class that got away with anything they wanted.
Not even for the entertainment of the others. ”
My teeth are chattering and my heart is pounding, eyes squeezed shut against the world. “I don’t want to get arrested again,” I whisper. “I don’t want to put my needs above someone else’s if this was a mistake.”
“You trust Mabel?”
“With my life.”
“We’ll take it to her. Tell her what we found. Let her decide what to do.”
A roll of thunder rattles the windows, and rain erupts against the roof.
I shiver harder.
Declan holds me tight.
“I should be on camera,” I whisper. “I should be on camera with all of you. It would be—it would be good for—for—”
I stop, unable to force myself to say the words.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he growls.
“But—”
“No. You’re not doing that to yourself.”
A knot deep inside my gut unfurls, and I gasp in a full, deep breath of relief while more thunder echoes outside.
Alex used to tell me they were just cameras.
That I didn’t have to give my power to them.
That we could use them the same way they used us.
He meant well, but I don’t—I can’t—I’m not strong enough for that.
I wasn’t when I was dating him, and I’m still not today.
I’m still too weak.
That part of me—the part of me that wants to take videos and pictures with my friends and share them with my family—will never be put back together right again.
Not after my childhood, compounded by what I did at Alex’s wedding.
“It’s not because you can’t,” Declan murmurs into my hair. “You have an unfair disadvantage. No one sees you. They see what they expect to see after that fucking show.”
He needs to stop saying all of the right things because the more he says the right things, the more I think the goosebumps and the flutters and thinking about his smile aren’t a fluke.
“Other people handle the hate all the time,” I say. “You got hate. You’re fine.”
“I chose it as an adult. And I had a lot of media training and an amazing support system in the team and my family.”
The steady beat of his heart, coupled with the unyielding grip he has on me and his dog pressed up against me too, is helping ease my panic attack.
He’s right.
Mabel will know what to do.
She’ll probably say the same thing Declan said.
That the note indicates clear intent for us to keep the money.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Declan Fox is the last person I ever would’ve expected to understand my panic attacks.
The even more last person I would’ve thought would hug me through it.
But he’s been—he’s been my friend.
For all that he was an uncomfortable presence in the background of my time dating Alex, he’s been a steady, kind presence this week.
“Anytime,” he whispers, his breath tickling my scalp and sending a shiver from my neck down to my tailbone as I realize just how close we are.
Thunder booms again, and I flinch.
He presses a kiss to my hair.
Doesn’t tell me not to be a baby, that it’s just a little thunder.
Doesn’t tell me it’ll be okay either.
Just holds me.
His head resting on mine.
Lips brushing my scalp.
His dog an extra layer of support.
It’s all unfamiliar but safe.
Cozy.
Romantic.
I should kiss him.
I should lift my head, thread my fingers through his hair, and kiss him.
Thank him for his kindness.
Ignore the warning sirens in my head that say kissing him is a complication I don’t need.
Ignore the voice telling me that this idea is another of those born out of my childhood training to do it for the ratings.
It’s not for the ratings.
It’s for me.
But it would make good drama.
But I don’t do drama anymore.
“Declan?” I whisper.
“Hmm?”
“I want to do something very bad right now.”
“Get drunk and run naked through the storm?”
“No, that’s what Cricket and Heath will do.”
He doesn’t immediately answer.
“I want to kiss you.” My words come out in a breathy rush, like if I don’t say it fast, I won’t say it at all.
“Ginny—”
“I know. I know. I shouldn’t want to kiss you. You’re a dick. You’re best friends with my ex and regular friends with a lot of other people who have every right to hate me. I can find someone else to scratch an itch. Or I have a whole drawer full of—”
I don’t finish, because Declan’s shifted, and he’s pressing his mouth to mine, one hand behind my head, the other still clamped around my waist, while my lips part and my tongue darts out to taste him.
No thinking.
No hesitating.
No worries about regrets tomorrow.
Just pure carnal need to know how this man kisses.
And oh my stars, can he kiss.
He’s rough and bossy and dominating, and I’m here for it.
For his plump lips and the heat of his breath and the slide of his tongue against mine.
All in.
Complete certainty.
My skin buzzes like I’m the lightning’s next target.
My nipples tighten.
The heat between my thighs builds, and a thick ridge grows against my stomach.
Bad.
This would be bad.
But I want—I want to be bad.
I want to do something I can’t take back, and get to the other side, and see that life goes on.
And I want to enjoy every damn minute of it.
With Declan.
I slide my hands down his broad chest, around his hips, to grip his ass.
He growls low in his throat, grips my ass right back, and lifts me, nestling his hard-on between my thighs, and oh, yes.
Yes.
This.
Grinding against his erection while our tongues tangle and he stumbles as he carries me until I’m against a wall and he makes those low moans in the back of his throat and squeezes my ass and lights my skin on fire.
I can’t get enough.
Want more.
Want more of all of this bad, bad thing that we’re doing.
Our secret thing.