Page 60 of Pin My Alpha
“I need to get dressed.”
His eyes drop to my chest, my hips, then snap back to my face. “All right.”
He steps back into the doorway, moving aside to give me a clear path. No argument, no alpha bullshit about talking it out. He’s being so fucking decent, and I want to scream at him. If he’d just get angry, I’d know what to do. But he keeps being good, and my brain has no category for that except the part before it gets bad.
I walk past him into the bedroom, careful not to let my arm brush his.
The nest I made is still on the bed. A mess of his shirts tangled in the sheets, the green bar towel I took curled at the foot like it belongs there. Evidence.
I start grabbing my clothes off the floor. The scrape of denim against my skin is too loud. The rasp of my zipper is deafening. Declan just stands in the doorway, watching me.
“You don’t have to go,” he says quietly.
I freeze with my T-shirt halfway on. Of course. There it is. The calm, reasonable offer that’s really a leash.
“Wasn’t asking for permission,” I say, my voice tight.
He’s silent for a beat. “I know.”
“Then don’t.”
His jaw tightens. A flicker of something hard in his eyes before he masters it. “I’m not trying to run your life, Shay.”
“Funny. That’s usually what people say right before they try.” The words are out, ugly and unfair, and I can’t pull them back.
He just looks at me. For a second I think he’s going to get angry, finally give me the fight I know how to handle. Instead, he just gives a single, tired nod. “Okay.”
He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t defend himself. He just accepts it, and the quiet is so much worse than yelling. My hands are shaking as I finally shove my arms the rest of the way through my sleeves.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” he says, his voice rough.
“Don’t be.”
“I’m not him,” he says. “I’m not Darren.”
The room feels like it’s tilting. He doesn’t know the name, doesn’t know any of it, but he heard the whole story in the silence after I hung up. He knows exactly what I’m afraid of.
“I didn’t say you were,” I mutter to the floor.
“You didn’t have to.”
Heat rushes up my neck. I feel pinned. “You said you loved me.” I throw the words like rocks. It’s the lowest blow I have.
His expression doesn’t flicker. “I did.”
“While we were fucking.”
“And I meant it.”
A raw, sharp laugh escapes me. “Right. You can’t just do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know me.”
He takes a slow step into the room. “I know you count the bottles behind the bar when you’re thinking. I know you drink club soda when you’re sizing someone up. I know you act like every nice thing anyone does is part of a long con.” He stops, just out of arm’s reach. “I know you steal my shirts and pretend you don’t know how they ended up in your bag.”
My throat is sealed shut.
