CHAPTER 9
Summer
“You don’t even know him!”
He’s been lecturing me all the way back from the MGM Grand.
Turns out that he doesn’t approve of Kirk. Too bad. I don’t really approve of Bryttni, but have I lectured him about her? No, I have not.
I decide to ignore him.
“Do you even know his last name?” Declan throws up his hands. “I can’t Google him without a last name, let alone have our security consultants run a check on him.”
“His full name is Kirk von Studmuffin.”
“You’re not taking this seriously! Summer, you gotta trust me on this. I’m a man. I know how men are. And that man back there was trying to decide which wine would pair nicely with your lady parts.”
“At least we weren’t discussing cum in a hot tub in front of you.”
Declan groans. “Yeah, fair enough. That was bad and I apologize.”
I enjoy a little window shopping as we make our way down the Strip. The only good thing about Las Vegas is that you can get anything here. Including things I’ve probably never even thought of, such as the infamous cum in a hot tub cocktail.
I realized just a few minutes ago that if I’m going to some fancy-schmancy restaurant tonight, I better buy something to wear.
I didn’t bring anything with me, and these are the jeans and shirt I rescued from my bedroom floor before the ass crack of dawn.
Also, these are the clothes I yarfed in. I lift the front of my shirt and sniff.
Not too bad, but I still need something else to wear.
“I gotta get some clothes. I can’t go out to dinner dressed like this.”
“You look fine in what you’re wearing,” Declan snaps.
I’ve been thinking about Kirk on our walk, which has led me right back to Declan. His red face. The wallet-measuring contest back at the burger joint. I can’t figure out why he’s acting so unhinged.
Kirk is very good-looking, no doubt about it.
But it doesn’t faze me. I work on Yosemite Ranch, where the water has done something to male DNA.
It turns boys into action-star hotties constructed with at least six feet four inches of muscle and accented with dark curls, violet eyes, and freakishly handsome faces.
Except for Special K, who’s more on the blond end of the spectrum. And taller than the others. And heavier. Which makes him a freak of nature.
That’s why good looks don’t make me goofy. I’ve built up a lot of immunity to badass hotties since I wandered onto the ranch at sixteen, looking for work. I had no idea that I’d find a lot more than a paycheck there. That I’d also find a home and a family I love with every cell in me.
I would never do anything to jeopardize that.
But I’m not blind. I’ve always known that Declan’s good looks are different from his brothers’. For a lot of years, I wondered why I felt that way, since objectively, they all look like MacLaines.
Then it occurred to me that I find him more appealing not only because of his outward appearance, but for a whole list of other things that have nothing to do with how good-looking he is.
It’s the light behind Declan’s eyes. The sound of his belly laugh.
His go-with-the-flow brand of contentment. The pleasure he takes in simple things.
The way he is with Jasmine. That little girl worships her uncle Declan. And he dotes on her. They have so much fun being silly together. It’s because Declan’s still a kid at heart.
And that makes my heart melt.
The only reason I’ve managed to keep my cool around Declan all these years is how it started with us.
We met each other and immediately entered the friend zone with rock-solid boundaries.
From the beginning, that zone of ours has been a lot of fun.
Our favorite things were—and still are—bickering, teasing, pushing, joking, annoying, daring, and calling each other on our shit.
And laughing. So much of that.
Declan is my best bud. My ride or die.
But lately…
Declan returned to Yosemite Ranch nearly three years ago now. The comfortable rhythm of quick visits home and long deployments abruptly ended. He’s back for good and has created StellaR Tech with his brothers. He built his own house in the ranch compound. He’s not going anywhere, ever.
Which makes me worry sometimes. I swear he’s looked at me differently since he moved back.
Heavy silences interfere with our snarky give-and-take.
There have been touches, like with the barbecue sauce on my cheek just a while ago.
I touch him sometimes, too, like when I hip-checked him at the lavatory sink or wrenched his nose.
So touching him’s not a new thing, but lately, it’s a more intense thing. It’s obvious. When we touch, it’s like a static charge slices through me. I think he feels it, too.
Or, I’m just a total nut job and I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
I look up at Declan’s red face again. He’s going on and on about Kirk. He claims Kirk exhibits all the telltale signs of a serial killer who’s dabbled in cannibalism. It’s pretty over the top, even for Declan.
I have to wonder why some random stranger has turned Declan into a mentally unstable guard dog. He usually doesn’t get riled up. He definitely doesn’t feel threatened by anything, as far as I’ve been able to tell. But he’s acting as if he’s afraid of me going on a date with Kirk von Hottiehammer.
Wait. Has Declan never seen me go on a date?
Of course he has. Though it’s not exactly a common occurrence.
First off, I live on Yosemite Ranch at the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, which is about fifteen minutes from Sweetbriar, which is already smack-dab in the middle of bumfuck Nowheresville. So, the pickins are slim.
Also, I admit it—I’m not exactly the approachable type. I’ve been told I have a terminal case of resting bitch face, though I prefer to think of it as a “suspicious-of-bullshit” face. I don’t get asked out much, and I like it that way. I usually shut that shit down immediately.
I’m picky, too, and I won’t make excuses for it. A girl’s allowed to be picky.
But on those rare occasions when I do agree to a date, I let the dude know right away how it’s going to be. No dressing up. No makeup. No small talk about the weather.
Please.
I already know what the damn weather is! I work outside most of the time, and when necessary, I can check the weather app on my very own mobile phone!
And if, despite this warning, a guy says, “it’s sure a hot one out there today!” he’ll get a judo punch to the Adam’s apple.
Yeah, not a lot of dating.
But Declan’s seen me leave the ranch with a man on occasion.
He happened to be on leave when a cowboy from the rodeo circuit swung by to pick me up.
Also, I remember that Declan told me to have a nice time when I went out with the cutie who used to sell us our alfalfa hay.
He even shook hands with the bovine veterinarian from Carson City who took me out for pizza.
I guess he’s fine with me having dated, past tense, but he’s not a fan of me dating, in the present.
“You know, I think you became a SEAL just to play with drones.”
I need to say something—anything—to distract him. And this is what comes out of my mouth. I decide to go with it, since it already seems to be working.
He blinks. He stops bitching about Kirk. His face relaxes and normalizes in color. “And the choppers. I had a lot of fun with the choppers.”
“Anything that zooms through the air,” I agree.
He smiles wide at me. This is when Declan’s at his most handsome. The boyish smile that digs dimples into his cheeks. The twinkle in his eye that hints at his love for life and an unshaking faith that everything will work out just fine.
Lordy. I’m the one who needs a distraction now.
“The SEALs have some cool shit, not gonna lie, some of the coolest shit anywhere on the planet.” He nods to himself.
I tease him about his love for all the vroom-vroom sky toys, but I know Declan has put his life on the line for his country.
He doesn’t talk about it much, but he’s a deeply patriotic man.
Finn let it slip to me about how Declan did some kind of daredevil helicopter shit to lift his entire eight-man squad out of a firefight. He got a medal for it.
Finn realized too late what he’d said and made me swear to never let on to Declan that I knew. “He’ll kill me,” Finn said.
I never said a thing. Never will. Unless Declan asks me directly, and then I’ll have to. I’ve never lied to him and can’t imagine why I’d start now.
“You know, it’s just a double date, Declan,” I say.
“What?” He turns and frowns down at me.
“With Kirk. It’s just a double date. You’ll be there the whole time.”
“I will?” He seems confused by this statement. “I’ll be there the whole time?”
It takes me a second, but I finally understand the source of his confusion. Declan’s not worried about the double-date part of the evening. He’s worried about what happens after.
I laugh to myself.
He has no way of knowing this because I’ve never told a soul. Even him, my best friend.
But there’s never been an after.
I’m what some might call a late bloomer.
I’m a virgin.