Page 12 of A Summer Thing

One thing I can almost guarantee, however?

Is that whatever it is that has them riled this time, Boss is more than likely at fault.

Addy has a good head on her shoulders, and for having only recently graduated high school, she has more maturity than most of the girls we go to college with.

But dealing with Boss’s legacy—his decent level of fame in this town and the number of girls who want at him as a result, paired with his too-friendly demeanor and inability to turn someone away who claims to be a genuine fan—isn’t always as easy on her as she claims it to be.

Rightfully so. All they need is a few minutes and everything will be sorted, though—if their last handful of fights have anything to show for it.

Declan comes rushing through the doors a few seconds later. She halts her steps, uncertainty weaving through her features before she stalks off in their direction without another thought. I catch her around the middle with an arm as she passes, her back meeting the hard plane of my chest.

Releasing her as quickly as I caught her, I take an intentional step back, as if the feel of her body against mine has singed every inch it’s touched.

But it does the trick, stopping Declan from going after them.

She peers at me from over her shoulder, the rest of her body following the movement until she’s facing me straight-on, and a questioning look tugs at her brows.

“Give them a few minutes and everything will be sorted,” I explain, my tone low and calm, straightforward. “Trust me.”

She draws in an unsteady breath, brows pinching further.

Craning her neck to steal another glance of her friend across the lot, she finds her leaning against Boss’s SUV, the two deep in discussion.

One a lot less heated than when they first tore through those doors.

And with the sight, a breath of air is released from Declan’s lips, and her worry seems to dissipate with it.

She steps toward me— toward the wall, I realize a beat too late, my pulse kicking up too many notches at her proximity. Falling against the brick beside me, she taps her booted foot against the asphalt. Parker smirks from where he stands opposite her, facing us both.

His eyes raking over her from head to toe invites a wave of irrational anger to push through me.

“Parker,” he introduces, stepping forward and thrusting a hand in her direction.

She glances up at me before returning his shake, as if searching me for reassurance, and it causes the tension in my chest to ease. “Declan,” she offers, voice smooth and laced with a softness brought on by her obvious buzz.

My attention narrows on the sound. And Parker—the fucker—doesn’t miss my reaction to it.

But thankfully, our attention is brought back to the parking lot. Addy shrieks as Boss hauls her over his shoulder, his raucous laughter echoing loud and clear.

“There you have it,” I say. But my words fall flat, gaze following Boss as he helps Addy into his SUV before settling into the driver’s seat himself. His engine revs to life, headlights shining over asphalt as he pulls out of his spot and draws up beside us.

“I’m taking this one home with me!” he hollers over the music rattling his speakers, and Declan immediately pushes off the wall.

“Wait, what?” she says, incredulity lacing her tone. Can’t say I blame her.

“Jude can give you a ride—if that’s okay?” Addy interrupts with a hopeful look cutting through her features.

Declan’s mouth snaps shut in response, eyes widening in a pleading gesture. “Addy—”

“Please?” the latter lays it on thick, gaze bouncing between mine and Declan’s. “You’re heading back to the same place, and I promise, Jude is completely trustworthy. I would never even ask if I didn’t trust him to get you home safely.”

“Yeah, please,” Boss parrots, and I part my mouth on a response, but the asshole chuckles through a smirk and peels out of the parking lot, rendering my response fucking pointless.

I push out a short, unamused breath of laughter.

The asshole actually did that. Just fucking took off, and left Declan in my— a groan slips from her mouth, and I’m torn from my own rising irritation, the sight of her head thumping against the wall behind her helping to cool my simmering frustration further.

Our gazes catch, and they snag and hold. Something passes between us. Something just out of reach. Our shared annoyance is my best guess, but it feels as if it nags at something deeper.

I clear my throat and tilt my head toward the lot as a resigned breath flees from my lungs. “You want that ride?” I offer.

All she gives me in return is a small nod and a, “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

Parker’s laughter follows him back into the club as I lead Declan into the parking lot.

Fucking asshole.

______

Declan

I walk through the parking lot on clouds.

The sturdy, solid, ass-kicking clouds of my Dr. Marten-clad feet.

Once they’re worn in enough, they feel like clouds, anyway.

Clouds that are still plenty heavy enough to serve as a weight anchoring me to the bottom of the sea—an alternative that’s sounding pretty appealing right about now.

Kidding. Mostly.

Glancing down at my boots, I jump and land with an audible thud. Heavy, indeed. And maybe I’m a tad tipsier than I’ve led myself to believe. I glance up at Jude, and the hint of a dimple dips into his face as he opens the passenger door to a beautiful, stunning, sleek-black classic car.

“Holy shit.” I take a step back to admire the view.

Sharp, masculinely curved lines; worn-in, genuine leather; wide, custom wheels; and an original dashboard straight from the ‘70s.

“A fucking Plymouth Barracuda,” I breathe.

It’s a moment too late that I note the feel of a solid chest behind me.

Warm, masculine, hard. A shiver races through me.

But instead of stepping away, I still, slowly spinning in place as my gaze climbs up the strong, muscled wall that is Jude.

Amusement dances on his lips when my eyes reach his face, and…

oh… wow. My heart stalls with the rest of me before sputtering back to life.

“Hey.” I poke his cheek in a moment of insanity. “You can smile. Look at that.”

My words betray me because that is not a smile framing his lips now. He’s scowling— and why does he look so beautiful when he scowls?

“Stupidly unfair,” I mumble as I lower into my seat.

If I were smarter, or less drunk, I wouldn’t consider the noise that leaves his mouth a chuckle. But in my current state? I take it and run with it.

“Wow. He can laugh, too,” I say, melting further into the leather beneath me as he drops himself into the driver’s seat. Dragging my gaze up his tanned and tattooed arms, I meet his stare. That hard-as-granite, impenetrable gray stare.

“I’m not a completely unfeeling asshole, Declan.”

“No. I’m sure you’re not. But you are kind of a dick.”

He laughs—a real one this time—adjusting his actual dick.

God, I’m drunk.

“Fair enough,” is his honest and amused response, but I’m quickly sidetracked by the heavy roar of his car coming to life beneath us.

The rumbling of the engine travels straight through me, and it’s either that, or the way Jude is still staring at me, that has my heart flipping over itself inside my chest. “My apologies, though,” he states genuinely, and I’m genuinely surprised. “I’m not usually such a…”

“Dick?” I supply helpfully.

His grin cracks wider. I can tell he doesn’t want to be smiling, it’s just that he can’t help it.

Unfortunately for him, it’s infinitely more beautiful than his scowl. But it’s also like looking directly at the sun—too brilliant to take in for more than a few seconds—so I drag my gaze away, stilling the hand that rubs at my chest.

I haven’t done that since I left home, I realize, pulling the cool metal of my necklace between my fingers. I run my thumb over the embossed pendant. My small connection to Quinn.

God, I miss him.

I drop the necklace back down to my chest, fighting against the strength of Jude’s gravitational pull before my stare inevitably meets his yet again. He dips his gaze downward, eyeing the gold pendant at my chest, but he doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t say anything at all.

The quiet intensity of him is almost too much to handle.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, slicing through the silence and addressing his apology. I’m used to people being a dick to me for no reason, I don’t say, blowing out a breath that takes the thought along with it.

He accepts my reply with a single dip of his head. But then he quickly changes his mind. Shaking his head instead, he responds with, “I should worry about it. My mom raised me better than that. And you, Declan, sure as fuck don’t deserve my hostility.”

I blame it on the alcohol immediately—the gentle, rolling sting behind my eyelids.

But his words land somewhere softly in my psyche.

Maybe if Jude, a near stranger, can look at me and feel that way, someday my parents could, too.

I blink back the tears and swallow through the thick lump in my throat.

It wouldn’t matter; I’m not sure I have it in me to forgive them, anyway.

The unwelcome thoughts recede as Jude’s stare digs deeper into mine.

“I am sorry,” he continues. “And I promise, I’ll…” pushing out a breath, he rakes a firm hand through his hair, “…do better.”

I can’t help the small smile that curves my lips. “I appreciate that.”

He nods, clearing his throat. “Okay, good,” he says, but his eyes don’t leave mine.

My smile stretches wider, his gaze flashing down to my mouth for half a second, maybe, in response, but it’s all I can feel. The awareness of it is like a featherlight touch skimming over my lips, reminding me of last night on the balcony, and how much I wished he would have pushed closer.

Close enough to feel.

Close enough to taste.

Close enough to consume.

A heady hum buzzes beneath my chest as the image takes over my senses.

To my surprise, his gray irises burn with interest in return.

But his knuckles go white against his steering wheel.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he says, but his words fail to land harshly.

He breathes them out instead, the stop drawn out, the rest of his sentence softer than I would’ve thought him capable of.

Still, I ask, “What is your problem with me, exactly?” And I cross my arms against my chest.

His response is a low growl—an actual growl—and it makes me laugh.

I can’t help it. The tightness in my chest breaks apart with the light sound.

He’s angry; he’s brooding; he’s kind; he’s helpful; he’s smiling; he’s scowling; he’s laughing; he’s apologizing; he’s snapping at me; he’s all over the damn place.

Maybe Jude really is a bit of a mess, too.

“There is no problem.” He growls— again, and my lips tick up at the corners in a lopsided smile.

“Listen—full honesty, Coach has promised a reign of fury on us all if we even think about touching you, let alone—” He swallows his words with a heavy breath pushed through his nose.

Enough time passes that I’m sure he’s not going to continue, before he says, “I’m not willing to cross that line and betray Coach’s trust like that.

No matter how you look at me; no matter how much I’d like to.

So, if you could knock it the fuck off, that’d be great. ”

My renewed burst of laughter is unexpected. He wants to cross the line, but won’t? Holy hell.

“Okay. Yeah. I can do that. As long as you stop looking at me like you want to tear my world down and kick my puppy while you’re at it. I didn’t do anything to you, you know. I just met you.”

His huff of laughter, the sound of it, tickles the nape of my neck. I have to look away in fear of staring at him like I’m desperate for him to kiss me again. It’s been three seconds, at most, since I agreed not to, and it already feels like an impossible feat.

“Deal,” he says, his tone stern, abrupt.

I stretch out my single word reply, my eyes wide as I say, “Really?”

“Really.” He pins me with his stare.

I smile. “So, friends?”

“Friends,” he agrees.

I’m not sure how much either of us means it.