Chapter 35
DATE CRASHERS
Ginny
I have never murdered a thing in my life, but I’m going to murder Heath’s cat.
“Goddammit,” I hiss, and then I puke my guts out again.
Declan’s holding my hair while I hunch over, the sight of the contents of my stomach on the ground making me gag more.
“Sorry,” I pant. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Declan murmurs. “It’s okay.”
It’s not okay.
It’s not fucking okay.
This is exactly what I get for thinking I could have a public date with Declan. That if this goes well, I’d ask him to stay.
He pulls me away from the pile of puke, upwind from the smell, but then I see the fucking cat licking it, and I hurl all over again.
“Stop, dumbass,” Declan orders.
“I’m not trying to—to puke,” I wail.
“Not you. You’re okay, Ginny. You’re okay. The cat’s a dumbass. Not you.”
He pulls me farther from the mess, still holding my hair, and the urge to gag lessens as I make myself look away.
Away from my shoes—the wedges he said he hates so much—and away from the cat and away from the aftereffects of my sympathetic puker personality quirk.
My eyes water and heat builds in my sinuses.
“There you go,” Declan murmurs. “You’re okay.”
He’s rubbing my back, holding my hair, standing close enough that even though he’s not pressed against me, the solid mass of his body is a shield between me and life’s problems.
How does he do this?
How does he make me feel so safe and protected?
“I wanted to go see Zander,” I sniffle.
“Still can. We have time.”
“But I—I’m a messsss,” I sob.
“Aw, Ginny.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wipes my face, and then he’s hugging me hard against him, stroking my back and murmuring that it’s okay.
That I’m okay.
That we have time.
“The cat—” I sob. “We can’t lose Lavender’s cat.”
“That cat is incapable of moving more than ten feet in an hour. We won’t lose her.”
“My mascara’s running.”
“Zander will fix it. We’ll order dinner backstage if you’re up for it.”
“I can’t let him see me like this.”
“He’d be offended if you didn’t let him help.” Declan kisses the top of my head. “It’s okay to be scared, but you’ll regret it if you let the fear rule your life.”
Oh my stars.
He’s right.
I’m scared.
Again.
I suck in a shaky breath, tilting my head so I can listen to the steady thump of his heart, letting the easy rhythm lull me back to safety. “How do you do that?”
“Sound like your therapist?”
I make myself say the scary thing. “Understand me.”
He squeezes me tighter, still rubbing my back, and doesn’t answer.
Because he’s afraid?
Or because he doesn’t want to scare me more?
Because my heart—my heart knows how he knows.
He knows because he cares.
He cares the same way Mabel cares. The same way Cricket and Olivia and Samantha and Dori and Pip and Heath care.
The way people care when they love you and accept you for who you are, not for who they want you to be.
I squeeze him back as hard as I can. “You’re not just pretending you’re this kind so that I’ll keep having sex with you, are you?”
“Totally am. It makes my life easy and completely uncomplicated.”
“This is not uncomplicated,” I say through a dark laugh.
“Not my fault you don’t understand sarcasm.”
If he wasn’t holding on to me like he wants to carry the weight of my world, if he wasn’t pressing soft kisses to my hair, if I hadn’t seen him so much with his teammates and friends over the years, I’d still wonder if this is an act.
But it’s not.
This is Declan.
It’s who he is.
Thoughtful. Attentive.
Perfect.
“I still want to go tonight,” I whisper.
“Me too.” He kisses my hair one more time, then eases his grip on me. “Give me five minutes to get the cat cleaned and grab a bag for our shoes, and then whenever you’re ready, we can go drop Fluffy off and head to the show.”
“You don’t have to clean up after—”
“Of the two of us, I’m not the sympathetic puker.” He pauses. “That’s all this is, right? You’re not actually sick?”
I shake my head. “I’m not actually sick.”
He grins down at me. “Good. Look at the pretty scenery.”
He kisses my forehead, and then—
Then he gets to work being my hero.