Page 43 of Declan
“And that night at the hospital, you were...”
“Jealous. Years of thinking you were out at clubs with other men. I let it spill over. Not my finest moment.”
“Jesus,” she says, her voice a hush.
Jesus is right. I just laid my cards on the table...well, some of them, anyway. The question is, what does this mean? If anything?
We’re silent, Cara looking lost in thought. I’m freaking out a bit, alternating between wishing I hadn’t been so honest and being glad I was. I’ve never let myself be this vulnerable with anyone except maybe my brothers. It could all blow up in my face now. But I think I would rather that than spend the next decade of my life wondering what could have been.
“I wasn’t teasing you. Or toying with you,” she says suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Good. That’s good. Do you...did you have feelings for me?” There. That wasn’t so awful. I didn’t beg her to love me back. I’m cool.
She bites her lip, a slight frown on her face. Then, slowly, she nods.
I want to jump up and celebrate. I want to dive across the booth.
“Do you...do you think you might still have feelings for me? Even though I was a dick. Would you maybe consider...me?”
“Consider what...exactly?”
“Giving me a chance to,” don’t say it, don’t you dare say it, “Woo you.” Ah, fuck. You said it. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, but I don’t slide off the bench and curl up into a ball of shame under the table. But it’s really fucking close.
“Woo,” she whispers under her breath. My leg starts bouncing under the table. I’m too fucking embarrassed to look at her, so I study the people around us instead. Some of the sleeping bag people are sitting up, yawning, sipping coffee right on the floor. Our waitress —the lady from the front desk last night— is handling it all with ease. It looks like she’s done this before. Most of the people in the room are dressed comfortably, little piles of things around them. One older lady already has her knitting out.
My gaze lands on a couple of men who don’t seem to fit. They’re dressed in expensive suits, wrinkled, but clearly worth some change. And they’re staring at Cara. I stare at them, waiting until they notice, which takes them way too fucking long. As soon as I’ve got their attention, I make it clear how much I don’t appreciate them looking at my woman. And, as expected, smirks cover their faces. I don’t break. I don’t blink. This isn’t my first fucking stare-down. Also, as expected, their smirks fall, and they busy themselves with their food. I keep my eyes on them a minute more, then slowly lean back in the booth.
“What was that?” Cara asks, eyes darting from the assholes to me. I freeze, completely unaware that she caught our little stare-down.
“I didn’t like how they were looking at you. It wasn’t respectful.”
“You just cowed two men from across the room. I don’t get it. I thought you were shy?”
“That,” I say, nodding towards the suits, “has nothing to do with being shy. That’s about respect.”
“I really don’t understand the difference.”
“Being shy? That’s a Cara thing. Not my whole life thing. Fuckers like that are a blip in my world. I grew up in foster care, Cara. I’ve been bullied and picked on since I can remember. When Ransom built our family, I had brothers to look after me. Brothers who made sure I could take care of myself. I can handle shit like that without breaking a sweat. I can demand respect when I need to.”
“You’re confident.”
“In my ability to handle them? Absolutely.”
“They’ve been staring for a while. Casually flashing their expensive watches. Being lame. It didn’t bother me. I’m used to it.”
“You may be used to it, but nobody gets to disrespect you like that while I’m around.”
She’s silent, considering me. I let her look while I look right back. She’s so beautiful. Hair a mess, and no makeup. Still perfect. I think I like her like this the best. No armor, none of her usual I don’t care attitude. Just...her.
“I handle guys like that all the time. It’s a part of owning a club that I had to figure out really fast.” She looks uncomfortable, whereas before, she was relaxed.
“I know you’re capable. You don’t need to be defensive about it. Your ability to handle your shit is one of the things I admire most about you. But when you’re with me, you don’t need to worry about crap like that. I’ll take care of it.”
“Isn’t that a little caveman?” Her voice sounds...funny.
“Probably,” I admit. “I’m not looking to change you, Cara, or make you smaller. But I also won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting you.”
“Ransom doesn’t ever say anything about it.”
