Page 119 of Pin My Alpha
“Shay.”
I look away first, because of course I do. I’m not about to get emotional in the middle of our empty bar while our friends eat ribs outside.
“It’s a nice sign,” I mutter.
Declan’s quiet for a second.
Then he kisses my temple.
“You made this place better.”
My throat goes tight so fast it’s offensive.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say things in that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that turns my bones into soup.”
He laughs against my hair, and I hate that I can feel it all the way down to my toes.
“Come here,” I say.
“I’m right here.”
“No. Sit.”
That gets his attention.
His green eyes darken, just a little, and his scent deepens under the clean smell of the bar. He knows that tone. I’ve gotten a lot less interested in pretending I don’t like asking for what I want.
Which is progress.
Personal growth, even.
He glances toward the tables lined up near the wall. “That one sturdy enough for what you’ve got in mind?”
“You own the furniture. You tell me.”
“I know which tables I bought.”
“Then stop stalling.”
Declan’s smile goes slow.
“Brat.”
“Ancient.”
He catches my wrist, pulls me into his chest, and kisses me hard enough that I forget the next insult I had ready. His beard scrapes my jaw. His mouth tastes faintly of beer and something smoky from the grill. I fist the front of his shirt and kiss him back until my lungs start to complain.
Then he breaks away, breathing rough.
“Table,” he says.
