Page 42 of Cross Check Hearts

What was it he said? Something about how my body tells the truth?

“What did you do, call in a bomb threat or something?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Not quite. I just called in a few costly favors for a last-minute reservation—for the entire restaurant.”

My jaw drops with shock, then a laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. Declan joins me after a few seconds, his deep chuckle mingling with mine in the air.

“I’m glad you aren’t upset about it,” he says.

I purse my lips. “I mean, I am a little miffed I didn’t get dinner.”

Declan grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, sorry. I should probably make that up to you. Can I take you somewhere a little less busy?”

Something about the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only person in the world worth seeing—makes it impossible to refuse.

“Okay,” I whisper. “What were you thinking of?”

“I’ve heard about this great local bar not too far from here that I think you’ll like. Want to give it a shot?”

“As long as they have good food, I won’t say no. I’m starving.”

He smiles. “Then follow me.”

We walk to where his bike is parked down the street, and he puts his helmet on my head, grinning as he pulls it on. Then he climbs on and looks over at me expectantly, jerking his chin in invitation for me to get on the bike too. I swallow, my heartbeat picking up a little as I lift one leg over the bike, settling into place behind him.

My body presses against his, my thighs resting against his thick, muscled ones, and I let out a slow breath as I wrap my arms around his waist. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s kind of reckless, and I know it is—not riding the bike, but doing it withDeclan.

But part of me is getting tired of caring about that.

I’ve spent so long being the responsible one, the careful one. Just once, I want to follow where my heart leads instead of my head.

There are plenty of people around who could’ve recognized one of us or seen us leaving together, but I’m hoping they were too distracted by the restaurant’s sudden closure to have noticed. But even if they did and the word somehow got back to my dad, I could always just tell him that Declan was there too and offered me a ride home to be nice.

“You okay?” Declan asks, twisting around to look at me over his shoulder.

I smile and nod at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just having a hard time believing this happened tonight,” I say, gesturing around us to encompass… well, everything.

He chuckles warmly and turns the key in the ignition to start the bike, making it rumble to life beneath us. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back to pick up your car when we’re done. Like I said, we aren’t going far.”

“Does that mean this was all part of your plan too?”

He makes a show of zipping his lips, then pulls the bike away from the curb as I tighten my grip on him. He navigates us a few blocks away from the restaurant, then pulls to a stop outside a bar with a neon sign hanging in one of the windows that readsFaceoff. It looks like a sports bar, and although some women might expect something more upscale after Altitude, this place—unpretentious and real—speaks to me in a way fine dining never could.

“I had a feeling this might be more your style,” Declan says as he kills the bike’s engine.

The fact that he guessed that about me without my having to explain warms something deep inside my chest. I tug off the helmet and return it to him, and we walk to the door together. Declan holds it for me with a gentlemanly flourish, waving me inside.

Unlike Altitude, this bar is quiet and has far fewer people in it, which is perfectly fine with me. Maybe it’s because of my connection to hockey through my dad, but there’s something about a sports bar that’s always felt homey and comfortable to me.

“Welcome to Faceoff. Have a seat wherever you’d like.” A young male bartender who looks like a college student lifts his chin at us in greeting.

We choose a booth close to the bar to make it easier for him to pull double duty since it doesn’t look like they have a waitress on shift. “What can I get you to drink?” he asks when he arrives at the table and drops off a couple of paper menus.

“Whiskey sours?” Declan suggests, his eyes meeting mine with a knowing look that reminds me of that first night at the club. I smile and nod at him. “Two whiskey sours, then. Thanks.”

“Coming right up,” the bartender says. “Oh, and we’re on a limited menu for food tonight. Business has been slow.”

“No problem. I’m sure I can find something,” I say and pick up one of the menus to browse it. It’s mostly standard fare, burgers and chicken wings and whatnot, but I’m not complaining. I’d much rather have some comfort food like that right now than some hunk of expensive, overly-dressed-up salmon.

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