Immaterial Defense: Once and Forever #4

by Lauren Stewart

  “I thought about the magazine thing. But then I found out that women were only getting an average of 19.5 cent less per dollar than men. For the same job. It seemed so unfair to the men, you know?” I couldn’t believe I was able to get that all out with a straight face. “I don’t know how those old white guys can look us poor bastards in the eyes after letting us down like that.”

  “Wow. Only 19.5 cents less a dollar? That’s crazy.” She slid her empty glass away from her. “By the way, remind me to never make fun of your poker face again.”

  It almost slipped. “My face and I would be happy to do that. Thanks.” With perfect timing, the bartender brought our drinks over.

  She thanked him and then thanked me as I handed him some cash.

  Since I hoped this conversation would be continuing for a while, I picked up both of our glasses. “I’m tired of yelling over all the noise. Can we go somewhere a little quieter?”

  She paused and stared at me for a moment.

  “Come on. I haven’t finished telling you what I do for a living yet. I’d hate for you to walk out of here thinking I’m the unclassy kind of sex worker or something.”

  She looked at me silently before eventually nodding. “But just for minute. Then I should find my friend.”

  “If a minute is all you’ll give me, a minute is what I’ll take.”

  I shouldn’t have picked up our drinks, then I would’ve had a free hand to grab hers as I made a path through the crowd. I suppressed a shudder when I felt her finger hook through one of the belt loops of my jeans. That connection made me smile and let me know she was following close behind, her smaller steps creating tiny, bouncing tugs on my pants.

  My first thought was to go outside, where the air was fresh and quiet, but I didn’t want her to be thinking about Cal while she was with me. What I’d really like to have done is to set our drinks down and invite her back to my place. But I already knew what her answer would’ve been.

  So, I led her toward the only other place I could think of—a hallway just around the corner from a room I’d spotted when the band had played here. Supposedly, they opened up the room to use as a coat check-in closet in the winter. The rest of the time, it was used for storage. Unfortunately, the room itself would be locked, but just beyond it was the hallway to the owner’s office and, from what I’d seen, no one but the staff ever got close. Not sure what that said about the friendliness of the owner, but having a little privacy with Sara was worth the risk of getting shit for being here.

  I stopped and turned to hand her drink to her, regretting the move as soon as she let go of my jeans.

  “Wow, it’s so romantic,” she joked, peering down the hallway.

  I opened my mouth to tell her how happy I’d be to take her somewhere romantic, but nothing made it out. It was bizarre not knowing what a woman wanted from me. The ones I’d met over the last year or so had made it pretty clear—in one way or another, it was always about the band. Another reason why this woman was so different.

  Sara took a sip of ginger ale. “Alright, I let you bring me someplace a bit quieter. So, now I think I deserve the truth, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled.

  “So, Declan, tell me: Are you really a writer? Or did I get a freebie from a very talented male prostitute last weekend?” She held up her finger before I could answer. “That last part was payback for the ten seconds you made me think you were calling me a whore.”

  “I’m really a writer.” Technically, that was true. It just wasn’t everything. In a perfect world, I’d spend every day with nothing but my guitar, a notepad, and my dog, knowing I was in control of my own music. And I wouldn’t have to do it knowing my songs were going to be completely redesigned into Self Defense’s current goal of mass market appeal.

  “The ‘freebie’ you got last weekend was me doing my best to convince you to come back for more. Except now you have to pay for it with conversations and the occasional dinner out.” Then I quickly added, “My treat, of course.”

  She dropped her head forward a little to hide her face and let me worry about what she was thinking.

  “What do you write?” she asked casually, as if she hadn’t heard my last comment. “Anything I might know?”

  “I would be shocked stupid if you did.” At least in the form I’d originally written them. Besides me, very few people ever heard my songs before they were redesigned for the band—Self Defense’s drummer, Sam, our guitarist, Pete, Trevor, and Ed, a DJ friend who’d lent us his home studio to record before we could afford to rent a professional setup.

  “I bet you make shocked stupid look good.”

  “I’d take that bet.” I leaned against the wall, thinking about what to tell her. “Sadly, I spend more time in clubs, listening to music and meeting people than I do writing these days.” Not a single lie had come out of my mouth.

  Unless you considered leaving the most important bits out lying. Like I did.

  12

  Sara

  I wasn’t sure how it had happened or when my brain took a break, but at some point in the evening, I started laughing. Then I started flirting, touching Declan’s arm or his chest every chance I could. Like a damn teenager. I’d become a master at using every tiny excuse to get closer to him—he made a joke or bad innuendo. I even held on to him when I put my empty glass on the floor. Right. Because a five-foot-tall, stone-cold sober woman really needed help reaching the ground.

  If I hadn’t been so busy enjoying the moment, I would’ve had time to be disgusted with myself. Maybe later.

  The next thing I knew, I was standing on my tiptoes, yanking Declan into me. I gave up wondering what I was doing as soon as our lips touched. Even his kiss was different, better, more delicious.

  He brushed his lips across mine and pulled away, forcing me to reach for him again. As if he knew exactly how to draw me out and drive me absolutely crazy. I tugged on his T-shirt, undoubtedly ruining it, and my mind flashed onto how he’d look to anyone who walked by—perfect ass, his shirt stretched tightly across his back, showing the definition of every muscle.

  He held himself away from me with one hand on the wall behind me and ran the fingertips of his other down my cheek and then behind my neck.

  “Are you sure you want me to kiss you?” he asked, coming closer way too slowly.

  I couldn’t move my head, but I think I squeaked approvingly. Ugh. Yep. That would definitely be called a squeak. He caught himself right before we touched and pulled back to where he’d started. My squeak was whiney that time.

  “I like you a lot, Sara.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I whispered.

  “I like everything about you. And believe me, the last thing I want you thinking about right now is another guy, but earlier…” He swallowed and looked at the wall where his hand rested.

  Were women allowed to blame slow brain function on the redistribution of blood like men could? There was definitely a powerful reason it took me so damn long to figure out what he was referring to.

  “Oh! You mean with Cal?” I shook my head. “God, no. Nothing like this was happening, or would ever happen, with Cal.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He laughed. “It’s not exactly what I meant, though.”

  “Then be more direct. I’m a big girl—I can handle it.”

  “Okay.” His smile disappeared so fast, I almost doubted it had ever been there. “There’s nothing I would rather do right now than to push you up against this wall, get under your skirt, and make you come so hard your scream would cover up the sound of that crappy music out there. For starters. But”—he dragged out the word—“I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you’re uncomfortable with.”

  Was he kidding? “The only thing I’m uncomfortable with is that your mouth is about three inches too far away.”

  He smiled, his gaze locked onto mine. “You’ll let me know if you change your mind?”

  “I’m not going to—”

 
; The rest of my thought—and all of them after that—were lost in his kiss.

  It didn’t take much for his tongue to coax my mouth open. We both moaned when his hand moved up my thigh and under my skirt. He squeezed my ass and lifted me up one-handed. When I moved to wrap both legs around him, he stopped me by slipping his other hand between us and running his fingertips along the edge of my panties. Thank God he was strong enough to support my body while the leg he wasn’t holding kicked and tried to find purchase somewhere. I probably looked like a dog kicking her leg out when her owner started scratching that perfect spot. Come to think of it, aside from the bitch part, that was pretty accurate.

  He chuckled when he realized I was struggling and bent lower so my foot could touch the ground. But he didn’t let go of my other leg, holding it to his hip with his forearm and stroking my core with his thumb. When his mouth moved to my neck, I pressed my lips tightly together to stifle my moan. If someone heard me in the next two minutes, they might interrupt the absolute best and only public orgasm I’d ever had.

  For the next minute and a half, I prayed to every deity there was. Thanking all of them together when Declan moved back to my lips again, just in time for me to scream my orgasm into his mouth.

  I slumped into him as all the strength left my body and mumbled, “That was…”

  “Something I’d like to do regularly,” he finished for me.

  While I recovered, I had no idea how many times he very sweetly asked me to go back to his place with him. All I knew was that while my brain was smart enough to refuse each request, it couldn’t stop the rest of me from aching for everything he promised we’d do.

  Shit! I wished he weren’t so damn sexy. I wished he hadn’t seen me with Cal. I wished Cal wasn’t such an asshole. In fact, if I’d gotten those three wishes, I’d be a completely different person right now. And if the last one wasn’t so true, I’d be able to enjoy this moment with Declan without feeling as if I were making a huge mistake.

  But facts are facts—Cal was an asshole. I’d known that from the second we met seven years ago when his dad started dating my mom.

  Unfortunately, it had taken me another six years to figure out that he also didn’t understand the word no.

  “Wait.” I think I said that out loud, but honestly, I wasn’t the best judge of reality at this particular moment.

  “We should stop,” I said in the brief time it took for our mouths to separate, reposition, and dive right back into each other. “Declan, we need to stop.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  God no. “Yeah.” I squeezed my eyes shut tight, trying to break out of the hold he had on me. “Declan? I need an intermission.”

  “Okay.” He pulled back. A little. “But do I have to let go of you entirely? I’d really prefer not to.”

  “And yet, it would be a lot easier for me to think if you did.”

  “You scare me a little when you think.” He let out a big sigh, then inhaled deeply. “Especially because I have this awful feeling you’re about to say that it’s nothing personal, but this isn’t going to work out.”

  “Wow,” I said, unhappy he was right. “You’re good.”

  “No. Good is what I think we could be. Together.” He paused, studying my face, his gaze moving from the eyes I’d just opened to the lips his had just released. “You’re serious. Fuck, of course, you’re serious.”

  “Sorry.” I was trying to be smart and not get hurt, and the universe dropped him into my path. A test of strength I wasn’t sure I was up to.

  “Don’t be sorry. Be…” He briefly dropped his head forward and then looked up again. “Before you tell me to go away, can I have a minute to make my case?”

  “It’s not going to change anything.” Ugh. I’d never heard anything said with as much regret.

  “Come on… I deserve one measly minute, don’t I?” He looked so sincere…and kind of needy. A big, beautiful man needed me. Not that I’d never seen need on a man’s face before, but everything about Declan was different. Not only did he want to sleep with me, he wanted to talk to me, too. Part of me actually thought he might still want to talk to me even if he were one hundred percent sure he’d never get to sleep with me again.

  “One minute. And only if you step back at least a foot.”

  “A foot?” Even in the dark, his eyes shone with life and a little humor. “Is that at all negotiable?”

  I grumbled under my breath. “Fine. Stay…six inches away.”

  “If you really don’t want any part of me to touch you, there needs to be more than six inches between us,” he said, adjusting the erection stretching the front of his jeans.

  I raised an eyebrow and put my hands on his chest. “Well, aren’t you cocky.”

  “Yep. And, for the record? I’m a good inch, inch-and-a-half cockier than six inches.”

  “Huh. Are you sure about that?” I teased. He didn’t need to know I thought he was selling himself short at seven and a half inches.

  “Damn, woman.” Running a hand through his hair, he chuckled. “Are you this hard on everyone’s ego?”

  “Just yours.” I pressed my lips together to stop myself from laughing. “I guess that means you’re lucky.”

  “Not unless you let me kiss you again, I’m not.”

  I’d always been proud of not being the type of woman who led men on. I was always upfront and honest. Declan showed me why it had been so easy with other men. Because now, with him, all my rules seemed impossible to follow. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard not to care, not to want to find out what would happen next.

  It made me feel weak, and nothing was worse than feeling weak.

  He must have read the seriousness of my expression, the solemnity or the disappointment. “Fine,” he said, holding up his hands, “but you should know that I’m silently protesting.” He rested one palm against the wall next to my shoulder. Deliberately allowing me room to breathe or run. Nothing trapping me here, other than the look in his dark blue-gray eyes and my desire to stare into them. They sparkled like the reflection off of the ocean when, just for a second, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds.

  “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life,” he said.

  I laughed. “But…?”

  “But I want to be a part of it. We click, and I’m not talking physically.”

  “You don’t think we click physically?”

  “Nope. Physically, I see us like more of a slam than a click. Like charged magnets.” He looked down between us to prove he was right.

  I’d said six inches apart, but I’d have been shocked if there was an inch separating us. I wasn’t exactly sure whose fault that was or whose hips were reaching for whose. Okay, fine. It was completely my fault. I tucked my traitorous reproductive organs back in line and straightened my skirt.

  “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve already known each other a long time?” he asked. “Even though we’ve only spent a handful of hours together.” During most of which, we’d been a little too out of breath to talk.

  I forced myself not to nod, not to admit that it felt as if we’d slid past any of the awkwardness that always came with something new. Everything was easy with him. Beyond both of us having been easy the night we met, I’d never felt so comfortable with anyone so quickly before—man or woman.

  But comfortable and good for me wasn’t how I picked out shoes, and picking out a man was no different. Plus, I couldn’t afford either right now.

  “Look, Declan, I think you’re great—”

  “Don’t.” He pushed off the wall. “Don’t give me the I-think-you’re-great-but line. That’s bullshit, and you know it. Want to know what I think? I think you feel exactly the same way I do, but you can’t admit it. What I can’t understand is why you refuse to even try.”

  “I told you I had issues.” I held out my arms to the sides. “So, I’m not sure why you’re suddenly surprised.”

  “I’m surprised you want to walk away from somethin
g this good. Something I think could be amazing if given half a chance.”

  “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I have to do.”

  “Have to? Why? You’re not seeing someone else, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “So, what is it then? Did some asshole get inside your head and fuck with it so badly that every guy after him doesn’t even get a chance to prove he’s not the same?”

  I didn’t think I reacted, but when he blew out his breath and his eyes softened I knew I had. I’d told him more in one facial expression than I’d told my friends in hours and hours of brunches and girls’ nights in.

  “That’s what happened, isn’t it?” he asked sadly. “I’m sorry he did that. I’m sorry he made you too afraid to trust any of us. But I hate that you’re letting that douchebag’s actions form every single decision you make.”

  Even if that were true…

  Shit, maybe it was. I’d lived the last year giving men what they wanted before they could take it from me. It had made me feel strong that the choice was mine, not theirs. I was the one in control. I decided who, when, and what. And then I decided when to walk away. Before they could hurt me in the way only someone you trust could.

  “You know you’re letting him win, right? By not allowing yourself to be happy for more than one night at a time, you’re still letting him and that experience control you.”

  “Are you done psychoanalyzing me or is there more? No? Cool, because I think it’s time for me to go.” I ducked under his arm and started to walk away, tugging down my skirt.

  “Tell me I’m wrong, Sara,” he called out. “Tell me you were lying. That you don’t think I’m great, but you wanted to spare my feelings. Tell me you aren’t attracted to me or that you don’t feel a connection between us, and that’s why you won’t even give me a chance. Fuck, tell me there’s someone else you’d rather be with if that’s the reason. But don’t walk away if you want me…if you’re afraid we could have something real.”