Page 77 of Pin My Alpha

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“Don’t.”

He presses his mouth closed.

I grab my duffel from beside the dresser. It’s not even unpacked all the way, which should make this easier. Just gather the obvious stuff. Toothbrush. Charger. The extra shirt I brought over yesterday. My laptop.

My hands move fast. Clean. Efficient.

The toothbrush goes in first.

Then my charger.

Then the black tee that somehow ended up in Declan’s laundry because he did a load while I was working on the party invites, and he’d folded it with his own clothes like that wasn’t the kind of thing that could ruin a person.

I shove it into the bag too hard.

“Leave the rest,” Declan says.

I laugh again, short and mean. “Why? So I have an excuse to come back?”

“No.” He takes a breath. “Because it’s yours. You can take whatever you want. You can leave whatever you want. It doesn’t have to mean anything tonight.”

“It already means something.”

“I know.”

“Jesus Christ, Declan.”

He flinches at the sharpness in my voice. Good. Maybe he should.

I reach for the towel.

My fingers close around the faded green cotton, and I stop.

It still carries the quiet, pre-opening scent of the bar—when Declan wipes down the counter and hums under his breath because he thinks nobody can hear him. That’s woven into it now, tangled up with mine.

My throat burns.

I stuff it into the bag.

Declan makes a small sound. Barely there.

I don’t look at him.

“Take it,” he says.

“I am.”

“I mean it. Take whatever you need.”

There’s something in his voice that makes me turn despite myself.

He’s standing by the bedroom door with his arms folded over his chest, like he’s holding himself in place. His eyes are on the duffel. Not on me. The sight of that huge man looking like he’s afraid one wrong move will send me running should make me soften.

Instead, the word need catches under my ribs.

Need.

That’s the whole problem.

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