Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,35

seat belt, bracing his hands on the dashboard when I peeled out of the roundabout to turn right on San Vincente Boulevard.

Jimi Hendrix blasted from the speakers. I tapped a beat on my steering wheel as I headed east and did my best to ignore the man sitting beside me. I had to say something or do something. He was right. This wasn’t sustainable. I could hate him for the rest of my life, but we had to find a way to deal with each other…for business reasons, if nothing else. But now wasn’t a good time. I was too pissed, and he was already too far under my skin.

I pulled to a stop at the red light on Sunset and looked out the window at the gas station on the corner. This was as good a place as any to leave him.

“You can get out here,” I said, unlocking the doors.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Fuck that. I’m not getting out here.” Dec turned the volume down and shifted on his seat to face me. “If we’re talking about this, let’s get it over with now. Go to that bar on Robertson. The one behind the dry cleaner. It’s quiet enough and—”

“It’s a pickup joint. No thanks. And I don’t want to hang out with you. I’m going home. I’ll drop your ass off in the parking lot at my complex. Call yourself a ride from there.”

I almost laughed at his pissed-off expression, but the car behind me honked when the light turned green, and I decided I liked my plan just fine. Dec didn’t. He seethed beside me. I caught him grinding his jaw angrily as he stared out the window. He didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Then he adjusted the radio again, changing the station five times before settling on a Red Hot Chili Peppers classic.

“I can’t believe you still own this piece of shit,” he griped.

“It runs. I’m not complaining. And I’m also not talking to you. This is a ‘no speaking zone’ now. Zip it, McNamara.”

He swiveled sideways and huffed. “Let me get this straight. You basically kidnapped me, and now you expect me to shut up till you dump me off in a parking lot somewhere in West Hollywood. Nope, I don’t think so. Sounds like a murder mystery in the making.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I snarked.

“Hmph.” He crossed his arms and looked out the passenger window. “All right. Let’s talk about other interesting things. How’s your boyfriend? The club owner, right?”

“No talking.” I willed the light to stay green as I neared my street.

“I’m curious. He’s way older than you. And he looks like your average suburban dad too. That could be hot, I guess. Some guys get off on calling their boyfriend ‘Daddy.’ Didn’t think you were into that. You were always so…traditional. I always thought you’d end up telling me you were straight and that everything we did was just an experiment.”

“Stop.”

“I can’t. It’s bubbling up to the surface.” He held his throat dramatically and released a dramatic sigh. “I gotta get this out of my system. We have to talk about everything. The first time we kissed, the first time we fucked, the first—”

I careened into my apartment complex, slammed the brakes hard, and pointed like a caveman. “Out.”

Declan met my gaze in the semidark and held it for a long moment. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I can’t do this shit with you.”

He shot an angry look at me as he opened the SUV door. “Just like old times. Nothing really changes, does it? You even live in the same crappy apartment. And shocker…you’re the same stubborn ass you always were. It’s weirdly poetic. Kind of like you.”

I didn’t know what the hell that parting line meant, but I didn’t need clarification either way. I just needed to get away from him. So much for putting the past behind us.

I waited for Dec to slam the door, then I peeled around the corner, parked my truck, and stomped across the uneven asphalt toward my building.

He was right about one thing. I should have moved out of my apartment years ago. The original Hollywood-glam façade from the 1930s had grand columns and ornate wood carvings in random places. It had been treated to a Spanish-style revival sometime in the eighties, and the result was vaguely disturbing. The elements were there, but they didn’t complement each other…at all. If I were feeling poetic in the slightest…and I wasn’t…I’d say Dec and I were like that.