Page 83 of Holding You
I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Why not? Declan seems fun.”
“I tell her that all the time, and she still argues with me.”
Declan tips the top of his beer toward me before taking a sip.
My gaze sweeps over his tattoos. “You’ve never once said you’re fun,” I point out and cross my arms.
His head volleys. “Probably because I’m too busy trying to figure out why you don’t like me.”
“Sorry,” I say on a shrug.
“Wait,” Colt cuts in. “You never told him?”
“No,” I snap and then hold a finger in front of my lips to silence my son’s father.
“You know why?” Declan sits up. “Tell me.”
“No,” I answer for him.
“Ruby, come on. Help the guy out.”
“Yeah, Ruby, help a guy out,” Declan repeats.
“Okay.” I smile and stand. “It’s time for Colt to go and for us to finish packing.”
“Fine, fine. Don’t tell me,” Declan says, standing as well and walking behind me to the sliding door.
At least he listens.
“Just keep not liking me. I mean, itiseasier that way.”
I spin to face him.
“What did you just say?”
His eyes go wide, and he takes a step back.
“Umm, that you not liking me comes easy to you.”
I step toward him and again he steps back.
I never break eye contact.
His eyes dart to the left; his throat bobs on a swallow,
I gasp.
“Declan, tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”
“I did not.”
“Oh my god!” My arms flail. “You answered that so fast, I know you did it.”
“What did he do?” Colt asks with a grin.
“He undeleted a text I sent him and then read it.”
