Chapter 7
Bree
Isit in my corner lounge chair, Ladybug stretched out on my lap, the rain steady.
She’s on her back, paws dangling in the air as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
My heart is full with this sweet little pupper on my lap.
The clinic confirmed that she is a puggle mix, her sandy orange fur still puppy soft.
They estimate she’s about twelve weeks old, so she’ll keep growing.
Curious, I stroke her fur, wondering how long she had been wandering around. I’m so glad Declan and I were able to rescue her.
Declan.
Why was I so awful earlier? He has the same rights to Ladybug as I do.
The guy gave the shirt off his back so that the dog could be safe.
However, none of that mattered after Dr. Valentine walked into the exam room.
It was obvious those two have a history.
It wasn’t the same as the girl he was with last night at Kaleidoscope. You could tell it was new.
But Lacey and Declan? History. With a capital H.
Ugh.
I’ve been around men who collect numbers like trophies my whole career.
Even before that, really. My sorority was known for legacies that date back to the inception of the university.
Boys pressured by families to marry well looked to Rho Kappa Kappa for wife material.
But I wouldn’t have any of it. I wanted real or nothing.
I dated, of course, but I could tell within minutes if the guy was interested in me or my name.
So I made a pact with Serena and Natalie to never settle. And we’ve all stuck to that. Serena happened to marry the president of Kappa Nuu, but that was a coincidence. He would do anything for his wife. Nat and me? We’d rather be alone than married for any reason other than love.
I don’t make it a practice to make out with people I don’t know.
But there’s something about Declan that speaks to me at a cellular level.
It’s like I can’t stay away. In the recording studio, I did my best to keep things light.
But each second that passed revealed a little more of his personality, which I was drawn to even more than his kisses.
And then I stole the puppy right out from under him.
That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that he was so smug with his “Nobody’s decided that yet” nonsense in his sexy-as-sin voice, the slight grumble setting my loins ablaze.
I have a thing about not being told what to do.
Old habits and all that. Bring this up with her dad later
Ladybug whimpers in her sleep, her little body trembling. I stroke her torso, my fingers making small circles on her fur. Her breathing slows, and her body settles down. Poor thing. I open my phone to Declan a quick text, thankful we traded numbers for the puppy’s sake.
Me: Ladybug is doing great.
Annoyingly Hot Lumber Enthusiast: I’m glad to see that. Miss her already.
Me: Want to trade tomorrow?
I hit send before sense takes over. The pup has been through a lot of traumas the last 24 hours. Keeping her in one spot might be best until she gets comfortable.
Annoyingly Hot Lumber Enthusiast: That would be great.
Me: Or you could come over now.
My fingers are completely detached from my brain, staging a full mutiny and acting on their own reckless authority.
Annoyingly Hot Lumber Enthusiast: What’s your address.
Right as I send my address, my skin prickles, suddenly too aware of my actions. And the way my stomach flutters? I didn’t even do this when I met Grayton Wilde at a Grammy’s after party. He had similar dark hair and blue eyes, and even asked for my number. But that spark just wasn’t there.
Annoyingly Hot Lumber Enthusiast: On my way.
With Declan? It’s a five-alarm situation, and every rational thought I possess just went up in flames.
Declan’s sitting on the floor across from me, leaning against one of the lounge chairs, his long-sleeved tee hugging his muscles. He trails his hand across the floor while the puppy chases it, her energy bottomless.
I wish I were that t-shirt. It must be the best job in the world, hanging onto him all day.
Ohmigeez. What’s happened to me?
I’m not normally like this. I’m the girl who doesn’t give her number to guys I dance with on girls’ trips. Not this version sitting on my couch watching an oversized lumberjack’s sea-blue eyes light up as we trade sibling stories.
“…And somehow,” I continue, “Heath smuggled that baby squirrel through the kitchen.” The memory of my brother zooming past me, holding the edges of his baseball cap closed with both hands, is as vivid as if it happened yesterday.
“Heath was probably ten, so I was nine. Anyway, I hear this horrific screeching down the hall, and when I fling open the bathroom door, there he is, trying to give the poor thing a bath in the toilet.”
Declan chuckles. “Sounds like something my brother, Brock, would do. He brought a snake home, and it took Uncle Luke a week before he found it in the back of Brock’s closet.”
“Just loose?”
“No, thank gawd. I think he took a Pyrex mixing bowl and glued an old screen to the top. He even made a flap for it, securing it with bread twist ties. Luke bought an aquarium for it. It was just a little garter snake. Brock had it for a couple of years.”
“Your uncle sounds like a great guy.”
“Definitely. He could be strict, though. If we were late for curfew, we had to wake up an equivalent number of minutes early and do chores. And these were the crap chores, like washing out the garbage cans and cleaning the windows.”
I wince. “That’s brutal. What else did he do?” I tuck my legs underneath me, watching his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Oh, yeah. Fighting wasn’t allowed. Luke made us write apology letters to each other, regardless of who started it. Then we had to sit knee-to-knee and read them to each other using various accents. His favorite was the British Cockney. And if any of us smartasses laughed, he made us start over.”
I picture Declan sitting with his brothers, trying not to laugh, and my insides warm.
“He and my dad must have traded notes. When Heath was sixteen, he and his friends switched all the place cards at one of our mother’s charity galas so the rival socialites ended up sitting together.
My dad required my brother to host a formal tea party for Mom’s garden club and serve them personally.
He roped his friends into helping, and the garden club thought they were the nicest boys. ”
“Ladybug, no!”
The little puggle zips past, holding Declan’s shoe in her mouth, and runs down the hall.
As we chase after her, Ladybug scoots into my reading nook.
I flip the light switch and see her little tail wagging from underneath my reading chair.
It’s so cute. As soon as we step close, she disappears fully under the chair.
Declan and I drop to the floor, crawling on our hands and knees, circling the chair from opposite sides. We meet in the middle where Declan’s eyes lock with mine.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt, Austin.” His smile fades into something more intense before he leans forward. His eyes ask the question his lips don’t, and I answer by closing the distance, my lips touching his.
The kiss is electric and immediate. My hands seek his shoulders for balance as we kneel facing each other.
Our noses bump, making us both laugh softly before he tilts his head and captures my lips in a deliciously slow kiss, his hand holding my chin.
We both end up on our knees, somehow, in a tangle of arms and heat.
Declan’s mouth moves against mine with unhurried confidence, each sweep of his lips sending sparks down my spine. I thread my hands into his dark hair, the soft strands curling around my fingers as he deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips in silent question.
Heat pools low in my belly when I open for him, his kiss just as magical as I remember.
His hand slides up my back, palm blazing through the thin fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer until our chests press together.
A soft groan rumbles in his chest when I tug gently at his hair, his kiss more urgent, his hard length growing against me.
His thumb strokes circles at the small of my back like he’s memorizing the curve of my spine, and against my better judgment, I decide that I want Declan in my bed. Right. Now.
My attraction to him is so intense, so primal, that I don’t think I’ve ever felt something this electric in my life.
Who cares that he’s a serial dater. You only live once, right? He has the word pleasure written all over him, and I want to experience what he has to offer.
Just as I shift my body to climb on top of him, my phone rings from the living room, and I freeze. Isabelle’s a texter and only calls if it’s urgent.
“I need to get that, Declan. It’s my sister.”
A look of concern clouds his face. “Of course.” He helps me up, but by the time I get to my phone, she’s hung up. I press FaceTime, my stomach in knots.
Me: Izz. What’s going on?
Izzy: Are you home?
Me: Yes. Omigawd. Why are you crying? What’s wrong?
My voice catches in my throat as the doorbell rings.
I swing the front door open to find my little sister standing in front of me, tears and blotches dotting her face and neck.
Her dark hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, something she never does, her body in black leggings and an oversized Tom Ford tee of our dad’s.
She’s never been in public like this as far as I can remember. Not even in college.
“Izzy.” I open my arms, and Isabelle Pembroke-Walsh steps into them, seeking the comfort that only your sister can give.
“Whatever it is, Izzy Bizzy, I’m here.”
Kicking the door closed, I lead my baby sister to the couch, worry coursing through me. Isabelle is such a mess that all I can do is hold her while she cries a torrent of tears. Declan finds a box of tissues, setting them next to us, then brings a cool rag to wrap around her neck.
After an endless stretch of minutes, Izzy’s tears subside, and she pulls back, the red dots still speckling her skin. As if sensing Ladybug, she reaches down and picks the puppy up, snuggling into her fur, a fresh batch of tears spilling down her cheeks.
Declan retreats to the kitchen, giving us space.
I can hear him filling the tea kettle and rummaging around in the cabinets.
He pours us each a cup of tea, setting them on the coffee table.
I wipe some tears from her cheeks, frustrated I can’t stop the waterfall from escaping.
When Izzy’s tears finally subside and the hiccups fade, she looks at me with those soft gray eyes so like our mother’s.
“I love you, Bree.”
“Same, Izzy.” My throat tightens before I nudge her gently. “You came all this way. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
Her chest heaves, almost a half-laugh. “I’m leaving Preston.”
“What?!” My insides curdle as I process her words. “Did he hurt you?” I will absolutely main the sorry excuse for a husband if he did.
My younger sister by ten months stares into space, shaking her head as if searching for the right words. “No. Not physically. I’m just tired of feeling invisible.”
“Oh, honey.” I stroke her black hair, so much like our mother’s.
“And there’s the fact that he hasn’t touched me in six months.”
I’m at a loss for words. They were married just last year.
Declan looks at me and mouths the words, “I’m going to go.”
I mouth back, “Thank you.”
As the door closes, my baby sister shatters in my arms, and all I can do is hold her as the tears come.