“Only Justin.”
“What else does he know?”
I caught his meaning and shook my head. “Nothing.”
He opened his mouth so wide, he looked like fish feeding on plankton at the bottom of the ocean. “No way! You’ve never told your best friend that I was your first best friend and your first gay kiss?”
I raised my brows and countered, “What makes you think you were my first?”
“Really?” he huffed sarcastically. “I was there, and I have a good memory. Too good sometimes. It was obvious that neither of us had kissed a dude before.”
“That was fifteen years ago.”
“Fourteen,” he corrected. “So, you do remember.”
“Barely,” I lied.
“Well, we also had a discussion about it at that bar in Long Beach a few years later. Remember when—”
“Stop,” I growled, stepping into his space. So close I felt his breath on my face. I clenched my jaw and flared my nostrils angrily. “We don’t discuss the past for a reason. You know the rules, and you probably fucking blew it when you flirted with that reporter.”
Dec grinned. “Get over yourself, T. No one gives a fuck.”
“Just keep your trap closed.”
He made a zipped-lip motion and crossed his arms. His lips curled on one side. “One more question. Does Justin know that you and I were…you know?”
“Some things aren’t worth mentioning.”
“Ouch.” Dec’s features hardened. His full lips drew into a tight line, and his eyes looked like deep blue marbles. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should keep our distance.”
I made room for him to slip by, then headed into the lobby. “Agreed.”
“Hmph.”
I pulled my valet ticket out as I stepped outside. Declan followed me to the kiosk. I fixed him with a harsh stare when he reached into his pocket. I cautioned myself not to linger on his mouth for too long. Or any body part for that matter. His eyes, his ears, his hands…every piece of him evoked a memory. And I hated that they didn’t all make me want to clobber him.
“You’re not driving.”
He pulled out his cell and shook it meaningfully. “No shit. I told you I need a ride. Want to save me Uber fare and continue this lovely discussion?”
“No thanks,” I huffed.
He must have taken the exchange as an invitation. He closed the distance between us like a panther…or a tiger. I noted the way his gaze flitted from my eyes to my chest and maybe a little lower. To the casual observer, the look might have been mistaken as interest. But Declan had a habit of sizing up his prey before he went for the jugular. He was no match for me physically. He might be fit and strong, but I was a brick wall, comparatively speaking. There was no easy way to get around, which meant he had to use charm. Fortunately, I was immune.
“It wouldn’t kill you to quit acting like you hate me.”
“I do hate you,” I assured him, gesturing at his cell. “Call an Uber.”
He knit his brow together and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Asshole. You don’t mean that.”
“You’re right. I’m ambivalent. Better?”
“No. Your problem is that you wallow in the past. What’s the point in punishing me for—”
“Don’t fucking say another word,” I hissed, abruptly ending any pretense that we were just a couple of buddies having a chill conversation.
I skewered him with a death glare before handing my ticket to a lanky young man with glasses who flashed a killer smile when I slipped him a few extra bucks to speed things along.
Dec moved beside me and growled in my ear. “You’re fucking unreal. I can’t believe you convinced yourself that it was all my fault.”
I cast my gaze around the swarm of people huddled near the entrance, waiting for their cars. No one was paying attention, but that seemed weird too. This was a moment, for fuck’s sake. A huge one.
Declan was actually calling me out…publicly. No, worse—he was bringing up shit that needed to stay buried if we were gonna survive under the same label. Maybe it was the alcohol talking. But he seemed pretty damn coherent.
“We’re not doing this now,” I replied in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder when I spotted the reporter from the bar. What was her name? Penny or Polly…It didn’t matter.
“And that’s the problem. You always walk away,” he taunted. “It would be nice if you admitted that maybe you had something to do with what went down.”
“What went down,” I repeated in a calm voice. “Yeah…I remember what went down. And I remember what you did. In fact, I can’t fuckin’ forget it.”
Dec gritted his teeth, sidling closer when a bystander shot a curious look at us. Couldn’t say I blamed her. Tension bubbled ominously between us. We had to get out of there before the reporter noticed us and wrote some crap story with a scandalous headline like “Battle of the Bands” or “Gypsy Coma, Part Two.” I wasn’t letting Dec drag this ship down with a poorly timed temper tantrum.