Page 16 of Hooked on a Demon (Leeside Witches #3)

Eliana

P ick it up and call him.

Or text him.

Or send a fucking carrier pigeon.

Do something.

The internal battle rages as Eliana stares at her phone, trying to convince herself to pick it up and use the number she has long memorized. Her back rests against the front of the fridge for a moment before she slides down, phone in hand, and sits on the floor.

Holding it in her lap, she unlocks it and taps the call app. She enters the numbers burned in her brain and hovers her thumb over the dial button.

DO IT ALREADY!

Tightly squeezing her eyes shut, she lets her thumb lower and tap the screen. Within what feels like nanoseconds, the call goes through, and it starts to ring.

Heat floods her system, and sweat beads on her brow. Her palms are sticky and clammy, and she’s certain there is a giant sweat stain forming in her pits. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she says, scrambling to a standing position while pressing the speaker phone button.

“Good afternoon to you, too, Eliana.”

FUCK! He answered. It feels as though all her nerve endings are firing at the same time while a thousand bugs crawl over her body. Goddess, why is she such a mess? She wasn’t ready to call him, and now he’s answered. Waiting for her to say something. Shit! She has to say something. Anything.

“Huh.” She clears her throat. “Hi. Sorry.”

“Hi, Eliana.”

Goddess, he needs to stop saying her name like that. Eliana. She nearly swoons thinking about it. “Hi,” she manages to breathe out.

“I think we’ve covered that.” He laughs. It’s different from the other night. Easier. Smoother. Yet, it still fills her soul. Finding its home.

“Right. Yes.”

He laughs softly again. “What can I do for you?”

“Right. Umm… See… MydancestudioisputtingonashowcaseandweneedsponsorsandIwaswonderingifyourautoshopwouldliketosponsorus,” she says, so fast that it all sounds like one long word.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Must be a bad connection.”

Yeah, in her brain.

“Can you repeat that?” Declan asks.

She takes a deep breath, settling her nerves enough to be able to speak at a more normal pace. “My dance studio is putting on a showcase, and we need sponsors. I was wondering if your auto shop would like to sponsor us?”

He may only pause for a second, but to Eliana, it feels like years. Was she completely out of line? Did she overstep? Oh gosh, what if he hates children dancing and finds them creepy?

“Sure. That’d be great,” he says, pulling her from her spiral.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We’re always looking for ways to support the community, and if you’re involved, it has to be a great opportunity.”

Heat floods her skin again. Only this time, it makes her cheeks rosy with blush. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I have to talk to my boss first, but I can stop by the shop with any paperwork for you.”

“Sounds good.”

Eliana beams. “Thanks, Declan. We’ll talk soon.”

“Absolutely.” Right as she’s about to hang up, she hears him say, “Oh, and Eliana…”

“Yes?” There he goes, saying her name again…

“Next time, don’t wait so long to call a guy.” He disconnects the call before she can say anything, but her brain immediately hones in on the next time .

* * *

Running her hands down her hips, Eliana smooths out the sides of her blush dress and hopefully her nerves along with it.

June was thrilled with the idea of Hellbent Motors being a sponsor and couldn’t wait to hand the paperwork over.

Taking a deep breath, she reaches the door of Hellbent Motors and pulls it open, the bell overhead signaling her arrival.

When she enters, her eyes instantly find Declan seated behind the counter. He looks up and smiles. Fuck, that tiny action makes her insides do a flip.

“Hi, Eliana,” he says, standing and leaning his exposed tattooed forearms on the desk’s upper ledge.

He’s not an overly muscular-looking guy.

This is not to say he’s not strong; he’s just not as muscular as his brother.

Declan’s broad chest and strong arms, likely from hauling car parts around all day, look so welcoming, and she can’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like to be held against him.

Now that she gets a chance to really look at him, she notes how large a man he is.

He’s well over six feet, making her feel tiny, and he’s so powerful in presence and stature.

He’s sturdy without being overbearing or threatening, at least to her.

She knows he used to play football with Everest, and she can see why.

He would be a force to be reckoned with on the field.

She sees a muscle tendon twitch under the skin on his forearm, and hot damn, that small action is sexy as hell. If she’s being honest, he pulls off that big grizzly bear persona a little too well. Especially with the added stubble he’s sporting.

“Hi,” she says. Do I always sound this breathy? Shaking her head, getting rid of that thought before it has a chance to fully take hold, she steps toward him.

“Hi,” he responds softly, his eyes dipping down briefly before coming back up again.

When her eyes meet his, it’s like a charge goes off in her brain, setting off a series of fireworks that send shockwaves down to her toes.

She swallows, hopefully not too loudly, and says, “I… I brought the paperwork for you.” She places the envelope in her hands on the desk and slides it toward him.

“Wonderful. Thanks.”

“It’s not much, a couple of pages for you to sign off on. My boss, June, says it’s more of a formality than anything else. Something to ensure that we’re both on the same page regarding expectations.”

“And what are my expectations?” he says, flicking his eyes to hers. She’s sure there’s a bit of hidden meaning behind those words.

“Nothing significant. She said there’s a line in there for you to fill out what you want to contribute, and how you want your contribution recognized.

But otherwise, you’re signing off as a way to recognize that you are supporting a children’s dance group and that you agree to a family-friendly collaboration. ”

A small smirk emerges, making his cheek display the most adorable dimple she needs to actively stop herself from putting her finger in.

“Sounds good.” He scribbles a couple of things on the paper, signs where it’s needed, and places the papers back in the envelope. “How’s the car running?”

“Oh. Good as new. Or, well, not new, but good. No problems,” she stammers like an idiot. Why does she suddenly forget how to speak when it involves him?

Laughing gently, he replies, “That’s good. If there are any issues, don’t be afraid to let me know.”

“Okay.” He hands the envelope back. His fingers graze hers so briefly that if she were to blink, she would have missed it.

Yet the sensation lingers. The heat. The spark.

It’s there, hovering over the tips of her fingers.

Unsure what to do with that, she knows she needs to get out of there before she does something dumb.

Envelope in hand, she steps back and walks toward the door, turning back after a few steps to say, “Thanks, Declan. It really means a lot.”

“Anytime.” He sits back down, shuffles a paper or two, and barely loud enough for her to hear, he says, “And, you look great in that dress, by the way.”

Struggling to find her voice, she manages a soft “Thank you” before opening the door and walking out, feeling the flames from his gaze lingering on her.