I meandered into the remodeled kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. I loved this house. Seeing Clare move out of the house she and Ethan had lived in was difficult, but I was glad to see her starting over with Logan. This was his home before they'd met, and it was perfect for them. It was historic but completely remodeled to live in comfortably. It was as if Logan had purchased it, waiting for Clare and Maddie to come and make it a home.
"Hello? Anyone home?" a deep male voice called out as the front door was pushed open.
"Uncle Garrett!" Maddie screamed with glee, running down the hall to greet Garrett.
He was now trying to juggle a very enthusiastic five-year-old and a box of pizza. I joined him halfway and took the pizza out of his hand, so he could hold on to Maddie with both hands.
"Thought you could use some help there, Goober," I said with a wry smile.
"God, seriously, Leah? Still? I'm an adult. Aren't we past the Goober phase?"
"Uh, no. You will always be Goober, dude. It doesn't matter how old or how hot you get, you will forever be the dorky, lanky six-year-old, who followed me around an entire summer, asking if I would marry you."
We settled back into the kitchen, and I set the pizza box down as he released Maddie. She lost interest in our discussion and ran off to the family room to continue her Dora marathon. Clare and Logan were sitting at the kitchen table, making googly eyes at each other.
"I was six! And you've got to admit that it was pretty damn cute. Besides, I'm way over my infatuation with you. Wait —you think I'm hot?"
Catching my earlier comment, he glanced at me with amusement. I loved Garrett for so many reasons, but one of the biggest reasons was he and I could trash-talk and banter like this for hours. He totally got me and my blunt sense of humor.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately, Goober? That baby face melted away and left you with nothing but sex-on-a-stick hotness. Now, this is coming from a purely objective opinion because anything beyond that makes me want to hurl. Hot or not, you're still like a brother to me."
It was true. Garrett had always been blessed in the looks department, but after he turned eighteen, he'd really blossomed. He'd filled out more, his slimmer body becoming harder and more defined. His jet black hair and piercing green eyes that mirrored his sister's made him quite the package.
"Right on, Leah. I feel the same way. You're crazy hot, but I'd never in a million years tap that. Gross." He laughed.
"Tell that to your dick. You used to have to sit around with a pillow on your lap whenever I was around. Don't think I didn't notice."
"I was a horny teenager. What do you expect? I popped wood over tampon commercials," he admitted.
Clare covered her ears and groaned.
"Yuck. All right, well, now that we've reestablished how f**king hot we are, how are you doing? Job okay? Seeing anyone? Getting enough protein?" I asked.
"Oh, don't even try to ask him about his love life. You won't get anywhere," Clare chimed in.
Garrett rolled his eyes. "It's because I don't have one. I don't have any time. When I'm not traveling, I'm working eighty-hour weeks. When I do get a day off, I have a side job, babysitting," he said with a grin. "It's a very lucrative career."
"Okay, Goober, just don't work too hard. You know there is a life beyond a paycheck. Try to actually spend it on something enjoyable."
He nodded and smiled, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and I knew he wasn't listening. He was working himself to death, and I wondered why. There were many reasons people lost themselves in their work —to forget or to swap one addiction for another. What was his reason? At twenty-three, what could he possibly be trying to forget?
~Declan~
"Cut!" the director bellowed from his stance behind the cameraman. "What the hell was that, Declan? Your blocking is all over the place, and you look like you're headed out to pick up a f**king carton of milk! This is supposed to be your goddamn wife and children you are leaving behind. Show me some f**king emotion!" he barked.
Damn it. I needed to get my head in the game. The problem was that I was pretty sure I'd left my head among other things in that hotel room with Leah.
I couldn't believe we'd slept together. I knew we'd slept together. That part of the evening had been stuck on repeat like a broken record in my f**king head. Just like the first night, I remembered every single second. What I couldn't get past was when we'd reached the point of exhaustion, we'd both collapsed on the king-sized bed, entangled in each other, and fallen asleep. I'd awoken this morning, and the first thing that had hit me was her flowery vanilla scent. I'd opened my eyes to find her naked form wrapped in my arms, and her soft honey-colored hair fanned out over my chest. Her breathing had been slow and even, still far away and deep in sleep. I hadn't known what to do. I'd never spent the night with anyone I'd f**ked around with...since Heather. I would either make excuses and get the hell out afterward or send the woman packing. Sleeping in the same bed was intimate, and I'd forgotten how much so until I'd had Leah's warm, naked body wrapped in mine.
I'd gently uncurled my body from hers and headed for the shower, knowing my morning call time was quickly approaching. I'd told myself I was being a nice guy, allowing her to sleep in and not disturbing her with my work schedule, but it had been all a lie. I had been running. Waking up with her tempting body flush against mine had brought something out in me —the same feeling I'd had when she asked me last night to be hers only. It had been that innate feeling of want. I had held on to the slim chance that after we had come together again, I would be over her, like I'd originally planned, but with some cruel twist of fate, I only wanted her more. It seemed every time I had her, it fueled my desire that much further.
I took my position again for the opening of the scene I had just botched as I cleared my head and tried to focus. It wasn't working. Leah's writhing body against that door as I'd licked her clean filled my memory, and when I opened my eyes, I saw my costar, Natasha, standing before me, waiting for me to deliver my line.
Damn it, Declan. Concentrate.
Natasha's fake tears trickled down her cheek as she portrayed a broken wife saying good-bye to her husband as he went off to war. It was supposed to be a heartbreaking scene, one that would make the women in the theater weep.
"Sorry, guys, give me a minute," I said.
The set crew groaned. Everyone gave me a look that clearly said, Get your shit together, before they shuffled off to get coffee.
I paced for a second or two, trying to focus on the scene and job ahead of me. I looked up to see Natasha closing the distance between us, swaying her hips in her nineteenth-century gown.