Deacon certainly doesn’t.
So, what am I doing here?
“You need me to kiss you again?” The rough scrape of his voice has me jolting from my wallowing, a knowing smirk on his face.
“What?”
“You look a whole lot like you wanna run.”
“Of course not.”
His rasp is low and full of gravel, and even though I try to resist, I can’t stop my body from reacting to the sound.
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” he goads and I exhale, taking a sip of my beer and looking out into the well-manicured yard.
“I’m having a hard time reconciling things. I know I need to let you make your own decisions, but I can’t figure out why you’d want me to stay.”
“You don’t see the way you look at me.” I open my mouth and then close it because out of all the things he could have said, I wasn’t expecting that one.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s always interest when you look at me. A flash of desire.” He takes a step into my space and tilts my chin up with the side of his finger. “Need. Comfort. Ilikethe way you look at me. And I think it’s the most unfiltered way for you to tell me you don’t want this to end.”
Leaning in slowly, I can feel my heart practically beating out of my chest with anticipation at the brush of his lips against mine.
“I don’t want this to be over, I just?—”
This time instead of gentle, Deacon covers my mouth with his, pushing his tongue into my mouth and stealing my breath as the grill crackles behind us.
“I need you to not finish that sentence,” he murmurs and I relent.
“What sentence?”
“Good man. Now let’s eat.”
15
DEACON
“Mornin’,” Sorren says as I step into the lobby of Vetted Paws. It’s not so much a greeting as it is just an acknowledgment that I’ve entered his space. My brother isn’t so different so it works for me just fine.
“Morning. How’s everything going?” I glance at the repair job I’d done recently and smile internally as I look over the wall you’d never know was damaged.
Damn, I do good work.
“Good, I?—”
“Uncle Wren?” a young boy calls as he runs into the lobby and stops short next to Sorren.
Sorren.
Uncle Wren.
Cute.
I’m sure there’s a story there, and I make a mental note to ask Tanner next time I see him.
Sorren’s eyes soften as he glances at the boy, but the child is no longer looking at him; he’s looking atme.I watch as Sorren’s gaze bounces between us, doing some mental calculus before his lips curve up in a small smile.
