Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I waited for Dec to slam the door, then I peeled around the corner, parked my truck, and stomped across the uneven asphalt toward my building.
He was right about one thing. I should have moved out of my apartment years ago. The original Hollywood-glam façade from the 1930s had grand columns and ornate wood carvings in random places. It had been treated to a Spanish-style revival sometime in the eighties, and the result was vaguely disturbing. The elements were there, but they didn’t complement each other…at all. If I were feeling poetic in the slightest…and I wasn’t…I’d say Dec and I were like that. We had so much in common, but nothing clicked.
It wasn’t always that way. I used to like him. No, I used to lust after him. I liked the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he—
I stopped short, frowning at the sight of Dec leaning against my front door.
Oh, boy.
I shook my keys loose and turned the lock with my back to him. I supposed I could have blocked him from entering, but I wasn’t in the mood to put on a show for my neighbors. I left the door open, kicking off my shoes, and unbuttoning my shirt as I headed into the galley-style kitchen. I grabbed a water bottle, twisted the cap off, and guzzled half the contents before moving into the living area. Yep. He was still here.
“What now?” My voice sounded like gravel. Low and rough.
Dec stared at my chest for a long moment, then put his hands into his pockets and glanced around. There wasn’t much to see. A lumpy gray sofa, an old green recliner, and a severely depleted beanbag faced the flat-screen TV. I had a few framed posters of my favorite bands, like Pink Floyd and The Clash. My apartment was never going to make the cover of Architectural Digest, but the rent was cheap, the location was perfect, and I lived alone. Best of all, I could actually put money into savings. That wasn’t an easy feat for the average dude in a band who lived in LA.
Still…I bet it looked like a time warp to Dec.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he groused, swiping his hand over his jaw as he paced to the window.
I regarded him as I shrugged my shirt off my shoulders, then draped it over the sofa. “Well, you know where the door is.”
He eyed the bass on a stand against the wall before refocusing on me. “Talk to me, T.”
“No.” I took another swig of water, set the bottle on the table, and opened the door.
Dec stalked to the door and slammed it shut with enough force to rattle the windows. He rounded on me angrily, pointing his finger at my chest. “It was your fault too.”
“My fault?” I huffed incredulously.
“Yes! Don’t tell me I imagined you and Justin and—”
“Enough!” I backed him against the wall and put my hand over his mouth. I let go to brace my arms on either side of his head, caging him in, so he had no choice but to listen. “Your memory sucks. Don’t try to rewrite history. We both know the real story.”
Declan didn’t move, but his gaze darted from my mouth to my eyes like he was looking for something. Or remembering something. He licked his bottom lip and let out a pained sound…part anger, part frustration.
“Do we?”
I nodded slightly, then tentatively set my thumb over his bottom lip. If he asked what the fuck I was doing, I’d tell him I wanted to shut him up. But the truth was…I was overcome with a rush of emotion I couldn’t name. It wasn’t anger, but it had the same bite. Like getting vicious pangs in a bakery when you’re on a diet. The smell alone was sweet torture. A reminder of something that tasted so good but was so bad for you.
Temptation is a wicked thing, though. It draws you in and pulls you under. One moment you’re standing on the outside looking in behind a carefully constructed barrier, and the next…
I inched forward, so close that my nose skimmed the end of his. I breathed him in, drawing his intoxicating scent deep inside my lungs. He smelled so…manly. Woodsy but fresh. And hauntingly familiar.
But I didn’t like ghosts. They knew shit about you and they never let go.
“We do. And that story is over now,” I said in a gravelly voice.
Declan cocked his head and smiled. One of those slow-moving roguish grins that made me feel funny inside. He’d always had a way of asserting control, even when he was the one with his back to the wall. So, maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe I should have clued in to the red flashing warning signs and the alarm bells ringing in my ear. But I couldn’t see clearly, and I couldn’t hear a thing over the insistent drumming of my heart.