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As if they aren’t already.
I lift my hand up to his face and use my thumb to clean the corner of his mouth. His eyes track my every move. Three seconds feels like three minutes with the way he stares at me. Despite my best effort to avoid his lips, my thumb brushes across his plump bottom one. He sharply inhales, and our eyes connect.
His eyes narrow.
He’s pissed.
Then he shouldn’t have asked for your help!
He probably didn’t expect you to grope him either.
Grope him?
Oh.I release Declan’s arm from my steel grip like he burned me.
You needed to use him for balance while you stood on the tips of your toes. That’s all.
“All good!” My voice comes out like a squeak.
Whatever expression Declan had a moment ago disappears, replaced by his pressed lips and empty gaze.
I distract myself by cleaning up the mess on the coffee table. “Why would you ever willingly wake up this early on a weekend?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“I don’t care if you’re Jesus himself, no one should be yelling at 6 a.m.”
Something on the TV screen captures his attention. He makes a disgusted noise as he throws his hands in the air. “Fuck you, Cruz. No one cares about your shitty start position.”
I struggle to reconcile this version of Declan with his usual cold, withdrawn self. “It’s like I don’t even recognize you right now.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.”
I laugh. “It’s a weird thing.”
There’s a tiny crack in Declan’s icy façade as he unleashes the smallest smile. By the time I blink, it’s gone.
It’s as if putting on normal clothes and eating junk food reminded him that there’s an actual human being inside that needs to be let out every now and then.
“What are you watching?” I take a seat on the couch and grab a donut.
“Formula 1.”
“Don’t they have a race in Indiana or something?”
His heavy sigh of disappointment can be heard a mile away. “You’re right. This marriage will never work.”
“Shut up.”
“Mimosa?” he offers.
I do another slow blink before nodding my head. “Who knew a whiskey snob like yourself enjoys something so frilly?”
“My mom liked drinking them on race days.” He says it so casually like he didn’t just talk about his mom for the first time ever.
He drinks mimosas because they remind him of his mom.In all the years I’ve known Declan, he has never willingly spoken about his mother. The fact that he lost his at such a young age is devastating. I couldn’t imagine not having my mom around, scolding me or joking around with me about life. My eyes betray me, and I repeatedly blink until the wetness disappears.
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Was she the reason you got into racing?”
