The Start of Time

Chapter 2

A gust of air hits me in the face and sends a shiver down my spine as we exit the room smothering my happiness. A strange sense of freedom washes over me as I follow Declan Wilder around the side of the building.

The music is only a muffle, and I'm already beginning to feel more comfortable in my own skin again. The dim street lights flicker as we maneuver our way between vehicles in the small lot, making our way towards a black, two-door Jeep Wrangler shining in all of its glory against the darkness.

Declan turns towards me with a small smirk as the butterflies begin fluttering deep within my stomach.

That's it. It's official. I'm no longer a cynic.

End of story.

Happily ever after.

I've fallen in love.

Not with Declan Wilder, but with his Jeep.

How is it even fair that he gets to party all the time AND own my dream car? The only thing that would make it better is if it was white.

"Are we going to do this or not?" He asks before climbing up and shutting the door behind him. "Get in."

I never expected manners, but if this man demands me to do one more thing, I might just be eating him for dinner instead.

And I don't mean that as a euphemism for head. I mean literal cannibalism.

I climb in slowly, inspecting everything I can until the music abruptly blares on full volume, startling me to the point of a small shrill.

Declan softly chuckles to himself, but at least he turns the volume down, staring at me, squinting his eyes in thought like he can't decide what planet I'm from. He's been silent for a second too long, and it's starting to feel less like freedom and more like the beginning of a Criminal Minds episode. What if Jackson was wrong, and the Wilder's are a part of some trafficking ring or something? What if they plan to murder me? What if this is just some ploy to sell my organs on the black market?

And he's still staring, patiently waiting for me to break the silence.

"What?" I ask.

"You're the one that's starving. Where do you want to eat?"

Oh, thank goodness. That makes sense. Without much thought, I answer, "Fiorentina's Pizza."

I know, I know. I'm an idiot. Some random, potentially wealthy, extremely attractive guy agrees to buy me dinner, and I decide on a hole in the wall pizza place. I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I've been craving it all week.

"Wow."

"What?"

"Nothing." He says quickly, shrugging his shoulders. "I didn't expect you to answer so quickly like that. Usually girls just say it doesn't matter."

"Well, some girls probably don't care."

"Bullshit." He rebuts. "Girls always care."

"Well, it's either that or they just want their man to be happy. Even if they do want Chick-fil-A for the third time this week, they'll settle for a salad at your favorite restaurant just to please you."

"And what if I like being pleased?" He smirks, glancing over at me from the driver's seat.

"Then you'd be just like every other guy I've met thus far."

"Do you always have some extensive answer for everything?" He asks, but it sounds like less of a question and more of an insult.

"Not always."