Page 103 of Bad Attitude
“You do that.” He turns the page. “Let me know if you need someone to wash your back.”
Tempting, very tempting. But it would be a shame to drag him away from his book. “Kurt called,” I try. “Meeting this Sunday for the next job.”
“Good. I should be better by then.”
Better, maybe. Not back to full strength. “Still too soon to ride. We’ll take an Uber.”
He grimaces. “If we must.” He’s fixed on the page in front of him like it holds the meaning of life. I read it a few months back; it’s notthatgood.
“Okay.” I’m still standing in the living room, still being ignored. I mentally shrug and go for the shower, not quite sure what’s going on with him.
“Raven?” he says as I walk away.
I turn. “Yeah?”
He’s looking up now. “Nice shorts. Very… tight.”
“Thanks, asshole,” I say sarcastically, and leave him to his book.
Seems Declan’s new normal is hot one moment, cold the next.
After my shower I pull on jeans and a shirt, then move the TV back into the living room. It wasn’t really worth putting in the bedroom when he hardly watched it.
“Need a hand?” he asks from the couch.
“No, because you’ll tear your stitches and Kurt will have to pay Steven a small fortune to get them redone.”
“Got it.” He nods. “Saving Kurt money over caring for my health and wellbeing.”
I choose to ignore that, flopping down in the arm chair and hugging a cushion. Watching him read.
The doubts I had on the mountain still fill my mind. Questions unanswered, and too many of them.
I start with something simple. “What do you think of that book?”
“It’s fine.”
Great. We’re back to meaningless replies, like the night before. “Yeah, but what do youthinkof it?”
He sets the book down, open on his chest, finally giving me his attention. “You read it, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“It focuses on the romance, and that’s not really my thing.”
Except he’s read a fair chunk of it. Maybe limited options, like he said. “And the historical fiction aspect?”
“It’s quite well-written, but inaccurate. I suppose it suits the story. The politics are way off. He has agency the power structures of the period wouldn’t have permitted.” Declan shrugs. “Like I say, it’s fine.”
Okay… he’s not wrong. But I would never have phrased it so…accurately. Where does a biker like him learn to analyze like that?
“Very erudite,” I say pointedly, and his expressionwipes clean, like he’s put on a mask. Hiding again. “What did you say you did before you joined Briggs’s gang?”
He picks the book back up rather than look at me. “Marine.”
“Yeah? For how long?”
“Three years.”
