His eyes dart around. “So you said some things last night that you probably don’t remember.”
“What kind of things?” All I can do is hope that I didn’t tell him I love him. Before we started hooking up, I wouldn’t have thought twice about saying it. In fact I used to say it all the time, particularly when he brought me my favorite takeout or did something nice. We’ve been friends for a long time, and it goes without saying that I love him. And until recently I would have put it on the same level as the way I feel about my sisters, a sort of familial, platonic kind of love. But everything is different now.
And I don’t feel platonic about my best friend anymore. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, it’s very much the opposite of a platonic kind of love, so my level of panic is really damn high, and it was already at near-sonic levels after my sisters stopped by.
Declan blows out a breath. “You made a comment about not needing full service in front of the guys.”
I slap my hand over my mouth. “I did not.”
He cringes. “You did. And then you made some less than quiet comments about how you’d been looking forward to another orgasm.”
“So they know, then?”
“Yeah. Like how your sisters know, I guess?” It’s framed more like a question than an actual answer.
I bite my thumbnail, which needs desperately to be filed or I’m going to bite it off. “How did that go over?”
Declan shrugs. “As well as could be expected, I guess. They’re concerned.”
“About what?”
“You, mostly. They don’t want me to fuck this up, and we both know I’m pretty good at doing that.” He takes my hand gently and threads his fingers through mine to stop me from tearing my nail off. “Why don’t I file these for you? I can even give painting them a shot if you want?”
It’s a deflection from a heavy conversation Declan doesn’t want to have. All of his fears build up in layers that weigh him down. It’s something that needs to be addressed eventually, but I don’t want to upset the delicate balance. Not right now. My biggest worry is that it will bury him, and us along with it. Whatever we are.
21
MISS INDEPENDENCE
AVERY
I’m currently sprawled out on the couch with my laptop and my tablet so I can research and make notes at the same time. I miss my desktop and split screen, but the casts make sitting in a computer chair nearly impossible.
“How’s the research going? Want me to take notes for you?” Declan takes a seat beside me on the couch and peers at my screen.
“Not bad. I have a shortlist of companies that focus on the use of eco-friendly, recyclable products that don’t harm animals in the area that I can reach out to. I’ve already emailed a few, but I’m thinking that calling some of these other ones would be a better idea.”
“Easier than typing emails one-handed or having to edit speech to text?”
“And it’s a bit more personal. Emails get lost, phone calls not as much. Besides, I have the time, so I might as well put it to good use.”
“Yup, makes sense to me.” He flips a pen between his fingers. “So I need to tell you something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Remember that huge account I told you about a while ago?”
Declan works on a lot of big accounts. Spark House is actually one of his smallest portfolios. He’s had a couple of offers from clients to manage them independently, but he likes the company he works for. “Sure. What’s going on?”
“I landed Go Green’s portfolio.”
“Oh my gosh! That’s amazing!” Go Green is a massive company, so landing the account is a big deal.
He nods. “It is. And while I can’t guarantee that I might be able to get them to take you back on, I’m going to see if I can’t at least try to feel them out about doing business with Spark House.”
“You really don’t need to do that.”
“I know. But I can at least give it a shot. I know how much this has stressed London out.”
“Oh no, is she still being cranky with you?” I figured she’d had more than enough time to get over being upset with Declan, especially with me on the mend.
“She’s fine.” He holds up a hand. “Not a warm teddy bear but not a prickly cactus either. She’s stressed because she likes to have a nice buffer. And with losing the alumni contract and the sponsorship, and you being out of commission, things have slowed down a bit.”
“Are her worries legitimate?”
Declan shakes his head and runs his thumb down the back of my neck, as if he can sense the sudden tension in my body. Which I realize he probably can. “No, I just think she’s being cautious.”
“She’s been pulling double duty. And doing all of these things that really aren’t her favorite. She’s so great at talking business, but ask her to problem solve or troubleshoot with emotional clients or pitch an event, and she gets so flustered. Plus, she really loves all the creative stuff. Maybe more than I actually realized.” I point to the mason jar full of little stars that she makes every time she comes over. She leaves them in a pile on the side table, and each time I scoop them into the jar. It’s mostly full now.
“Too bad making paper origami puff stars isn’t a lucrative way to support yourself.”
“Well, actually, look at what I put together.” I pull up the Etsy store page I’ve been working on for London in my spare time.
Declan frowns and then his eyes flare. “Wait, London makes all of this? When the heck does she have time?”
“The store isn’t live. And it’s all the prototypes for centerpieces that she’s made over the years. Or the stuff she does when she’s hanging out and we’re watching movies or whatever. I know she doesn’t have time to set something like this up, and probably doesn’t have time to work on it right now, but I figured I could do it for her, and then when she’s ready to hit the button, she can.”
“I think this is amazing, Avery.”
“I hope she loves the idea. And I wanted to do something for Harley, too, so I’ve gone through her IG feed—not the Spark House one, but her personal one. She’s always trying out Gran’s and our mom’s favorite recipes and posting pictures. I figured I could make her a special cookbook. I don’t want them to have to shelve what they love because of what happened to me.”
He kisses my temple.
“The little things always mean the most.”
* * *
Six weeks post-accident I leave the doctor’s office with one less cast. The doctor is also pleased with how well my leg is healing, so the cast only comes up to my knee now, and it’s a walking cast, which means getting around is going to be infinitely easier and faster.
Declan helps me get into the front seat of his SUV. My right arm is weak, sore, and stiff, but it’s functional, and that’s something to smile about.
“I’m so excited to have a walking cast! This means I’ll be able to manage stairs on my own again. Just a few more weeks and I’ll be able to drive.” I chew on my bottom lip, both nervous and eager for that potential development. I could actually drive now if I wanted to, but I’ll feel a lot better about it when my arm is stronger.
While I can’t wait to have my independence back, I’m aware that my PTSD around driving, particularly on the freeway and in the rain, is worse than ever. Thankfully there’s more than one way to get to Spark House, including a slightly longer back road option. And I’ll have Declan or my sisters there as support until I’m feeling confident behind the wheel again.
“Don’t push too hard too fast, Ave.” He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze.
“I’ll take it easy. It’s just nice to finally be able to start real rehab and move around without always needing help.”
“You know I don’t mind.”
“I know and I appreciate that, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about the prospect of doing up my own bra.”
He chuckles and pulls out of the parking lot. He had a mill
ion and one questions for the doctor about my walking cast, including what the limitations would be and what exercises I should be doing with my no-longer casted arm. He left with a folder full of resources and a rehab schedule. I’ll start physical therapy for my arm tomorrow, and while I’m aware it isn’t going to be rainbows and sunshine, this is part of the road to recovery.
“Do you think we could stop by Spark House on the way home? I’d love to surprise my sisters.” I hold up my bony arm. I need to shower and wash away the dry, flaky skin, but I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt so it covers the lizardy grossness for now. I’d forgotten how quickly a muscle loses its mass when it’s rendered immobile for six weeks.
“Yeah, of course. I’m sure they’ll be excited to see you’re on the mend.” He gives me another disconcerted smile as we head toward Spark House.
I clasp my hands in my lap to stop myself from picking at my nails. Declan, true to his word, filed and painted them for me a couple of days ago. It was probably the most hilarious and sweetest thing he’s tried to do. He kept messing up, getting polish on my skin, complaining about how tiny the brush is, and how did anyone do this without getting polish everywhere? It’s not the best job, but they sure look a lot better than they did, and now I’m not tempted to pick at hangnails. Instead, I want to pick the polish until it flakes off. “Maybe in a few days I could try driving, once my arm isn’t so stiff.” I roll my wrist. It aches, the muscles tight and weak from disuse.
“If you want to, sure. We can hit some back roads so you can get comfortable again behind the wheel.”
I upgraded from a sedan to an SUV. We decided after the accident to replace my car with something bigger that would make me feel safer.
For the first while, the anxiety over getting in a car was pretty intense. It’s gotten much better since Declan’s been taking me out on adventure dates. I picked up on the fact that he made each trip a little longer than the last and always finished it off with a stop at one of my favorite cafes or ice cream shops.
“The drive to Spark House would be a good start. I’m itching to get back to work full-time, and I think once I’m comfortable behind the wheel again, it’ll be easier.”
“I can drive you until you’re ready to do it on your own, Ave.”
“I know you can, or my sisters can pick me up, or I can call an Uber, but I have to be able to function on my own, and relying on everyone else to taxi me around defeats the purpose.”
Declan reaches across the console and gives my hand a squeeze. “Let’s take it one step at a time. I get that you want things to go back to normal, but there’s really no rush.”
“You can’t take care of me forever.”
He releases my hand so he can signal his turn down the Spark House drive. “I could, but I doubt you’d let me.”
* * *
It only takes a couple of days for the stiffness in my wrist and elbow to dissipate and some of the strength in my arm to return. Sure, it fatigues easily, but I can deal with that. Having the use of both of my arms and hands is freaking magical. As is having a walking cast. I still have to rely on my crutches, but man, is it ever nice to be able to do mundane, normal things like wash my own hair. Although, I’m not opposed to letting Declan help me out in the shower should he feel like offering his assistance.
I can finally wear my nice panties again without destroying the elastic in the left leg. I’m currently standing in my bedroom, naked, riffling through my underwear drawer in search of my favorite pretty panties.
This afternoon Declan is taking me to Spark House so I can put in a few hours of work on-site. And I’m going to drive part of the way. It’s a first, and I’m excited yet still nervous.
“Hey, Ave, what time were you thinking you wanted to head over to Spark House? Maybe we can stop and grab lunch on the way. It’s pretty nice out, we could sit on a patio, get some sun on that pasty, skinny arm of yours.” Declan pushes my door open, eyes trained on the phone in his hand.
He’s been ultra-attentive the past couple of days. Hovery even. “I just have to get dressed and maybe put on some makeup.”
“Cool.” His gaze lifts, and his device clatters to the floor. “Oh, hey.” His eyes roam over my naked form in a hungry, feral sweep. “You want some help with that?”
I smirk. “I should be able to manage on my own.”
“Right. Yeah.” He leans against the doorjamb, not bothering to pick up his phone. “Maybe I’ll just supervise then, in case you need my input on what to wear for your first day back.”
I turn back to my dresser, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Is ‘supervising’ the new term for staring at my ass?”
“It’s a great ass. The whole package is pretty fucking awesome really.” He pushes off the jamb and crosses the room.
I meet his hot, questioning gaze in the mirror. He pulls my hair over my shoulder and drops his head, lips brushing from my shoulder blade all the way up the side of my neck. He takes my lobe between his teeth, nipping gently, causing a wave of goose bumps to flash across my skin. “How much time do you have before you have to leave?” His free hand wraps around my waist, and he steps into me, his chest pressing against my back. He drops his gaze so I can’t see the vulnerability lurking there, but I hear it in his voice.
“I didn’t give a specific time.” I tip my head farther to the side, giving him more access to my neck.
“Hmm.” His hand glides up over my stomach, fingertips skimming the swell of my breast, over my clavicle, and along my throat until he cups my chin in his palm. “Interested in fooling around?”
His lips brush along the edge of my jaw, and I turn to meet his mouth. “I’m definitely interested,” I whisper.
Something shifts between us, and it makes my stomach knot as his tongue slips past my lips. I lean into him, glad I still have the support of my crutches to keep me upright.
Declan keeps his arm wound around my waist and lifts me so my feet hover inches from the floor. My crutches slip out from under my arms and clatter. Lips still melded, he carries me to the bed. Our mouths disconnect long enough for him to spin me around and set me on the edge of mattress.
The bed is still unmade, sheets a tangled mess from my restless sleep. I brace most of my weight on my left arm, so much stronger after weeks of supporting my weight, and gingerly drop to my elbow with the right one. It aches, the muscles unaccustomed to bearing my weight, but I’m determined to pull myself up to the pillows on my own, and Declan knows that.
I lie back as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor. He makes quick work of his sweats, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs, his erection straining against the black cotton.
He climbs up onto the bed and stretches out beside me. It’s become automatic for him to lie on my right side, but now that I have both arms again and my cast only comes up to my knee instead of all the way up my thigh, he doesn’t have to be quite so careful.
Over the weeks since we started down this path, I find myself craving him more. I want the closeness being intimate like this brings. I love the way my heart pounds and my stomach flutters every time he looks at me with desire in his eyes.
It’s not just the way he makes me feel—so revered, the center of his world—but the feelings he evokes in me. Being with Declan is easy, like breathing. He seems to be able to anticipate my every need, and I love that it’s the same for me with him. I know what turns him on, which buttons to push, and how to make him lose control.
He shifts from his place beside me and carefully settles into the cradle of my hips as we kiss, and I push his boxer briefs down, wrapping my leg around his waist, luxuriating in the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.
We both groan at the feel of his erection against me. In all the weeks since we’ve become intimate, we’ve never had sex. The awkwardness of my cast seemed to be a good enough reason for Declan to hold off. But I suspect there are other reasons at play. And now there are new lines being crossed,
and stepping over this one will invariably change things even more. In some ways I’ve been okay with that invisible line because I’m scared too. Aware that me wanting to have sex with Declan means I have to acknowledge how deep our connection goes.
He pushes up on one arm, eyes flashing with heat and need. “Is this a good idea?”
I ease a hand down his back, settling my palm against the base of his spine, and roll my hips. “It feels like a great idea.”
He drops his head, nuzzling into my neck on a low moan. His fingers flex, thumb brushing along the edge of my jaw. His back rises and falls with each labored breath, but he doesn’t lift his hips or push off me. Instead, he grinds against me and makes a noise that sounds somewhere between desire and torment.
“Deck?” I turn my head and press my lips to his temple.
His pained, needy gaze meeting mine. “I don’t know if you’re ready for this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I am and you won’t.” I stroke his cheek, recognizing that it’s him who needs the reassurance. “It’s been weeks of you and me.”
He nods, his tongue dragging across his bottom lip. “I just want to take care of you. I don’t want to stop this, even if I should.”
“What are we doing here, Deck?” It’s a question I’ve been trying to find the answer to for a while now, and I’ve asked it once before but have been too afraid to broach it again.
“I want you. I want to be with you,” he says quietly, uncertainty and fear swimming behind his eyes, emotions I understand only too well.
We’ve been safe in a bubble of us. Hiding from the world while I healed. Declan has always kept sex and feelings separate, but I’m not so sure he can do that with me. And I don’t want him to.
“I want us to be together. I want to be an ‘us.’ We don’t have to label it for everyone else, we can just be ‘us’ together for now.” He strokes my cheek tenderly. “I think I can be good to you. I want to be good for you.” There’s so much weight in those words. It’s so much more than a socially constructed label that tells the outside world who we are to each other. He’s my best friend, he’s been my rock for years, and in recent weeks he’s become my everything.
When Sparks Fly Page 19
