I linger in the doorway, trying not to look as curious as I feel. I don’t know what I’m expecting. A pigsty? An anonymous yet sleek masculine bachelor pad?
It’s neither. The apartment is tiny but clean, consisting of an L-shaped living area and a small galley kitchen. Through an open door next to the one window, I spy the corner of a bed and promptly look away.
Declan dumps his keys on a metal side table and locks the door behind us.
His fridge is covered in magnets and postcards, Paul and Annie’s wedding invitation tacked right in the center. An open cereal box sits next to the sink and the sight of it makes my stomach dip as I imagine him waking up and making breakfast. I force my eyes away, turning to the living area and the few touches of personalization on show. There’s a bookshelf with some old-looking paperbacks, a house plant that looks surprisingly alive and a battered laptop on a coffee table, perched upon a stack of glossy travel magazines.
“Please,” Declan says seriously. “Try not to look too impressed.”
“It’s lovely.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Do you want wine? Beer? I’m afraid we left the gin at yours.”
“I’ll just have water.” I need a clear head for this.
He gets me a bottle from the fridge and gestures to the gray sofa, the main piece of furniture in the room. An intricate woven blanket is draped over the back of it in an attempt at interior design.
“My nan makes them,” Declan says, noticing me admiring it. “Her secret talent.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, running a hand over the wool. “I was wondering where I’ve seen one before, but Annie has one just like it. I’ve always been jealous.”
“That’s your Christmas present sorted then.”
I freeze at his words; glad I’m facing away from him. The thought of us swapping gifts for the holidays is too bizarre to even consider.
It’s been a long day.
Declan grabs a beer and collapses into a worn armchair next to the bedroom. I’m relieved he does. I can’t have him too near me right now. Instead, I sit as gracefully as I can on the sofa only to immediately regret the decision.
“What?” he asks as I subtly adjust the cushions behind me.
“Nothing.”
“You comfy?”
I glance at him and the innocent look on his face. “This couch is—”
“The worst? Yeah, I know. It came with the apartment. I never sit there if I can help it.”
“But you’re fine if I do?”
He shrugs. “It’s my place.”
“Such a gentleman.”
“You can join me over here?”
“I’m fine. But I think I know why you have a bad back.” I take a sip of water. It’s so cold it hurts my teeth, but I gulp it back gratefully and press the bottle to the side of my neck.
Declan’s gaze tracks the movement.
“We lived in Brooklyn,” I say and his eyes snap back to mine. “Me and Annie. In Williamsburg.”
“Trendy.”
“We liked to think so.”
“I like this neighborhood,” he says. “I could probably be closer to work but it’s quiet. The lease is up in a couple of weeks but I’m hoping to hold onto it. You and Annie met in college?”
“That’s right.”
“Where you were studying architecture.”
“You know that already.”
“I do,” he says. “I’m being polite.”
He’s being annoying and he knows it. But he’s still looking at me, settled back in his comfy chair. Like he has all the time in the world. And I’m the most fascinating person in it.
“She said you lived together for years,” he continues.
“Four,” I say. “Not including college. She eventually moved in with a guy she was seeing but they didn’t last long. She went home for while and then she met Paul.”
“And you met Claire.”
“On Craigslist. I couch surfed in between. Somehow I’m still alive.”
I meant it as a joke but Declan’s looking at me curiously.
“You never lived with a partner before? Not even with Josh?”
I shake my head, picking at the label. “He’s actually the longest I’ve ever been with someone.”
Declan only nods. There’s no judgment in his expression.
“What about you?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation moving. “You said you don’t do hookups,” I say, risking a glance at him. “But you never said anything about girlfriends. There must have been someone since you moved here.”
“There have been girlfriends,” he admits. “It took a while though.”
“No rebound sex?”
“No,” he says, flashing a smile. “I was crushed when Fiona left me. I didn’t know how to deal with it or even how to go about finding someone new.”
“But you did.”
“I did. Twice. I was with Lauren for five months but she moved back to Houston. Then there was Sienna. She was fun but it fizzled out after a few weeks. I didn’t really mind when it did. And then I met you.”
He says the words with such finality that I shiver.
“I met you,” he continues. “And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to try again. But you know that part already.”
I say nothing as he takes a long gulp from the bottle, but I feel a little better. I’m almost pleased to know there were others between Fiona and me. It feels like less pressure. Less pressure and more… real. I don’t want to be the rebound girl, at least that much I know. And for a man who says he doesn’t do casual; he doesn’t seem too torn up about the others.
Fizzled out.
Is that what’s going to happen to us in a few months? All this buildup, all these crazy, mixed-up feelings inside will just… fade away?
I watch his throat bob with another sip of beer, his body sprawled in the chair, his hair mussed from where he’s been tugging it all afternoon.
Maybe a little fading wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe then I’d stop overreacting every time I’m around him. Every time I think of him. Like I—
I cringe as the water label rips loudly underneath my fingers. We both stare at it before I suavely dump it on the coffee table.
“You know, many view that as a sign of sexual frustration,” Declan says.
“I thought it was a sign of boredom.”
“Am I boring you, Sarah?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I love to talk. We can talk all night if you want to.”
His lips twitch. “I didn’t know if you were still mad at me or not.”
“I’m not mad about… I mean, I understand about Fiona,” I say. “About why you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”
“And I’m sorry you had to find out like that. You’re right. I should have told you.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Great.”
“Great,” I echo, forcing a smile.
We both take sips of our respective drinks and I really wish I’d asked for wine. Maybe a bottle of it.
“And just so we’re clear,” he adds, leaning forward in the chair, “I fully plan on keeping my promise of sleeping with you again.”
“And do we need to schedule that in or what’s happening?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you. You always make the first move.”
I stare at him. “No, I don’t.”
“Uh, yeah, you do.”
“You’re the one who came up to me at O’Shea’s.”
“I talked but you initiated.”
“And you were the one who asked me for a nightcap in Ireland. I was only— What are you doing?”
I stare up at him, alarmed as he stands and stretches his arms overhead. I glimpse a sliver of tanned, muscular stomach and then he’s on the move, beer bottle joining my water on the floor as he steps toward me.
“Fine,” he says as my mouth runs dry. “Then I’ll do it.”
&
nbsp; 31
I scoot away as he sits beside me on the lumpy sofa. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.
“Are you okay?”
I nod as his hands go to my shoulders, turning me to him. I move as easily as a rag doll.
“Breathe, Sarah.”
“You breathe,” I snap inanely. He runs his fingers up and down my arms and it’s like my brain is short-circuiting.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
He’s grinning now because he’s an arrogant jerk who no doubt thinks it’s hilarious how easy it is to get a reaction out of me. “Do you want me to—”
I press my lips to his, silencing him. He stills in surprise for only a second before he kisses me back, matching my urgency, and thank God for that.
This is much better. Much better than fighting with him. Much better than waiting for him and doubting him and getting myself twisted in knots. My mind shuts off, my thoughts go quiet and everything that had seemed so complicated before suddenly becomes very simple.
I deepen the kiss, swinging my legs under me so I can face him fully. I touch his face, his chest before moving to the button of his jeans and lower still until he gently but firmly captures my hand and brings it to his thigh, holding me there. I feel him smile at my noise of frustration and my other hand goes to his belt in retaliation.
“Sarah,” he chides as he removes that one as well.
I break away with a huff. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
He looks infuriatingly amused. “We can have a quickie first if you find me that irresistible.”
“Would you be quiet?” I snap. “You were nowhere near this annoying in my dream.”
Oh my God.
I clap a hand over my mouth as soon as the words come out.
Oh no.
I look on in horror as Declan blinks, processing what I just said before a slow, smug smile spreads across his face.
I drop my hand. “Shut up.”
“Did you have a dirty dream about me, Sarah?”
“No.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember.” I lean in to kiss him to stop him talking but he backs out of my reach.
“When?” he asks.
Kill me now. “It was after the wedding,” I say, trying not to sound as embarrassed as I feel. “Before I saw you at The Greenery.”
“No wonder you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me.”
I glare at him but don’t deny it. He’s right. I couldn’t. And now I can’t keep my hands off him either. Just the memory of him that night, leaning over the bar to talk to me, to flirt with me, has me struggling not to touch him again.
“It’s not a big deal,” I insist.
But Declan looks pensive. “I actually thought you’d come to see me,” he says, his hands still holding mine, keeping them in place. “When I realized you were there on a date…” He frowns. “I should have left you alone, but I was pissed. So, I took it out on you. Again.”
I shake my head impatiently. “I wanted your attention. If you’d ignored me, I would have lost it.”
“I thought I’d killed it,” he continues and I lean back, giving up. “Whatever we had. When you left, I was convinced you and that guy were going to have angry sex in the back of his limo.”
“You think Matthias has a limo?”
“He looked rich.”
“He just knows how to dress himself.”
“Ouch.” He laughs.
“I didn’t have sex with him in a limo,” I say. “I didn’t have sex with him anywhere.” I hesitate, taking a steely breath. “I actually haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”
His eyes search mine, expression gentling. “Is it bad if I tell you that makes me happy?”
“No,” I say. “I get it. Even that night with Claire… I knew she had no interest in you but when I saw you two together I got so…”
“Jealous?”
“No need to look smug.”
He releases my hands to cup my face, his thumbs running across my cheeks and the tell-tale signs I know he sees there. “Tell me about this dream.”
I groan, dropping my head to his shoulder.
“I want to know.”
“And I want a Chanel purse,” I mutter into his shirt. “We don’t all get what we want.”
“I think I have a right to know if it was about me.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
“I wish I dreamt of you,” he says, moving his hands distractingly up and down my back. “I had to settle for a lot of daydreaming. A lot of very exciting daydreaming.”
“Is that a romantic way of saying you jerked off to me?”
“Your words, not mine.” He smooths my hair against my head, pressing a light kiss to my temple. It’s as if now I’m sitting here before him, he can’t stop touching me. I know the feeling well. “You want to know what I thought of?” he asks. “I thought of the moment I saw you right before the wedding. Do you remember?”
Remember? How could I forget.
“I was hiding,” he continues. “Nervous for Paul and panicking about leaving you and suddenly there you were, standing before me like I’d conjured you.” His hands stop moving. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
“You didn’t look very happy to see me,” I say, remembering the expression on his face. How it felt like a punch to the stomach.
“That’s because I wasn’t,” he says lightly. “We were moments away from the biggest moment of my brother’s life and let’s just say he was the furthest thing from my mind.”
I lift my head from his shoulder. “I thought you regretted it.”
“In a way I did.” He hesitates. “You made it clear you didn’t want anything more. I respected that. Only problem is I wanted a lot more. I thought if I could just… I don’t know, tune you out I’d get over it, but I couldn’t get you out of my head for weeks. I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up the damn watch because that would mean severing my last excuse to see you again. When I saw you sitting at the bar, I thought the universe was either answering my prayers or playing a very cruel trick on me.” He pauses, a familiar glint in his eye. “Now if I’d known you’d spent all that time thinking of me…” He laughs as I pull back.
“Come on,” he says. “Tell me about your dream.”
“No.”
“I told you about mine.”
I shake my head, trying not to make a sound as his fingers skirt the sensitive skin of my rib cage.
“It will help,” he says.
“With your ego?”
“I want to know what you like.”
What I like? Honestly, what don’t I like with this man? I feel like I’m going to burst apart and he’s barely touching me.
“You can’t tell me? Can you show me?”
It’s like I forget how to breathe. Declan watches me carefully as his hands move slowly to cup my breasts.
“Sarah?” he asks when I don’t do anything. “Show me.” His thumbs brush over my nipples and just like that my resolve snaps.
I push him back against the sofa and straddle him, relieved I’m wearing a skirt as he grips my bare thighs, flexing his fingers. But it’s not enough.
I lean down, kissing him as hard as I dare.
The intensity of my need for him overrides any semblance of rational thinking. It makes me bolder as I try to entice a reaction out of him, try to make him act again like it’s not just me who feels this way, who wants it this way.
“More,” I mutter between kisses, sliding my hands under his shirt, almost groping him. He shows no sign he’s heard me.
“More,” I say and when I kiss him again, he finally, finally, takes control. One hand tangles in my hair, holding me to him as he sits up. I feel his stomach muscles contracting under my hands as he brings us both into a sitting position. His fingers drop to the hem of my blouse and I help him whip it over my head a
nd onto the floor. We barely break the kiss for a second and then suddenly I’m in the air. A whoosh comes out of me as he stands, my body sliding down his until my toes touch the floor. I scramble to push my skirt down my legs, kicking off my sandals as he does the same, making quick work of his shoes and shirt. He flings it behind him as he pulls my nearly naked body to his, kissing me hard as we stumble backward and into his bedroom.
He pushes me down onto the bed and I reach back to get to work on my bra, but he stops me, pinning my wrists to either side of my head.
We both pause, staring at each other. My breath comes out in exaggerated gasps and the movement draws his attention to my chest before his eyes drop lower to my navel and back up again, looking at me in a way that has me squirming. I buck my hips, a not-so-subtle sign that I need him to move, and he releases me, dipping his head to lick and kiss my jaw, my cheeks, my lips. He groans into my mouth and suddenly I can feel him everywhere as he presses my body into the mattress. He rises only for a moment as he reaches over to the nightstand, opening a drawer so hard it almost falls to the floor.
I raise my neck to kiss his throat as he grabs a condom and for a moment, I’m able to catch my breath.
Somehow my bra comes off along with the last few scraps of clothing between us and finally he is mine again.
I have been with men. Many men, some might say. A healthy normal amount, other, kinder people would. I am a woman who likes sex and who isn’t afraid to seek it out.
I’ve had sex with men I’ve loved. With men I’ve liked. And with men I met a few hours before who had a nice smile and didn’t want anything more from me.
But never like this.
I’ve never felt like this.
And suddenly I’m furious. Furious I let myself settle for a pale imitation of what I’m feeling now. Furious that that was all I thought I could give; all I could take.
Neither of us is in the mood to prolong the moment, weeks of buildup and flirting and fighting meaning I finish far quicker than normal. Declan isn’t too far behind.
Afterward, he presses a long, wet kiss to my neck and lies down beside me, our arms touching, his breathing ragged. I stare up at the ceiling, still light from the fading summer’s day.
One Night Only: An absolutely hilarious and uplifting romantic comedy Page 27