When Sparks Fly

“I don’t know. It was such a waste of my night, and I missed a really good game.” I checked the score in the bathroom twice and spent a good part of my date watching it in the reflection of the window while Brock watched his own reflection. “There has to be a better way to meet guys outside of freaking dating apps.”

“Are there any non-friend-zoned options on your rec soccer team?” Harley asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe? I haven’t ever really checked them out.”

“Might be a thought,” London says. “At least you know you have something in common, and you can better assess their intellectual competency before you agree to a date.” I love that this is the way her mind works. If there were ever a person who could create a math formula to help find the right date, it would be her. Or Declan.

“It’s a possibility.” And one I honestly hadn’t considered before now, likely because my friend group makes it tough to flirt. I’m also super competitive when it comes to sports and very much focused on the game, not the players.

* * *

The condo is quiet and empty when I get home. It’s not unusual for Declan to be out on a Saturday night, but I figured he’d stay in tonight since the guys were over and we have an early morning. Maybe they hit up the club and decided to pretend they’re still twenty-one-year-old frat boys.

I get ready for bed, pull my trusty vibe out of my nightstand—my only sure thing—and get myself off. It’s the best action I’ve had in a long time, which isn’t saying much considering how little action I get. It’s too bad I can’t absorb some of Declan’s prolific sex life through osmosis. I try to wipe that thought from my brain because the last thing I need is the image of Declan doing his thing with some random as I’m drifting off to dreamland.

My alarm goes off at seven thirty. I hop out of bed and peek through the blinds. The forecast was right; it’s pouring rain, and based on my weather app, it’s not going to let up anytime soon. At least we’re taking Declan’s SUV, which is built for this kind of weather—and off-roading.

I head to the kitchen to set a pot of coffee to brew before I take a shower. As I open the cupboard door, I nearly step on a black lace thong. I frown at the underwear, aware they mean one thing: Declan brought someone home last night. He’s been doing that a lot less lately, so this takes me by surprise.

His parents divorced when we were sophomores in college, and they didn’t end on the best terms. Their tumultuous relationship and his being constantly in the middle of their fights means he’s relationship averse and unlikely to settle down anytime soon, if ever. I don’t blame him; if I’d been involved in their screwed-up relationship, I’d probably never want to settle down either.

I get the coffee going before I grab a pair of tongs and pick up the discarded panties his fun time must have left as a parting gift. As I pass through the living room, I notice a woman’s jacket and a pair of sky-high black patent stilettos. Which means whoever he brought home last night is still here.

I hang the panties on his doorknob and leave the tongs on the floor for him to deal with later.

I knock on his door. “Hey, Declan, you still coming with me today?”

All I get is a muffled grunt and a feminine groan, followed by a giggle.

“For fuck’s sake.” I head back to my room to shower and get ready.

Half an hour later, I’m dressed in a pair of black pants and a London-approved shirt, and have my bag packed for the overnight trip. I check to make sure I have my laptop and everything else I’ll need for the pitch meeting tomorrow. It’s clear I’m making this trip on my own based on Declan’s lack of response, and the fact that he hasn’t made an appearance since I knocked on his door. I pour myself a travel mug of coffee, stirring in the sugar and cream with more vigor than necessary. Coffee sloshes over the side, spilling on the counter. I don’t bother to wipe it up.

I slip my shoes on, double-check my overnight bag and purse one last time, and reach for Declan’s keys, but they’re missing from the hook. “Dammit.”

I have no interest in meeting one of his random one-night stands this morning, or interrupting something I won’t be able to unsee, but I also don’t want to drive my car on the freeway in the rain. I sigh, resigned, stomp back down the hall, and pound on Declan’s door. “I need the keys to your SUV. Where are they?” Yes, I’m bitchy. Yes, I believe I have a right to be.