by Mia Asher
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say, truly moved by her story.
She shrugs, making the blue strap of her dress slide down her shoulder. “Oh, don’t be. I learned my lesson. But you must be wondering why I’m telling you this. Call it the mama bear in me, or maybe I’m just protective of my own, but, Blaire, and I mean this with no disrespect—”
“Whenever someone starts a sentence by saying that they mean no disrespect it’s because they’re about to insult you, don’t you think? They’re just apologizing beforehand. It’s what I’d call a gloved slap to the face, maybe?”
She laughs. “I like you. You’re ballsy.”
“I’m just honest.”
“Good, but back to what I was saying before. I like you. There’s something about you that doesn’t bother me like the other girls my brother dates.” She raises her hand, stopping me from replying. “Not that you two are dating, I know, but I can already tell that my brother seems to be more into you than anyone else I’ve ever seen him with. He hasn’t stopped smiling since you got here. I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you’re just passing your time with my brother until the next guy with a Benz shows up, end it now before it starts. I know my baby brother. When he loves, he loves with everything that he has, everything that he is. Just look at him and the way he is with Ollie. My brother treats my son better than some fathers treat their own sons. It’s not my place to say anything more, but that man has given up a lot for Ollie and me, and it’s only fair that I watch out for him. Protect him. Even if it comes at the expense of sounding like a lunatic and scaring you before anything has happened.”
I lower my gaze and notice the shredded remains of the napkin on my lap. Did I do that? “No … you’re just looking out for your brother, which I totally get.”
“Right.”
Lifting my gaze again, I stare her in the eye. “I don’t know what you want me to say …”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to say, just lots to think about.”
The most uncomfortable moment of the evening is when Ollie comes running toward me, grabs my hand, and guides me back to the table where everyone is gathered.
“Can I sit on your lap?”
I know what’s coming as I watch Brian turning the lights out and the glow of candles coming from the kitchen. This is the hardest part for me and one of the major reasons why I avoid birthday parties. The cake combined with the fucking happy birthday song. A song that I can’t sing without feeling a tight knot form in the back of my throat, without tears burning my eyes, without getting choked up during the first verse.
I want to say no to Ollie. I want to get up, turn around, and bolt out the door, never looking back. I want to run away from memories of a lonely girl on her sixth, seventh, eighth birthday—the list goes on—without a fucking cake because her parents forgot what day it was. Or, I want to run away from memories of kids making a point to exclude me, not inviting me to their parties and then talking about them in front of me.
But I do none of those things. I fight those painful memories like I fight everything else.
“Sure, Ollie,” I say, noticing how calm I sound when everything inside me is in utter turmoil.
Ollie sits on my lap as the room goes dark and everyone gathers around us, ready to sing. I’m placing my hands on Ollie’s shoulders when Ronan leans down close to my ear, his hot breath hitting my skin, “Don’t move. I want to take a picture of you,” he whispers, kissing me softly under my ear.
Before I have a chance to reply or react, my senses muddled with the ghost of his lips on my skin, I see the blinding flash of a camera. And then everything happens all at once. People around me start singing that song while Ollie grips my hand in his, his little body tense with excitement, or maybe it’s my own body tense with dread. In a daze, I look up and watch everyone singing to him with smiles on their faces and love reflected in their eyes as the cake is placed in front of us. I glance between the candles dancing in the dark, to Ollie’s earnest and pure smile, to those around us, and try to take everything in. A mundane scene for those used to it, but not for me.
As I sit there surrounded by so much, feeling so much, I’m afraid to move and wake myself up only to realize that I’ve been dreaming all along. I’m afraid that I’ll open my eyes and everybody will be gone and that I’ll still be that child who cries herself to sleep. But as a balmy sensation coats my body—my soul—I realize that this is real. That I’m not dreaming. But this moment isn’t mine. This wonderful experience doesn’t belong to me. It’s borrowed, like everything else in my life.
I reject the thought as quickly as it comes. There’s no room for reality. There’s no room for starkly sad truths. I’ve given myself one day to enjoy without having to worry about what tomorrow will bring—without having to put on an act. So I join in the chorus, not caring that my eyes are blurry from tears, or that I can barely sing without choking. For once, there’s happiness around me and I’m not alone.
After Ollie blows out the candles, Brian turns the lights back on, and my gaze lands immediately on Ronan as if I’ve known his location all along. The sounds slowly drown out in my ears, his family members forgotten as we stare at each other.
I smile.
He smiles.
And right now that’s all that matters.
TENSION FILLS THE AIR, HIS BODY so close to mine I can feel the heat radiating from him, our legs rubbing together as we ride the train back to the city. With my hand safely encased in his, my head reclined on his shoulder and his delicious woodsy smell whirling around us, I’m happy. Content. I feel safe. I’m not even bothered by the fact that it’s close to midnight and we’re both alone in an empty car.
“Thank you so much for inviting me to Ollie’s birthday party, Ronan. I can’t tell you the last time I had such a good time. It was”—I pause to swallow, my throat suddenly constricted—“very special for me.”
“Thank Ollie, it was all his doing. I had nothing to do with it.”
I look up and raise an eyebrow skeptically, which makes him laugh in return. “Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better, buddy. But in all seriousness … it was a lovely party. The look on Ollie’s face when he opened all his gifts was priceless, and probably my favorite part of the night. He looked so happy.”
I tear my gaze away from him and stare ahead of me, watching the lights of the buildings illuminate the city’s skyline. I don’t know if it is the magic of the day or his intoxicating presence, but suddenly I find myself sharing painful memories that I thought I had forgotten long ago. “When I was about seven or eight years old, I was obsessed with this Hello Kitty watch I had once seen on a girl at the park. She was there with her parents, and she looked so happy. I remember seeing them play hide and seek and listening to their laughter drift in the air. Anyway, I guess in my young and really confused mind, I thought that if I had her watch, I’d have a little bit of what she had. Maybe, I’d be happy too. I begged my mom for it. Cried for it. I was only a child so you can imagine how melodramatic I was. My birthday came, Christmas passed, and she never got it for me. She thought Hello Kitty was childish and a distraction. I was crushed, so seeing Ollie’s face when he got everything that he wanted and wished for meant a lot for me. It made me feel hopeful, you know? Like the world doesn’t completely suck.”
He tightens his grip around me, his touch comforting. I turn to face him. “Don’t say anything. I didn’t tell you that so you’d pity me. I just,” I shrug, “I guess I’m still thinking about it. That’s all. Anyway, you two are very close, right?”
Ronan stares at me for a moment, looking as though he wants to keep talking about me, but I guess he realizes I’m done with the topic because he follows my lead. “Yes, we are. He’s my little man, always helping me with the ladies.” His tone is playful, but the pride shining in his eyes tells a different story. I can tell that Ronan loves Ollie as if he were his own.
I bump his shoulder. “Jerk.”
> He kisses my forehead softly. “Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game. Besides, he got me a date with the prettiest lil’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yep. She’s got this sexy mouth, a body to drive a man wild. And when she looks at you with those damn near perfect blue eyes of hers, you kind of find yourself forgetting how to breathe.”
“Oh my God, you have no shame.” I shake my head but smile nonetheless.
He looks very pleased with himself as he grins smugly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nope, at least not when it comes to you.”
I know I’m blushing, but I can’t help it. My body loves the compliment. Traitor. “Nice camera, by the way, Casanova,” I point at the black case next to him while trying to ignore the heat shooting up my arm when his thumb lightly brushes my palm. “I noticed it back at the house.”
“Thank you. When I’m not working my day job, I like to call myself a photographer.”
Disappointment stirs in my chest as the reality of how different he is from what I typically look for in a man begins to dawn on me. I guess the day’s magic is beginning to fade into reality.
“Wow, that’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it’s mostly commercial stuff, like fashion spreads, book covers, and some high society stuff. It pays the bills and I enjoy it, but my dream is to see my work in a museum or art exhibit someday.”
I lift my head from his shoulder and stare at him. When he mentions high society events, I want to add that I’m surprised that I haven’t seen him around, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want my other life to burst this beautiful bubble just yet. I want to keep him separate for as long as possible, even if it’s only for the remaining minutes of the train ride. Because for now I get to pretend I’m a different Blaire, one with a different past—with different goals. “I’m sure it will happen.”
He chuckles. “You haven’t seen my work. How would you know?”
“Oh, I don’t know, you seem to be a very talented man. The way you flipped those burgers in the air took my breath away. And let’s not forget your skills with the ladies … those are a killer,” I tease.
“What can I say? I have many talents,” he says, a devilish glint in his eyes.
“I’m sure you do,” I say sarcastically.
He surprises me by grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him. “And many of them can’t be listed on my résumé,” he whispers in my ear, his breath makes my skin prickle in awareness.
I laugh nervously, but when our gazes connect my smile freezes in place. His eyes, hungry and burning, make me uncomfortable because whatever I see in them, I want.
“Ronan, I don’t think—”
“Shh … I’m going to kiss you now or I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me closer to his mouth, his touch sure and possessive. Before we kiss, as our breaths fuse, there is a moment where it feels as though everything goes still.
No sounds.
No movement.
No breathing.
No hearts beating as one.
Nothing.
It’s a moment where the only thing that matters is to finally feel his lips on mine, to discover his taste. It’s a moment when everything hangs in a fragile balance, waiting to be tipped to the other side. It’s a moment full of what ifs, but I don’t care as long as I get to taste him once, even if it’s the one and only time.
As the intensity of his eyes sear through me, and the forceful touch of his fingers pulls me closer, I decide that it doesn’t matter. As long as he becomes mine for the seconds of that one pulsing kiss. When our lips finally touch and our tongues fiercely meet, the contact tilts my world upside down, annihilating me. I know that there is no going back. At least not for me.
With one kiss, Ronan has managed to break me.
By the time we pull apart, I barely open my eyes and gather my wits before he wraps his hands in my hair and brings our mouths close once more.
“I think we can do better than that,” he murmurs huskily against my lips.
“We can?” I ask breathlessly. Is it even possible?
“Definitely.”
“But—”
“Blaire?” He tightens his hold.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
This kiss is different. It’s as unapologetic as it is rough and needy. It’s carnal bliss. It makes my head swirl. It makes me tremble. It makes me feel him from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and everywhere in between.
Once the kiss ends, we slowly move apart until we’re staring at each other. We breathe heavily, the space between us a magnetic field where the force of his eyes draw me in, making it impossible for me to look away.
“Fuck,” he exhales deeply. “Now that’s what I call a kiss.”
“Wow,” I manage to say, feeling as though a firecracker has gone off inside me.
He stares at me for a moment too long, his thumb softly rubbing my tender lower lip. “I want to kiss you again … so fucking bad.”
I smile as I look around the train car, making sure that we’re still alone. I stand up and straddle his lap. As our bodies touch intimately, I feel a blush as hot as hellfire burn my cheeks and spread through the rest of my body, centering in my core. I’m a human bonfire of lust burning brightly for him. His eyes on me, he covers my bare thighs with the palms of his hands. At first I think he’s going to go deeper between my thighs, but he surprises me. He pulls the skirt of my dress down, making sure that my body isn’t exposed to the public eye in this position. My heart melts a little with his protective and cavalier gesture.
Grateful and horny, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself closer to him—our bodies rubbing—until the front of my knees touch the plastic seat. This close, and with only a scrap of cotton protecting me, I can feel the contour of his very hard cock nudging me, driving me wild.
I smile, feeling bold. “About that kiss … what are you waiting for?”
I watch the cocky, one-sided smirk that frames his lips turn into a full-blown electric smile. “Jesus Christ. With my fucking pleasure, beautiful.”
And he does. He kisses me until nothing exists beyond him, beyond this moment. We become two swaying bodies in a tempest of desire and yearning, with no end in sight. Ronan kisses me until I forget my name, forget who I am, forget that this isn’t supposed to happen, and, most importantly …
Forget that it can’t.
Ronan stands outside my apartment, ready to say good-bye. One hand rests possessively on my hip as the other caresses my swollen lower lip. I can feel his thumb lightly grazing over a cut from one of his many kisses.
“I think we got carried away.” He smiles lazily.
I smile back, feeling my hot skin tingle from his touch and a ride full of memories. “Maybe we did.”
He leans down and places a soft kiss on my nose.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Ronan smirks, running his hand through his hair and disheveling it a little. “Just felt like kissing your nose.”
“Weirdo,” I tease.
We stare at each other in silence as all traces of a smile slowly disappear from his handsome face. Then he steps closer to me until his front touches mine and places his hands on the door, enclosing my head. “I want to see you again, Blaire,” he whispers against my mouth. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”
I shake my head no. “Ronan … don’t. Please, I can’t go there. Today was probably one of the best days I’ve ever had. The party … the train ride … it was all …” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, but I couldn’t help myself. But we can still let the night end on a high note. Don’t ask me for another date, or to see me again. I’m not good for you. I’m really not.”
He frowns. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
I want to stamp my foot in frustration because he’s making things so difficult
for me. He isn’t supposed to fight back. He’s supposed to accept my answer without asking any questions. He’s supposed to leave.
“I just got out of a relationship, Ronan. I’m not ready to date.” Lawrence’s green eyes flash in my head. After taking a deep breath, I push all thoughts of Lawrence into the dark recesses of my mind and focus on Ronan. I can’t let him seduce my thoughts with his memory and what it promises.
Ronan smiles and lifts his hands to cup my jaw tenderly. “Blaire, I’m not asking you to date me. I’m just asking for another chance to see you again.”
“I don’t know—”
“Don’t be scared of me.”
“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of myself, and of the things you make me want, and—”
He shuts me up with a kiss that I feel all the way in my bones. When he pulls away, he’s totally rocking a smug expression on his face. The asshole knows the power of those lips of his, and knows exactly how to use them to his advantage. “Fuck me … it just keeps getting better and better.”
“Huh? What? What keeps getting better?” I ask, fluttering my eyelashes open.
Ronan lowers his face and begins trailing kisses on my neck. Every time his lips come into contact with my skin, little shockwaves spread through my body, over and over again. “Kissing you, Blaire. It keeps getting better and better.”
I swallow hard, my legs turning to jelly. “You really need to stop doing that.”
“What? This?” he whispers roughly before kissing me once again.