I’m living two completely different lives.

During the day, I’m the dutiful daughter. I work hard for my father. Never say no, even if I grumble about it. I hang out with Conner while I work. He’s different since Henley left. Quieter. Not as quick to smile. He’s graduated from oil changes and tune-ups to part replacement and engine re-builds. I’ve never seen anyone take to cars the way he has. He’s much focused and detail oriented then I would’ve guess. As far as my father is concerned, Conner Gilroy is the second-coming of Jesus. If I ask for time off, all I have to do is tell him I’m going somewhere with Con and he’s practically shoving us out the door. We see the occasional movie. We hang out at Benny’s and heckle his cousin who works summers as a fry cook.

After he leaves for the day, I shower and get dressed for bed. Put my rapidly growing cat in her basket where she curls up and tucks herself in and I do the same. Turn off my light and close my eyes.

And wait for Declan.

Sometimes I doze off, only to feel him slip into bed beside me. Sometimes I’m awake and watch him climb through my window.

I don’t ask where he’s been or what he’s done because I don’t want to know. I just let him pull me close, tucking me against him. If I try to move or turn over, he just tightens his grip and tells me to go to sleep.

When I wake up, he’s gone.

Every night, without fail for that last two weeks.

He hasn’t so much as tried to kiss me, not since the first night.

I’m about ready to lose my damn mind.

This time when he comes through the window, I’m awake. Sitting up. Waiting for him.

Like most old buildings in Boston, there is no central air in our apartment and it’s been unseasonably hot the last few days. I have a box fan propped on the sill of my open window, trying to combat the stagnate, warm air that fills the apartment during the day. It’s not doing much good but it’s the best I can do.

I sit on my bed and watch him move the fan, carefully setting it on the floor before slipping over the sill. It seems impossible that someone so big could fit through such a small space. He puts the fan back in place. When he turns back around he’s frowning at me.

“You can’t sleep with your window open like this,” he says quietly. “It isn’t safe.”

I haven’t heard his voice in weeks. We don’t talk when he comes over. If I’m awake I lay there wondering if this is it. If this is the night he’s finally going to touch me. If he’s ever going to kiss me again. I fall asleep waiting and wake up alone.

Every night, for two weeks.

I’m not going to do it again.

“Why?” I whisper back. “Is someone going to break into my room and bring me cat food?”

It’s too dark to tell but I think the frown deepens into a scowl. “I’m serious, Tess.”

“And I’m hot, Declan.” It’s true. It’s got to be 90 degrees in here, even with the window open.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just stands by the window, looking at me. “You’re not wearing pants,” he says, his tone gruff.

I look down at my bare legs and tank I’m wearing before bouncing my gaze up at him. “You heard me say I was hot, right?”

He doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps looking at me. Finally I lean over and turn off my bedside lamp. “Are you coming to bed or not?”

He mutters something to himself. Something that sounds like last time, asshole. But he comes toward me. Kicks off his shoes. Pulls off his socks. He’s wearing track pants and a dark colored, hoodie, despite the heat. He unzips it to reveal a plain white T-shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders. After a second’s worth of hesitation, he pulls it off and drops it on top of his shoes.

Jesus, he’s beautiful.

Powerful shoulders.

Broad, muscular chest.

Thick biceps.

Tightly packed abs.

He’s standing over me, waiting for me to move. Say something. I want to touch him. Ask him to touch me. Make something happen because I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of letting Declan decide.

Just when I think I’ve gathered my courage, I lose it completely. I scoot over and make room for him on the bed like I’m supposed to. He lies down next to me and pulls me against him, makes me the little spoon, like he always does. When I try to turn over so I can look at him, he tightens his grip around my waist to keep me still.

“Declan.” I say his name softly.

“Go to sleep.”

Same as always.

Frustrated, I shift my hips, pushing my ass against him.

He backs up, putting space between us.

Suddenly frustrated and determined, I scoot back to close the gap.

He sighs and moves again.

So do I.

“Stop.” He growls it in my ear, the tone of it low and tight, humming down my neck.

“Stop what?”

He moves again.

So do I.

He moves again, this time ripping the pillow out from under his head to wedge into the gap between us.

“Declan?” I turn my head, angling it back as far as I can to look at him but all I can see is his chin. The bob and scrape of his Adam’s apple against his throat. “Are you making room for Jesus?”

“Yes.” The arm anchored around my waist pulls me in tighter. “Now go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep.” I reach between us and try to pull the pillow he’s shoved between us loose. His hand shoots up and locks around my wrist. Pulls it forward to tuck it tight against my ribcage. “I want to—”

“Don’t.” His fingers tighten around my wrist. “Don’t say it.”

“Why?” I try to turn around again but don’t move an inch. “Because what happened before was a mistake?”

“You said that, not me.” He’s trying to be quiet because he doesn’t want to wake my dad. He shouldn’t bother. My dad is sleeping on the couch, surrounded by a half a dozen box fans to combat the heat. There’s so much white noise in his ears that I could have The Boston College marching band in here and he wouldn’t hear a thing.

“Then why?” I stop trying to pull away because it isn’t doing me any good. “Why won’t you—”

“Because it was a mistake.” The hand around my wrist loosens. Lets go completely. “Because you’re seventeen. Because I’m almost twenty. Because I steal cars for your dad. Because I’m a giant festering asshole who hurts people,” he says, lifting a hand to run it over his face before dropping it to his side. “Because you have no idea what you’re asking me for, Tess and if you don’t stop, mistake or not, I’m going to stop caring about all of the above because I’m not a good guy and I’m barely hanging on.”

Declan has just laid out every reason why what I’m asking him for is a bad idea.

Too bad I don’t care about any of it.

“You’re not almost twenty. Your birthday was in January and I’ll be eighteen next month.” Reaching behind me, I find his hand and pull it forward, lacing my fingers between his. “I know what you do and who you do it for. I’ve always known.” Following my instincts, I tilt my head back again to press my mouth to the underside of his jaw. His throat. “I don’t care...” Pulling his hand lower, I feel a deep-seated groan vibrate against my slightly parted lips. “I know I should but I don’t,” I whisper, tracing my tongue along the tense cords of his neck. “I can’t. Not when I’m with you.”

He lifts his head so he can look down at me. His mouth less than a breath away from mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is rough, his words carried on shallow, ragged breath. He sounds broken. Like he doesn’t know what to do next.

“Then don’t.” I guide his hand lower, feel my breath catch in my throat when the tips of his long, wide fingers skim along my inner thigh. That’s all it takes, the feel of his hands on me to set me on fire. I open my legs, guiding his hand to their juncture. “Please, Declan…” I say softly, rocking my hip against the pressure of him between my legs. “Please. I need—”

He gives in, stroking me through my panties. “Fuck,” He growls deep in his throat when he feels how wet I am. “My way...” He pulls his hand free to grip my thigh, lifting it higher to hook my leg behind his knee. “we do this my way.” He whispers it against my mouth, the words pushed out on a shaky breath. “You have to do what I sa—”

“Okay. Yes.” I lift my arm and wind it around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair. “Your way,” I say even though I have no idea what it means. What I’m agreeing to. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. As long as Declan keeps touching me, I’ll do whatever he says.