Page 69 of Pin My Alpha
He breathes out hard through his nose. “You keep saying that. What’s it supposed to do?”
“It’s supposed to mean I know I fucked up.”
“You don’t know.” He turns then, and his eyes are too bright. “That’s the problem. You don’t know what it’s like when the whole room changes because someone gets mad. You don’t know what it’s like to start calculating if you should apologize, or get small, or if saying the wrong thing means you’re sleeping somewhere else tonight.”
“I know you shouldn’t have had to learn that.”
“Do you?” His mouth twists. “Because you were pissed at me for not needing you.”
“I was pissed because you act like me caring about you is some kind of insult.”
“And you keep acting like if you care hard enough, I’ll stop being scared.”
The words land like a punch.
He’s right. Of course he’s right.
I take a step back from the bar. Give him space. It’s the right thing to do. The decent thing.
The distance between us yawns open, and something in his face just… shuts down. It’s not softening. It’s worse. It’s blank.
“Fine,” he says. “You know what? You win.”
“I don’t want to win.”
“Sure you do.” He swipes a hand under his eyes, furious that there’s anything there to wipe away. “You want me to admit it. You want me to say I’m scared, and I want to stay upstairs inyour nice apartment and wear your shirts and let you take care of me until I forget I ever had a life before you.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“No?” He’s stepping toward me now, and it’s not trust. It’s pure anger. “Then what do you want, Declan?”
Everything.
The honest answer is too big for my mouth. I want him in my bed. I want his shoes by the door and his stupid spreadsheets all over my desk. I want him complaining about my grocery shopping and telling me I’m an idiot. I want him to stop looking for the exit every time something starts to feel real.
I want him to choose me.
But all that comes out is, “I want you.”
His laugh just breaks.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice gone quiet. “That’s the one thing you’ve never had a problem making clear.”
The air goes hot and thick. I should say something better. Something that proves I heard him, that doesn’t make this worse.
Instead, I move.
It’s not even a decision. One second I’m standing there with my hands clenched into fists, the next I’ve got him by the hips and his back is against the bar.
Shay gasps, and my whole body locks up. His eyes fly to mine.
“Tell me to stop,” I say. The words are rough, barely a whisper.
For a long, terrible second, he just stares. Then his chin lifts. Defiant. Gorgeous. Fucking heartbreaking.
“Are you going to?”
“No.”
