“Holy shit.”
Declan shifts beside me. “You okay?”
“Do that again.”
“I’ll need a minute.” I can hear the smile in his voice, echoing the one on my face.
I tilt my head to look at him and can’t help myself as I brush stray strands of hair from his face. His forehead is slightly damp from sweat.
“Thank God your mattress is better than your sofa.”
He doesn’t respond, watching me with a look in his eyes that has me melting all over again and the bed dips beneath us as he moves back over me.
“That was a quick minute,” I mutter as he kisses me.
“I might need another,” he admits. “But in the meantime…” And I gasp as he disappears under the sheets, my fingers gripping his curls as he goes.
32
There’s someone in my bed.
Or rather, I’m in their bed.
I watch Declan as he sleeps. I’ve been watching him sleep ever since I woke up. Like a lunatic.
I can’t help it. It’s the first time I’ve been able to look at him. Properly look at him. No more sneaky glances from the corner of my eye, no more hoping he won’t catch me staring. I can look. Look at the slight stubble on his chin, the faint bags under his eyes. There’s a tiny scar close to his hairline, nearly invisible. Acne maybe? Or did he fall?
Suddenly his random texts when he was gone don’t seem so stupid anymore. I want to know what his favorite bird is. I want to know what his favorite food is. I want to know what he’s like when he’s tired and when he’s happy. I want to know what kind of movies he likes, what music he listens to, what places he visits when he has the time.
I want to kiss him again.
Will we kiss when he wakes up? I definitely have morning breath. Should I brush my teeth? I don’t have my toothbrush. I don’t have anything. Nothing but my clothes on the floor and whatever is in my purse.
I don’t even know what time it is though the bright light bathing the room tells me it’s earlier than I think. I do know it’s morning.
The morning after the night before.
I let my eyes drift back to Declan, waiting for something to change, for this feeling, whatever it is to go away. But it doesn’t. The more I look, the more I feel. Warmth and comfort. Peace.
I watch him until his breathing changes and he slowly begins to wake. He’s such a heavy sleeper, I probably could have showered, dressed and left by now and he wouldn’t even have stirred.
Why haven’t I left?
Because I don’t want to.
The realization makes me giddy. I don’t want to and I don’t have to.
I can stay and watch him to my heart’s content.
When his eyelids flutter, I shut my own, feigning sleep as I listen to the gentle rustle of the sheets, his quiet exhale.
There’s a whisper of movement as he runs a finger down my nose and across my lips. It tickles my skin and I feel his breath on my cheek.
Is he going to kiss me?
“I know you’re awake,” he says, loudly.
Busted.
I open my eyes to find him staring at me, one brow raised.
“Morning,” he says.
I try to think of something to say. Something clever and cool but my mind goes blank.
“Hi.” The word comes out like a squeak. I’m immediately mortified.
He smiles as if he knows exactly how I’m feeling. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Um…” I lose all track of my thoughts as he moves closer.
“Sarah?” he whispers.
My mouth runs dry. “Yes?”
He’s inches from me now. I could probably count his eyelashes if I wasn’t staring at his mouth.
“I’m going to have to kick you out.”
My eyes shoot to his and I scowl. “Why do you always ruin things?”
He only laughs. I reach out blindly to hit him, but my fist gets tangled in the sheet. He catches it easily and before I can move, he’s on top of me.
“Go away.”
“No,” he says. And he kisses me.
I no longer care about morning breath.
And I’m beginning to think I’d be perfectly happy staying here all day when our little cocoon is broken by a harsh vibrating sound from somewhere nearby. His phone.
Declan ignores it. He doesn’t even seem to hear it as he concentrates on kissing me, soft and tender and oh so sweet.
The noise stops for a few seconds only to start again.
I break away from the kiss, but he merely changes course, nibbling on my ear.
“Shouldn’t you get that?”
“Nope.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“They’ll leave a message.”
“What if it’s your mom?”
He raises his head to look at me, exasperated when he sees I’m serious. With a muttered curse, he flops to the side, landing with a thud on his back. In one swift movement, he grabs the phone from the nightstand and answers the call. He doesn’t even check the number. And then he’s right back on top of me.
“Hello?” he says as I frantically hit his shoulder. I can hear murmuring on the other end of the line. What if they hear us? What if it’s Paul?
“No,” he says. “Wait. Yes. Why?”
I clap a hand over my mouth to stop any unbidden noises as he licks a line between my breasts before capturing a nipple in his mouth.
He releases it far too soon. “Okay.”
He ends the call, dropping the phone to the pillow as he kisses me again. My hands go automatically to his hair as he keeps going, drawing a path down my stomach. The sheet moves with him as he goes, leaving me very naked as he moves lower and lower and then stops.
“Hey!” I protest as he sits up, swinging himself neatly out of bed.
“That’s for making me pick up the phone.”
I pull the sheet back over at me, flushing. “Who was it?”
“It’s actually an emergency.”
Oh. “Is your mom okay?”
“She’s fine.”
I stare as he stands, gloriously naked and unconscious about it as he gets dressed.
“There was a water leak in O’Shea’s,” he explains. “I need to go check out the damage.” The boxer shorts go on. And then his jeans.
I push myself into a sitting position, wondering if I can reach my underwear on the floor without flashing him.
Declan frowns. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting up.”
“You’re not getting up,” he says, grabbing a fresh T-shirt. “You’re staying here, naked, and when I get back, I’ll join you.”
I open my mouth to protest but before I can he climbs onto the bed until his body hovers over mine. “One of these days I am going to have breakfast with you.”
“Oh, you think we’re doing this again, do you?” I ask as he fits one long leg between my thighs.
“I won’t be long,” he says, his voice tickling my ear.
“I don’t care.” But even I can hear the smile in my voice.
“Are you going to tell me about your dream now?”
“I thought we covered that last night.”
“Was that before or after you jumped me?”
“I didn’t jump—”
“I’m not going to let this drop until you tell me, so you might as well get it over with.”
I scowl at the space above his shoulder. Declan doesn’t budge. Ugggggh. Fine. “I was naked.”
“Excellent start.”
I close my eyes briefly, trying and failing to fight the sudden wave of embarrassment. “And you were wearing your tuxedo.”
There’s a long pause and I want to shove him away, climb out the window and jump into an open manhole but he lifts himself up, his fists sinking into the mattress on either side of my head as he looks down at me, an almost thoughtful look on his face.
“You’ve got a suit thing?”
“A tuxedo thing,” I
correct. “And before you—”
“I’ve still got it.”
My breath catches in my throat and he grins.
“Good to know.”
Quick as lightning he kisses my cheek and then he’s off, leaving a gust of cool air in his wake.
“Whatever you do,” he says, his voice further away. “Do not use my coffee in the second cabinet beside the microwave and do not, and I repeat, do not help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”
There’s some noise from the living room and then the front door shuts. I stare up at the ceiling, clutching the sheet to my chest.
I don’t move for a long time. I don’t think I can move. But, eventually, I come back down to earth. The noises from outside start to creep in, the sound of the traffic, voices on the street below. The pipework groans somewhere above me. My pulse starts to mellow.
I need to get up. I’m too awake to go back to sleep and I don’t want Declan to come back and find me waiting for him.
I mean I do but I don’t. It’s important to set rules early on in whatever this is. Important to carve back some sort of control.
And make him work for it.
I stand, wrapping the sheet around me, and realize for the first time I am alone in his apartment.
I’m careful to respect his space. I don’t rifle through his drawers no matter how much I want to. Not that there’s much to rifle through. There’s no storage space in the room. His clothes hang on an open rack that looks like it’s about to collapse, his pants folded into cheap baskets underneath.
The bathroom, which barely fits me with the door closed, is just off the hall.
It takes me a minute to get his shower to work and when I do the water alternates between hot and cold, so I allow myself only a quick rinse before hurrying out.
My clothes are creased from spending the night in a heap on the floor but I have no other choice so I pull them on as my stomach rumbles.
We finished his cereal at some point during the night but that was hours ago.
And I did have a lot of exercise.
I smile at the memory. At all the memories and the pleasant ache between my legs and the knowledge that we can do it all over again.
I find the coffee exactly where he said it would be along with half a loaf of bread in the freezer. I make a slice of toast as the smell of breakfast fills the apartment.
I wonder what we’ll do today. I wonder if I’ll even leave the building.
Maybe I should just get back into bed.
I take a sip of espresso, grinning at the thought when there’s a knock on the door.
It can’t be Declan.
Even if he did forget his key, it’s barely been thirty minutes. It would take him that long just to get to the bar. Not there and back.
I do a quick scan for any incriminating evidence and creep the few steps to the door.
I peer through the peephole but can’t see a face, only a crown of blonde hair as whoever it is looks down at their feet.
A neighbor perhaps?
But I know it’s not.
I think about not answering but curiosity overwhelms me and I don’t move away as she knocks again.
“Declan?”
That goddamn accent.
I open the door before I can stop myself.
Her head shoots up, light-gray eyes going wide when she sees me. Her fist is raised to knock again and it hovers in midair before she lowers it.
I recognize her instantly even though we’ve never met before. Even though she has no idea who I am. How could I not when I spent days staring at a picture of her?
Fiona.
33
She looks different than she does in the photos. Different from the embellished image I have of her in my mind. She’s older now, her hair shorter and pulled back into a thin ponytail. Her skin is pale and fair, her navy vest revealing the hint of sunburn around her shoulders.
Neither of us does anything for a long moment but before my brain can catch up with my terrible decision, she adjusts a large tote bag over her shoulder and speaks. “You must be Sarah. My name’s Fiona. I’m a friend of Declan’s.”
“I know who you are.” I wince inwardly as soon as I say it, the words coming out more clipped than I would have liked. I don’t know how this is going to play out, but I don’t want to be the reason for a fight. “He’s not here,” I say, trying to sound friendlier. “He just left.”
Frustration flashes across her face, vanishing as quickly as it came.
“I should have called,” she says. “Can I leave something for him?”
“Of course.” And then, to her surprise and my horror, I stand back, the universal sign of please, come on in. I realize as soon as I do that she was just going to hand me something. She’s already rooting in her bag but she pauses now, her eyes flicking behind me.
Man, I wish I hadn’t opened the door.
“Thanks,” she says and, with her face carefully blank, steps past me into the apartment.
A waft of lavender follows as I close the door and watch her take in the room. It’s obvious she hasn’t been here before but that doesn’t make me feel any better. Not now that I can see her properly. She’s tall and lanky, with long legs and a flat stomach. She wears no makeup other than a faint red sheen of lipstick, that looks as if she hurriedly swiped it across her lips. A last-minute effort she doesn’t even need.
She looks like one of those stylish women getting a smoothie after their hot yoga session.
She’s beautiful.
Even tired and tense she looks beautiful.
And I’m suddenly aware of how I look next to her. My hair frizzy from lack of product. My clothes creased from yesterday. Thank God I had a shower at least.
I don’t know what to say. Do I ask her if she wants to sit? If she wants a glass of water?
You must be Sarah. Has Declan told her about me? Why?
I grow flustered as Fiona’s gaze turns to the bedroom and the rumpled sheets visible through the open door.
A tense silence falls over us.
“He won’t be long,” I say before she can speak. “You can wait here. I’ll… I can go.”
“You don’t have to.”
But I want to. Should I text him? Does she want me to text him? Does she have his number? “Do you want some coffee?”
“No,” she says. “Thank you but I’ve had three cups this morning.” Her smile is forced and doesn’t reach her eyes. “Could you just tell him I brought the papers?” she asks, drawing out a thick, worn folder from her bag.
The divorce papers.
“I also wrote him a letter. In case he wasn’t here or I chickened out or…” She trails off, her mask faltering.
“Sure,” I say, after a second. “No problem.”
But she doesn’t give it to me, she just looks at me, fiddling with the side of the envelope. “It’s not a letter,” she says suddenly. “I don’t know why I said that. It’s five lines at most. It’s more of a note.”
“Okay.”
“I wrote it on the plane,” she continues as a pink flush spreads across her neck. She doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Declan?” I ask, a little desperately.
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I should go. He’s going to hate me for this. I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea. I’m sorry for troubling you. I didn’t even think you’d…”
I can only watch as she has a minor breakdown in front of me, her movements jerky as she turns to find a place to put the folder down. As she moves, the toe of her sneaker catches on the rug and she stumbles. We both lurch forward as her bag slips down her arm, the contents spilling to the floor.
“Shit. Shit. Sorry.”
I kneel beside her as her breath hitches, passing her a lip balm and a packet of mints.
“I’m such a klutz,” she mutters, sounding like she’s about to burst into tears. “Could I have some water?”
&nbs
p; I know it’s just an excuse to get me away from her, but I take it gratefully, rising as she scoops up a paperback novel and digs out her phone from where it skidded under the sofa.
She avoids my eye as she accepts the bottle, draining almost half of it as the blush spreads in patches to her face.
“I’m just tired,” she says and whatever friction there was between us vanishes.
“You should sit.”
“No. I—”
“Just for a minute,” I say, guiding her to the armchair. “It’s hot this morning.”
“This is so stupid.” Her accent swings between American and Irish. “You’re probably thinking who the hell is this girl?”
“I’m not.”
In fact, despite everything, I find myself oddly charmed by her. And somehow, that makes it all worse. So much worse that Declan’s ex-wife isn’t some glamorous bitch who broke his heart and I can childishly hate. She’s real. She’s real and she’s human and she’s sitting right in front of me.
“I should have planned this better,” she continues. “I got an early flight to get here, which is not a good idea, let me tell you. I think I got an hour of sleep.” She takes another gulp of water. “I’m babbling.”
She is. She’s almost hysterical. “I should really let Declan know you’re here.”
“No,” she says, one hand shooting out as if to physically stop me. “No, please don’t. This is better actually. I was enough of an eejit the last time I saw him. I don’t need to do it again.” She attempts another smile. It’s a bad one. “I can’t imagine what he must have said about me.”
I say nothing. I say nothing because he’s told me nothing. Not really. Not yet.
After staring at me for so long, she can’t seem to meet my eye now. Her gaze bounces off the sofa, the coffee table, the wall.
“Can I be honest with you?” she asks. “And I’m only going to say this because I’m semi-delirious right now, but I don’t want you to think I came here in some grand gesture to try and get him back. I wouldn’t do that. Not after he told me about you. It’s just that for the past while now I’ve been thinking about us and about what happened and when he called, I thought he was thinking about me too. It never even occurred to me that he’d met someone.” The flush deepens. “When I realized why he was really there I got so embarrassed and I was just horrible to him. As soon as he left, I felt terrible and I didn’t know what to do, so I had this genius idea of coming here and explaining myself and now I’m…” She gestures down at herself. “A mess. I’m a mess. And you’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”
One Night Only: An absolutely hilarious and uplifting romantic comedy Page 28