Page 107 of Fumbled Into Love

I empathize, I do, but having a small bit of space is helping to settle my racing thoughts. I don’t want to turn off touch and physical affection entirely because I love it, but I need time to face reality, and I can’t ask for that without spilling the beans.

Declan is giving me time.

Deon tries to meet my eye around Declan’s massive head, but I pretend I don’t see him, shifting forward to grab my bracket.

“Do you think they zing on the show?” Declan asks, reaching to take the snack bowl from Deon.

“Probably not,” I respond, “I want to believe they do, but I think you have to be incredibly lucky to zing with someone.”

Deon grunts and Declan spins.

“Something you’d like to add?” Declan asks.

The bowl is ripped from Declan’s grip, and Deon shoves a handful of the snack mix into his mouth. Those stunning eyes meet mine, and they swirl with something foreign.

“Have either of you ever zinged?” Declan asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

You could hear a pin drop.

I refuse to meet Deon’s gaze. I’m sure he thought he zinged with Savannah, and he has no interest in zinging with anyone else.

When my eyes lift, Deon’s focus is locked on me. His eyes smolder with intensity as he says, without missing a beat, “Yes.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. Of course, he’s zinged before. He proposed to Savannah. You don’t propose to someone if you don’t zing with them, even if they end up becoming evil monsters with zero capacity for empathy.

Declan senses the energy and shifts topics, once again crowning him the best anti-wingman ever.

“Well, I haven’t.” He pulls out his phone. “But I’m going on a date, and maybe I’ll zing with her.”

He shows us both the photos of a girl on a dating app. Her profile is plain and full of selfies and mirror photos. She may be nice, but she isn’t who I picture for Declan.

Declan needs someone who can match his energy while grounding him on Earth. Someone who can give it right back but also knows when to let him shine. Someone who doesn’t run from how his past impacts his life. And he especially needs someone who does not give a flying shit that he plays football professionally.

Declan slides his phone back into his pocket, and we return to the dating show. The lead is sobbing in front of the cameras, talking about how she’s going to have to make a decision, and she doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Ian pops onto the screen, and Deon gasps.

“No. No. No,” he chants as Ian walks down a path surrounded by candlelight. Deon launches off the couch and stands two feet away from the television. “Don’t do this to me.”

My focus darts between the screen and Deon, holding my breath as his final choice walks into the ceremony, standing beside the remaining five men.

The host starts his monologue, and Deon’s foot taps on the floor. Declan leans over to whisper, “Why is he so nervous?”

“His signedLord of the Ringsposter is on the line,” I respond.

My choice looks calm and confident, polar opposite to Deon, who begins to pace. I choke back a laugh, and he spins, annoyance all over his face.

“Do you think this is funny, Nat?”

I shrug a shoulder, my lips quivering with the strength of the smile I’m trying to hold back. Not only do I find it hilarious, but I also find it adorable as hell.

If it was in the cards, I would spend forever watching dating shows with him and making silly bets on different contestants.

Deon stalks toward me, and I frantically pat Declan’s thigh in a silent signal for him to become a menace. As Deon creeps closer to the couch, Delcan darts out his leg in an attempt to block him. Instead, Deon stumbles over Declan’s foot, arms windmilling as he fights for balance and crashes into my body.

The air is ripped from my lungs as he falls on top of me. Deja Vú smacks me upside the head as Deon blinks. Just like when he tackled me inthe Lair.A slow, cocky smile blooms on Deon’s face, revealing both of his dimples, telling me he’s remembering the same moment.

“Hi,” he says bashfully, cheeks tinged pink. “I regret inviting Declan to stay with us.”

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