I laugh as I drive. “Exactly.”
I tap the screen on the dash, opening the music stations. “By the way, have you ever googled the lyrics to ‘November Rain?’”
“I have. Why?”
“That’s a sad song, dude. She dies in the video too.”
“Way to spoil the video for me, Grant.”
I roll my eyes. “The video’s from before I was even born, so I’m pretty sure it’s not a spoiler. Anyway, no wonder we were doomed back then. You picked the wrong song for us.”
Declan gestures to my dash. “Then you pick a new song for us, DJ.”
As I stop at another light, I wiggle my eyebrows, liking the sound of that. “I will,” I say, quickly finding just the right tune.
But before the song I have in mind can even start, his hand is on my face, cupping my jaw. “Can’t wait to kiss you again.”
Goose bumps cover my whole entire body. “I know. Trust me, I know. But not at the light. They change too fast,” I warn.
He slides his thumb along my jaw, then lets go. “I can wait, then, because I need it to last.”
“Me too,” I murmur but I’m not entirely sure my body is onboard with the delay. I swallow, trying to shake off the fine dusting of desire I’m coated in, then I hit play as the light changes.
An upbeat pop song fills my car.
As I drive, Declan furrows his brow, like he’s trying to place the music. But soon, he tosses his head back against the seat. “Jonas Brothers? You’re giving us a Jonas Brothers tune?”
“What A Man Gotta Do” fills the car.
I smile wickedly as I drive. “It’s a better omen than Axl Rose’s fictional wife dying in the music video of ‘November Rain.’ Which is a song about love not working out, man!” I point at the screen. “Admit it. This is a much better song for us.”
He’s quiet for a minute, listening to the lyrics about what a man has to do to get locked up by his lover. It’s a song about a guy saying I’m yours.
It’s cheesy and poppy and so goddamn boy-band-y that it’s kind of hurting my ears. But I won’t back down. “I am not returning to ‘November Rain.’ That song is done. It can be your favorite tune, but you cannot associate it with me.”
“Fine, I’ll admit this is a much better contender for all the reasons you laid out.” Declan laughs. “But I cannot believe you like the Jonas Brothers.”
“You can say it. I have excellent taste,” I say, preening.
He arches a dubious brow. “How about something from Pearl Jam?”
I scoff. “No. First of all, no one understands Pearl Jam lyrics. Everything has a double meaning. Second, you are not allowed to pick a song. You’re just not. My turn.”
He cracks up, shaking his head. “Just give us something other than Jonas Brothers.”
“Fine,” I say with a smile. I have something else in mind. Something that hearkens back to our early morning convos in Arizona about music and gay icons. With a quick glance at the screen, I flick over to Lady Gaga and play “Stupid Love.”
He listens intently, almost like he’s hearing it for the first time.
“You’re not into pop music, are you?”
Declan shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Do you like to dance?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been a big dancer.”
I smell opportunity. “We’re going dancing sometime. My friends and I love to dance. Reese and Tia and Layla and the women I was friends with in college. We go clubbing and we tear up the dance floor. And I love pop music. And Lady Gaga. I just do. Also, she’s fucking awesome.”
“I will give you that. She is fucking awesome.” Declan sighs happily, then shifts his gaze to me. “We’ll go dancing. And yes, this is a good song. All about the one you’ve been waiting for.” He squeezes my thigh. “That’s you, babe.”
Time for a full-scale butterfly attack. I’m waving the white flag to all the butterflies in the world. They own me tonight.
When I turn on Jackson Street, I reach for his hand one more time, and we thread our fingers together. Once my house comes into view, I tip my forehead to the slate-gray modern building with the Scandinavian architecture feel and tall windows on each floor. “That’s mine,” I say of the swank three-story home wedged town-home style next to a city block full of some of the sweetest abodes in the city. “It’s athlete row here, as I like to say. Some of the Hawks and Renegades live around here too.”
“Cool neighborhood. But you’re the only person I want to see for the next twelve or fifteen or whatever hours,” he says.
“Same, Deck. Same.”
Tonight feels like our first true night alone. A night when we aren’t surrounded by a hotel full of teammates. A night when we don’t have a workout in the morning.
A night when we can just be together, and also be alone together in a city of millions, without sneaking around, checking stairwells, avoiding the coach.
Finally, five years later, we can just . . . be.
I click on the garage door opener and pull into my home. Once the car stops, I cut the engine, close the garage door behind us, and get out.
That’s it.
We’re officially alone.
“It’s just us for the rest of the night,” I say reverently. I close the short distance to the door that opens into my place.
As I unlock it, Declan comes up right behind me, presses his whole frame against me, and wraps an arm around my waist. I melt into his touch, then my bones liquefy when his lips brush across the back of my neck. “Mmm. You taste incredible,” he whispers.
I lean into him, savoring the feel of his mouth on my skin. Indulging in his kisses for several delicious seconds that unspool into a swoony, decadent minute. I don’t want to stop, don’t want to break the hold he has on me. “Don’t want you to ever stop doing that, but maybe we should get inside,” I murmur.
His hand snakes down to my crotch, where he covers me with his palm. “Get inside,” he muses. “I want to get inside you. Want you to get inside me.”
My breath comes in a shuddery gasp. “Deck, I don’t know if I will last up the stairs with the way you talk to me.”
He sweeps his lips across my neck one more time, pushing his erection against my ass, his chest against my back, giving me a preview. “Then we’ll fuck again and again and again.”
That sounds like the best night ever.
I need it to start so I peel away, unlock the door, and open it.
Once inside, he follows me up the steps to the ground level where I toss my keys on a table in the foyer, then turn around.
We lock eyes. Need flares between us. It consumes me all at once.
I push my man over to the wall, right next to a framed black and white photo of the Pacific Ocean along the California coastline, waves cresting. In a hot second, I’m against Declan, slamming my pelvis to his, our lips crashing together. We combust. I can’t keep track of where we are. We are just making up for lost time in a collision of mouths and teeth. Hands and bodies. Like we have to touch all over.
I don’t want to miss an inch of him, an ounce of him.
I kiss him hard, needing to know his mouth again, his lips again, to taste him. To make him all mine.