Chapter 16 Declan
DECLAN
The last thing I need to happen is for Maggie to startle, scream, and then have the headmistress find us in the hall together during this late hour. I know all too well how that would look. It would mean Wolf, Chase, Grey, and me are off the team. Rules broken. Lives ruined.
“Shh,” I whisper in Maggie’s ear, trying not to let how warm and soft she is in my arms distract me. However, that isn’t too difficult, considering she’s elbowing me and trying to kick her way free.
“Hey, it’s me.”
She says something, but it’s muffled.
I clarify, “I’m sorry if I startled you, but if anyone catches us out here, my career is over. I’m going to let you go, just please don’t scream.”
She nods rapidly, like she’ll do anything for me to let her go. It’s notoriously hard to get a read on someone via text, but when Maggie turns around, the way her eyes linger on me a moment longer than necessary suggests something grows between us.
Why wouldn’t there be?
She’s gorgeous. I’m not a beast.
Okay, maybe part beast.
But our senses of humor have a one hundred percent match.
Minus the water gun incident.
As far as I’m concerned, we’re compatible. But there are the Coach’s rules. And the whole friendship thing. Wouldn’t want to ruin that.
I release my hands and hold them aloft to show that I mean no harm. “I realized it was you and that you’d probably be startled, so I—sorry.”
She smooths her hair and casts me a glare. “You were right about that.”
“Is it weird that every time we meet, it results in some kind of calamity?”
“And how each time it’s your fault?” she retorts.
“Mine?”
She makes a pair of pistols with her hands and says, “Pew, pew, squirt, squirt.”
“Fair. But I didn’t mean to startle you this time.”
“Well, maybe it was a good thing we haven’t seen each other in a few years because it’s been less than twenty-four hours and we’ve had two calamities, as you said. Those probably aren’t good odds.”
The crackling within dies like water dumped over a fire. Something inside me sinks like the rare times the Bruisers lose a game or mess up a major play.
Gripping the back of my neck, I say, “I meant what I said about wanting to make you laugh, certainly not scream.”
Maggie guppies her mouth like she wants to say something, but whatever grows between us has changed the game. I know the playbook inside and out, but I’ve never been on the field with someone like her.
“Here’s your phone.” She holds it out.
I don’t take the device from her palm. “I’m hungry. Want to raid the kitchen with me?” If I took a selfie, there’d be mischief written all over my face.
“Hold up. You want to go to the kitchen? Isn’t that forbidden? I’d have thought, even in this distant, relatively unknown country, word would’ve gotten around that you’re banned from kitchens, universally.”
“I’m not sure it’s a global rule.” At least, not anymore. Still, the reminder of why that’s the case burns me up inside. That’s a poor choice of words, even if they weren’t spoken aloud. I dismiss those old, sticky thoughts.
“I’d advise against testing it.”
I wink in the near darkness. “I’m feeling lucky.”
“Even after being sent here?”
“So far it’s turned out alright.”
“Says the guy who pelted me with water guns upon his arrival.”
“To be fair, I did not expect you, Magoo.”
I detect her lips quiver with a smile, even in the shadows.
“You said you were worried about getting in trouble.”
“I think I already am,” I mutter. “Coach Hammer said if any one of us does anything to jeopardize our time here, if we mess around or mess up, we’re all off the team.
The guys and I made a pact. Called it the Playbook.
” My lips quirk because, in any other circumstance, I’d totally break the rules, but I’m loyal to my teammates. They’re my family. Maggie too.
The corners of her lips dip. “Explain exactly how going to raid the kitchen like two kids at a sleepover is not asking for trouble.”
“It’s only trouble if we get caught.” I tap her elbow with my elbow. “But the kind of trouble the coach was talking about is, er, the lady kind.”
“Well, good thing Brandi is an ocean away.”
“Brandi who?” I echo the text I sent from Maggie’s phone.
“Ha ha,” she says dryly.
I could never flirt with Maggie the same way I did with the Brandis of the world. Maggie makes me feel different. I don’t care about Brandi. I sound like a jerk, but I’m not exactly sure who Brandi is—there are loads of girls and team groupies—they call themselves the “Bruiser Babes.”
Maybe Hammer put Brandi up to it to test me.
My resolve is like iron, though Maggie has the ability to melt even the strongest metal...and maybe hearts too. But a staggering thought hits me, which could break mine. Is she dating someone?
Maggie could never be one of “Declan’s Damsels” and not because she’s lacking anything.
No, she’s gorgeous and smart. A babe for sure.
She can spin circles around Brandi and any woman I’ve ever dated.
That’s why our friendship has endured all these years.
Why, even after all this time apart, we pick up right where we left off.
Well, almost. I’d argue we picked up...and then some.
“Maybe Wolf gave Brandi my number.” So many of those women were after one of two things: a moment in the spotlight or money.
Sounds callous, but time and time again, they’d proven it to be true.
So, I made it a rule to keep things simple, superficial, and brief in my dating life.
Feeling used lost its appeal rather quickly.
“Come on, it’s ice cream o’clock. I bet there’s some around here,” I whisper.
“I prefer cake these days.” Maggie wears a pout.
“Ice cream and cake go perfectly together.”
She rolls her eyes.
But before she can protest, I say, “Come on, I think I passed the kitchen on my way up here.” But I take making My Magatha smile seriously.
“What about the strict rule of you not being allowed in kitchens? That it was a federal law.”
My heart dips briefly, but I won’t think about that now. Not ever if I can help it. I grip Maggie’s hand, meaning to pull her along because I imagine she’ll try to scurry back to her room. I expect her to jerk her hand away, but it slides perfectly into mine and stays there.
My voice is rough when I say, “Rules were meant to be broken.”
Retracing my steps becomes an exercise in concentration because that crackling fills my ears and my chest. When was the last time I felt this way? I know exactly when because it was the only other time.
After a few more turns, I manage to find the kitchen, despite my better sensibilities. When I press the door open, Maggie lets go of my hand, leaving me suddenly cold. Maybe I don’t want ice cream. Perhaps I prefer cake too.