CHAPTER 15
Summer
Oh, shit. He’s not laughing at me in this dress, is he?
“Come on, Summer. Let’s get back to our dates.”
He takes my hand in his, but an electric jolt zaps through me. It must have zapped him, too, since he drops my hand and looks away, his jaw tight.
When we return to the table, we find Kirk and Bryttni engaged in deep conversation, leaning in close to one another. I don’t think I could slip a sheet of notebook paper between their noses.
On the table are two appetizers and a couple bottles of wine. My stomach growls at the look of the food.
I pop some sort of flatbread thing in my mouth. It’s delicious.
Declan slides in next to Bryttni and tugs her in his direction, then whispers something in her ear. I’m sure it was smarmy. He pours her a glass of wine and feeds her what looks like a lobster-stuffed something-or-other.
I know I shouldn’t do it. I know I’m going to regret it. And I realize it’s passive-aggressive and childish, but I can’t stop myself.
“You know what I just realized?” I ask Declan. “Bryttni reminds me a lot of Sarah. Wasn’t that the name of your last girlfriend? No, wait. Sarah was last month. You’ve had three other women since then. Let’s see…” I begin to count on my fingers. “Bertha, Fredericka, Elphaba…”
He shakes his head at Bryttni, who looks none-too-pleased. “She just made all those names up, babe. I’d never date a woman named Fred—” Declan pauses and tilts his head, thinking. “I stand corrected. Maybe there was a Fredericka at one point.”
I turn to Kirk. “That’s the one who gave him crabs,” I say discretely. “The disease, not the shellfish.”
Kirk laughs. At first, I think he’s laughing at what I just said, and I pat myself on the back. But it doesn’t take long for his laughter to fade into a scoff and a slow shake of his head.
“There’s a completely weird-ass vibe going on with you two,” Kirk says, looking from me to Declan.
I straighten in the booth.
“Seriously,” he continues. “I never imagined siblings could be this brutal to each other. It’s almost as if you’re jealous of Bryttni and me, when you invited us. It’s like each of you is trying to ruin this date for the other person. What’s up with that?”
Our waiter appears at the exact moment that Bryttni lets go with a high-decibel shriek. “Siblings? What the fuck?”
Unfortunately, her outburst scares the waiter, and he runs away. I’m bummed, because I’m ready to order.
Bryttni looks incredulous. “They’re not siblings,” she tells Kirk. “Who told you they were brother and sister? They’re not even related as far as I know. Summer works at Declan’s family ranch.”
Yikes. This is pretty awkward.
“Let’s go.” Declan jumps up, grabs my elbow, and pulls me to a stand. He turns to our dates. “We’ll be right back. I’ll make it up to you, Bryttni. I swear. And, Kirk, there’s a logical explanation for all this.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Good,” Declan says. “Hold that thought while I come up with the explanation.”
Declan drags me to the bathroom alcove. “That was completely uncouth!” he snarls.
“Really? And cum in a hot tub isn’t?”
“I’ve already apologized for that.”
That’s when I realize these high heels give me a boost in height. I’m used to Declan being about six inches taller than me when we’re sparring like this. Tonight, his advantage has been whittled down to about three. I like it.
“You’re intentionally trying to fuck up my night, Summer.”
“And you’re doing the same with mine.”
“I should put you over my knee and spank you.”
I laugh. “I’d like to see you try, big boy.”
His eyes flash. “Don’t tempt me.”
Declan’s breathing hard through his nose. His mouth is pulled tight, and his neck is red.
My heart is beating so hard that I worry it will burst through my recently freed boobs.
This is horrible. I don’t like it when Declan’s angry with me. He can be ornery and annoying all he wants, but angry is no fun.
I sigh deeply. “Well, shit. Sorry.” I raise my fist.
He bumps his fist against mine. “I’m sorry, too. Promise me you’ll cut me some slack in there.”
“I promise. Promise me you won’t ruin my night with Kirk.”
“I won’t if you don’t ruin mine.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
But neither of us make any move to return to the table. Declan is scanning my face with worry.
I wipe my mouth. “Do I have crumbs on my—”
“What’s the explanation, Summer?”
My heart drops to my feet. I shake my head and look away, sensing that I’m near tears, which is absurd.
“Come on, Summer. What’s up with us? That was Kirk’s question. I have some thoughts. I’d love to hear yours.”
He doesn’t want to hear my thoughts. My thoughts are none of his damn business because my thoughts are wrong and far-fetched and so ridiculous that I shouldn’t even have them.
Declan is the last person on earth I want to share my thoughts with. Because all my thoughts are about him. And how I’m about ready to burst my seams and say something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
“Summer. Look at me.”
I raise my eyes to his face. I love that face. I love that man, and I always have. But I’m unable to speak. I think it’s the first time in my life that I have nothing to bring to a conversation.
Declan takes a long time to speak. He continues to search my face until he drops his gaze. When he finally says something, he talks to his shoes.
“I won’t get in the way of your date. But I’m getting bottle service. No more wine shit.”
“Thank goodness. Wine gives me a headache. Jack and Coke for me.”
He lifts his eyes once more. “That’s my girl,” he says, smiling. It’s his normal sly and mischievous grin, too, not something fake or angry. He’s back to being my Declan, and that makes me indescribably happy.
Maybe I’ll get out of this night with my world—and my heart—intact.
We return to the VIP room, ready to get on with it, ready to start this double-date night in earnest. We’ve cleared the air between us. At least we tried to. And now it’s going to be just fine between us.
The booth is empty, and the wine bottles are gone.
“Where the hell did they go?” Declan asks.
“Is that a note?” I point to a cocktail napkin propped up against the half-devoured plate of lobster-stuffed thingamabobs.
Declan grabs the napkin. His American Express card falls out onto the table. He palms the card and shoves it into the pocket of his suit trousers. I watch him scan the note, and then he hands the napkin to me. I detect two very different styles of handwriting.
The top note takes up nearly the whole napkin: “Happy New Year, Declan! Don’t wait up for me. Like, ever. I’ll get my shit from the room and then I’m off to have fun with Kirk. I wish I never gave you a free scoop. Asshole. –Bryttni.”
The second is a lot shorter: “Have fun with your brother.”