Page 62 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

Without warning, his hand found the back of my neck and pulled me over to him for a kiss. It was a tender kiss, not all noisy passion but the kind that made the world around me go quiet, like I’d hit pause. I was used to drunk kisses that made my head spin, but this—this was serious and sober, grounding me and bringing me back to earth.

When we finally broke the kiss, neither of us pulled away. His fingers trailed the curve of my jaw. “What was that for?” I asked against his lips.

“Better late than never,” he echoed.

I shook my head, smiling. “You’re shameless.”

“Speaking of music,” he said, leaning back, “I’d actually been meaning to bring up that thing you mentioned the other night. About wanting to get involved in promoting the arts or something along those lines?”

“Oh, that.” I remembered now that he had tried to bring it up yesterday in the golf cart, but I’d brushed it aside. Now, I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just an idea. I’d like to get back into doing something with music, but it feels like the industry is sort of impenetrable. And then on the flip side you have the internet, all these artists getting big on YouTube and TikTok. So I’m not even sure how much the industry even needs someone like me at this point, you know? People are figuring it out on their own. It feels like I got my degree at the least relevant point in history, ever. And then I feel hypocritical for even thinking that way because look, I’ve built a whole career around the internet, so who am I to complain?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said, looking thoughtful. “The internet has made things more accessible, but you still have a whole skill set you took four years to develop. There’s a lot of different ways you can use that. And lots of jobs require degrees, if that’s the route you choose to go. Take my job, for example. I don’t think they would’ve let me just waltz in and start building a rover—”

I held up a hand to stop him from going any further. “Pause, rewind. You actually build rovers? Like the little robot guys that send pictures from Mars?”

“I’ve helped on one of the teams that built a rover, yes. And they’re not technically robots, by the way,” he said, as casually as if he were talking about spreadsheets or end-of-year reports. I opened my mouth to ask more but he waved away any potential questions. “Anyway, you’re sidetracking me here. What I’m getting at is that my sister works for Allegro Records. Not sure if you’ve heard of them.”

Heard of them? They were one of the most interesting up-and-coming record labels in L.A. A nonprofit record label, opening their doors to a wide array of musicians with the help of some generous donations. They’d already succeeded in introducing a lot of fresh, unique talent to the industry. I had a music production course during my junior year and it was safe to say my professor was obsessed with Allegro. He brought up the way they were—and I quote—revolutionizing the industry at least once a week. “Are they taking on interns?” I asked.

“I was thinking more along the lines of putting you in touch with artists you could interview for a podcast.” He frowned. “But if you’d prefer an internship, I’ll have to ask Erin. She could probably make that happen. Especially since you have the degree for it.”

“Either of those things would be amazing. Seriously, whatever she can wrangle for me, I’m there.”

Declan clambered back to his feet and offered a hand to help me up. “Well, seeing as we’re not getting any closer to these bison, we might as well head back.”

I placed my hand in his, letting him drag me to my feet. “This hike is going to suck. Hard.”

“I don’t know,” he said, watching as I dusted off the back of my shorts. “It could be worse.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. This was the same guy who almost passed out hiking up the hill earlier this week. “How so?”

A smile dimpled his cheek, and he shrugged as we started back down toward the trail, and toward Avalon. “At least I’m in good company.”

It was a six-mile hike back down to Avalon. As soon as we arrived at the hotel, we stumbled into the elevator—which was apparently up and running again, and despite my earlier reservations, I was too exhausted to take the stairs. My feet were blistered and dirty, and my calves were aching from carrying me up and down hills all day without proper footwear. Declan looked as beat-up by the elements as I felt. His nose and cheeks were sunburned to a blushy color that Jo probably would have paid good money to find at Sephora, and there was a streak of dirt across his forehead from wiping sweat on the back of his hand. He collapsed against the handrail in the elevator, rubbing a hand over the spot where his shoulders connected with his neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore.”

“Tell me about it,” I laughed, bending to massage my legs. But despite our mutual exhaustion, I couldn’t help wondering where things were about to go from here. Minor hiccups aside, the date had gone surprisingly well—at least I thought it had, given my minimal experience with dates in general. So, now what? I wasn’t sure there was a smooth way to transition from tired and sore to hey, want to share a bed tonight?

Once we were outside our respective rooms, Declan hovered with his keycard in hand, but made no motion to invite me inside. Instead, he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “So, I know you might have agreed to this whole date thing on the promise of sex,” he started awkwardly. “But I regret to inform you that I’m currently kind of sweaty. No, incredibly sweaty.”

I nodded. “Jo calls it swamp ass.”

He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “What?”

“Swamp ass. You know, when it gets all sweaty up in the crack—”

“You do not need to elaborate, I’ve got the gist of it,” he insisted, but his amusement was beginning to slip through the cracks—ass pun not intended—because his laugh was more genuine now. He shook his head and, in an attempt to get the conversation back on track, said, “Point being, it’s the polar opposite of sexy.”

“I didn’t take you on a date just to get you in bed,” I said. But neither of us could deny that there was a sort of pent-up tension lingering out in the hall, keeping us from retiring to our separate rooms. I chewed my lip, and our eyes locked, and in an instant, I knew we had both come to the same obvious conclusion. The only possible way we were going to turn the sweaty, dirt-covered aftermath of a six-mile hike into anything resembling a turn-on. “Swamp ass might not be sexy—”

He closed his eyes like the phrase physically pained him. “I am begging you to stop calling it that.”

“—but I have a solution in mind.”

Why did I never think things through?

Spontaneity was not a strong suit of mine. In theory, spontaneity was great, because it meant I didn’t have to commit to anything beforehand. But in practice, I found that it often resulted in me deciding to do things without taking the time to fully consider the consequences of my actions. Jumping the gun and suggesting that Declan and I shower together, when we hadn’t had sex yet—that might have been a little reckless, on my part. I definitely didn’t think this through.

We stood on opposite ends of his hotel bathroom as the shower warmed up, fogging the mirrors. There was a small travel bag unzipped by the sink, a bottle of toner sticking out that I could only assume was part of his five-step skincare routine—which I might have teased him about, if my thoughts weren’t elsewhere. With his back to me, he tugged his T-shirt over his head, the muscles in his back rippling. I tore my eyes away as I shimmied out of my shorts. My heart was thrumming in my chest. Why was it doing that? I’d been naked in front of plenty of guys before, and Declan had already gone down on me. But for whatever reason, I felt exposed. Vulnerable. This wasn’t a drunken hookup, but it also wasn’t some perfectly staged evening like I imagined it should have been, complete with candles and perfume and a lacy thong. There were no smoke and mirrors. There was only me, covered in dirt and my makeup smudged with sweat. I couldn’t help worrying that it wouldn’t be enough.