by H. Maloney
He slowly and lightly runs his fingers up the inside of my thigh, which makes me stop caring that we’re in a semi-public hallway. His grip on my hair tightens as his fingers reach my pussy. He starts slowly teasing me, his touch too light and so close to where I desperately need him without giving me anything. I whimper in pure frustration through our kiss. He breaks away from my mouth and we both gasp for air. Declan leans his forehead against mine and stares directly into my eyes, watching the effects of his torture manifest on my face.
After one last teasing pass, he finally centers and puts pressure behind his fingertips. I nearly jump out of my skin. Fire replaces blood in my veins and my body starts to overheat. I throw my head back against the wall and beg, “Please, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” Oh, God, the open-mouthed kisses he’s pressing against my neck are almost too much, making me shake.
“Wasn’t going to.” His low, rough voice caresses my neck.
“Come on, people, this is a place of business. Cut it the fuck out!” is shouted, presumably at us.
Declan stops the motion of his fingers and I want to die. I truly wouldn’t have cared if we’d had an audience, as long as he got to finish what he started.
“No, no, no, no. This cannot be happening.” It feels like the pain is slicing me in half. I was so close. I bury my face in Declan’s neck in pain and embarrassment as he angles his back to the voice in an attempt to keep the extent of our actions private.
“Shh. It’s all right,” he whispers in my ear. I close my eyes and try to take a few deep breaths to get myself under control again. Louder, he says, “Yeah, all right. You mind giving us a few minutes, here.”
All too soon, Declan is slowly pulling away from me. He smiles wickedly at me and straightens the hem of my skirt. “Guess we got a bit carried away.”
I completely let go of him after a moment, when I feel confident my legs won’t give way. Something that spectacularly embarrassing does not need to be added to this evening’s pile. I’ll save that for next time. If there is a next time. Oh. please. let there be a next time.
“A bit. Definitely. So…” Shit! No! Pull it together, Meg. He had his tongue down your throat; the time for awkward interactions is long past. I start running my fingers through my hair, mostly to give my hands something to do that doesn’t involve grabbing him back to me, and clear my throat. “So, that was… memorable.”
He laughs. “Hopefully for one reason more than another.”
It has to be a good sign that he’s teasing me, right? “Absolutely. Someone else knows about the secret bathroom.”
“Just that?”
“Well, mostly. And by the way, I have to kill you now. For the bathroom, I mean. Nothing personal.”
He grins and grabs me to him, kissing me briefly but softly. I pull back and leave the ball in his court. “Well, I better get back. My friends might start wondering where I am.” I push his hair back to get a good look at his face and watch the strands fall to the side of his face. So sexy. Dropping my hand, I walk off, grinning like an idiot the whole way.
CHAPTER 8
MEG
A few days later, I still have that stupid smile stuck to my face. I can’t help it. I wish it would go away; my cheeks ache. I haven’t seen Declan since the night at the club, but I have faith that we’re not finished yet. That was a really good kiss. Really fucking good.
It’s about two in the afternoon and I’m so amped up I’m cleaning my apartment. Cleaning is usually something I reserve for only when I absolutely have to, but I have so much energy I can’t just sit still and read like I had planned. I have my Pandora rocking out, and I’m singing while dusting around the small place I rent.
My apartment isn’t in the best neighborhood around, but the complex is fairly well built so I don’t have to worry about angry calls from my neighbors about noise. Which is a godsend, because I prefer my music on the loud side.
Mid-air guitar solo, I feel my butt vibrate. I pull my phone out of my pocket to see if they’re worthy of disrupting My Chemical Romance or not. Without hesitation, I turn off the sound and answer.
“Lillian!” I yell excitedly. Lillian is my baby sister and my best friend. She knows me inside and out like no one ever could, and crap do I miss her.
“Maggs!” she yells back, equally excited.
“Oh, man, it’s so good to hear from you. How are you? How’s school? How’s life? What are you doing? What’s going on?”
She laughs loudly at my rapid-fire questions. “Everything is fine, same old, same old, thankfully. Just wanted to call and check in with you. It’s been too freaking long.” And she’s right. It feels like it’s been forever, but I understand why. In order for us to talk, Lillian has to use a prepaid phone so her phone records won’t lead to me. She’s also very careful, which I am infinitely grateful for, and doesn’t do it too often for fear of tipping our hand because we both know he’s keeping tabs on her.
“School’s kind of a pain with my course list this semester. I wish they didn’t make me take this programming class. It’s impossible, and the professor still can’t teach worth a damn! I’m convinced the world is separated into two kinds of people: those who can program and those who can’t, and I definitely fall under the ‘cant’s.’ You know what though? I’m okay with that. I’m secure enough in myself to claim that as a failing.” I stop right there to spare myself my own rant. They can take a while.
And it does. Ten minutes later, she’s still going on about accidentally hard-coding something, whatever that means. I just respond with indignation on her behalf when appropriate, silently laughing to myself the whole time.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to get rid of the body,” I say in response to maiming threats against her professor. “I bet we could find a nice obscure bayou to dump him in.”
She sighs. “I haven’t gotten that far yet; it is only the beginning of the semester, after all. Check back with me by midterms though. I may have to take action then.”
“I’ll put in on my calendar.”
“Good, but don’t forget to code it or something. Like ‘trash day.’ Oh, wait, no. Not that. That’s too obvious. Try ‘make soup.’ Yeah. That’ll throw them.”
“What the what?”
“You know? When the cops come searching for clues after his disappearance, you don’t want to have ‘hide body’ on your calendar. Don’t quote me, because I’m not a cop, but I feel like that’s a giveaway.”
“You numbskull. You’ve put way too much thought into this already. Should I be worried? Never mind. Too late. I’m worried.”
“Nah, don’t be. You would know if I’d killed someone already. You’d be the first person I would tell.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.”
“What can I say? I’m all heart.”
“Cool. Well. Good talk.”
She laughs. “So, how are you doing?”
I clear my throat. She already knows about my crush on the hot fighter, so I grab a Coke to settle on the couch while I take her through the past couple weeks, starting with my epic rock session that he walked in on. “You goober” is what I got for that.
“Hey, I’m a purist, preserving the authenticity of headbanging. Thirty years from now, no one will remember it in the wake of the twerking phenomenon.”
“You can’t see this, but just know I’m shaking my head at you.”
“Mark my words, woman!” I continue to tell her about Declan.
By the time I finish up with what happened at the club, she squeals. Ouch. Her squeals are very screechy.
“Hey! Watch the eardrum! I’ve only got two.”
“Sorry! It’s just so exciting! I’m so happy for you, that you decided to move on and take a risk.” And there it is. “Have you told him, you know? About… everything?”
“Umm, no. One sexy run-in does not exactly require a total gut check. We’re supposed to hold back the crazy, baby sister. Lull the nice gentlemen into a false sense of security and
only then do we release the dam of thinly veiled psychosis,” I joke.
She isn’t amused. I knew she wouldn’t be. “Maggs. It’s not like you’re hiding a bipolar disorder. You’re holding back on—”
“I know what I’m holding back on,” I interrupt, slightly raising my voice. I don’t want to hear it. I live with it. Every. Single. Day. “Just let it go for now, Lily. We may or may not get there, but I’m not sharing the dirty laundry of my life with a virtual stranger.” We’re both silent for a moment with our own thoughts. “Speaking of dirty laundry, how’s it going there?”
This is it. The part of our conversations that always makes part of me dread having a phone call with my sister to begin with. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Nothing new on this front,” she says quietly. I nod gratefully, even though she can’t see it. No new developments is good news. It could definitely be worse.
I look at the time. Shit, I didn’t realize we’d been on the phone that long. “Hey, Lillian,” I start sadly. “I’ve got to be at work in a little bit.”
“I understand. I’ll call again as soon as I can. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I respond, and slowly drag the phone from my face to see the call time out. I both love and hate these calls. It’s not fair.
***
“Can I get you another one, Dennis?”
I’ve been at work a few hours now and yet I still can’t shake the melancholy from my phone call. At least my cheeks are getting a rest from the past days. There’s the silver lining. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t really help.
“Of course, sugar. You know I’m not a quitter.”
That does get a small smile from me. Leave it to Dennis. “I sure do. Here,” I say, placing a newly filled glass in front of him before walking away to serve more customers.
Allie bumps my hip. “Hey now. Why so sad?”
She doesn’t know. I had made sure Wiley knew not to share what wasn’t his business. “Nothing, just one of those days, you know?” I lie.
She nods understandingly but doesn’t let it drop. “So, let’s see about pulling you from your funk.”
I start to say no, but reconsider. She’s right. I need to snap myself out of this, remember how lucky I’ve been and get. The fuck. Over it.
I nod decisively. “You’re right. So, what did you have in mind?”
***
We head to her place after we get off. She knows I love Tina Fey, so she talked me into renting Sisters and vegging out on her couch with some cheese puffs, because cheese puffs make almost anything better. It’s maybe three in the morning and we’re halfway through the movie, laughing our asses off. My stomach muscles are screaming, but I can’t help it. Few people are funnier to me than Tina Fey. I needed this. “Thank you so much for doing this with me.”
She winks at me. “Not a problem, babe. I got you.” We get back to the movie for a little while before she turns and asks me, “Is it something Declan did?”
“No. I still haven’t heard from him, but I think I might.” I smile at her and turn back to the movie.
Twenty minutes later, the front door opens and interrupts our movie viewing. I hear male voices coming from the foyer and I freeze. No, dammit! Not now. I was supposed to see him again in class, looking awake and wearing cute spandex shit. Not in the middle of the night feeling worn and worse, looking it from my long-ass day. I’d even borrowed a pair of loose gym shorts from Allie when we got here, because with skinny jeans you sacrifice comfort for looking sexy and I didn’t care about looking sexy for Allie.
“Uhhh,” I sputter. “I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick. Then I think I’m gonna head home.”
I catch her expression before I run and hide—I mean, use the bathroom. I’m glad someone’s entertained by this. Not.
I skitter down the hall and close myself in the bathroom. I’ll just wait until they move outside or at least into the kitchen. Then I can grab my pants and shoes and make a run for it. Excellent plan. I like it.
I wait with my ear pressed against the door, staying in that position until I don’t hear voices anymore. When the sound fades and all I hear is silence, I assume they went out back. I seize my opportunity and throw open the door, ready to make my quick escape. Yeah, my quick escape straight into something hard. You have got to be kidding me.
A statistician would pee himself to put these odds together. Two bathrooms in two very random geographical locations with the same two people at the same time. Un-fucking-believable.
I hear a muffled laugh from somewhere above my head. “I can’t believe it. I’m not following you into bathrooms, I promise.”
I bust out laughing, “I was thinking the same thing! What are the chances?” I separate myself from his hold and tell my body to quit its whining. Our encounter the other day had left it tight as a bow string, and right now it’s seeing just the arrow it needs. Ha!
“I’m glad I ran into you, actually.”
“You are?” Cue innocent eyes.
“Yeah. I had fun talking to you the other night. I was thinking I could get your number so we could continue talking?”
I tilt my head to the side a little in thought, and his eyes jump to the spot on my neck where he started at last time. Whoa now. Back up. “Just to clarify. You are talking about actual talking, right? Like words and vowels and stuff, right? Not the other… stuff?” I finish lamely.
Declan slowly leans his face closer to mine and brushes a stray stand from my forehead. He takes his time in responding, letting that wolfish grin of his develop. I’m oxygen deprived for about twenty second before he finally responds, “Actually, I was thinking we could do both.”
Ah. I force myself to take a small step back from him and take a deep, calming breath. “Well, Romeo, how about we start with talking and then see?”
He looks a little disappointed, but concedes and saves my number in his phone. Wiley yells out to him through the house, “Dude, get your ass over here. You’ve got to see this shit!”
“Catch you later, Meg.” With a last sweeping glance that leaves my face flushed, he walks away.
I’m a little flustered as I make my escape. A real one this time.
CHAPTER 9
MEG
My phone buzzes with a text message the next afternoon.
Declan: I’m glad I ran into you last night.
A stupid smile breaks out over my face as I respond.
Meg: I’m pretty sure I ran into you.
Declan: You’re right. Let me try again. I’m glad you ran into me.
Declan: Again.
Meg: You’re welcome. ☺
Declan: So, what are you up to right now?
Meg: Putting my grocery list together. The mice left a complaint for me this morning. It’s getting serious.
Declan: That is bad. But what if I tempted you with an alternative food source for tonight?
I try not to laugh at where my dirty mind takes me.
Meg: I’m listening.
Declan: The Deadpool movie is playing at the drive-in this weekend.
Meg: OH! The one with the hottie, Ryan Reynolds?
Meg: In spandex?
Declan: You’re giving my ego a complex here.
Meg: Bull. Your ego is fine. And yes, I would love to go.
Meg: Ryan Reynolds is supposed to get naked. I’m so excited for Ryan Reynolds’s thighs!
Declan: His thighs?
Meg: Yeah. His thighs. Some women prefer hands. Others asses. I’ve always gotten weak-kneed over thighs.
Declan: You’re weird.
Meg: I can live with that. If it means I can see Ryan Reynolds’s thighs. ;-)
Declan: So weird.
***
I’ve just finished throwing on a light cardigan when there’s a knock at the door. I glance in the mirror once more to make sure I’m decent before I head out. Jeans, flat sandals and a black V-neck T-shirt under my gray cardigan. Casual but cute, and most importantly co
mfortable. Giving myself the nod of approval, I head to answer the door, scooping my purse and blankets up along the way. I throw the door open and smile wide in greeting.
“Hey, Meg. You ready?”
“Definitely.” I close the door and lock up.
“What’s with the blanket?” he asks when we settle into his pickup truck and start driving. It’s undeniably nice and new, with its touchscreens and rich leather smell.
“Uhh, it’s a drive-in and you have a truck. One’s for us to sit on and the other to cover us.”
“Cover us? It’s Houston. We’ll sweat to death.”
“Nonsense. It’s supposed to get down in the sixties tonight.” I try to stem the flood of laughter at the disbelieving look he’s shooting me. “What? That constitutes chilly for me.” He just shakes his head, aghast, and I proceed to turn up the radio to rock out to some Drowning Pool.
While he’s distracted with driving, I sneak some covert glances out the corner of my eye at him. He’s wearing his standard uniform—black jeans, boots, and T-shirt with a flannel. He even has his flannel shirt rolled up his forearms. Yummy. His hair is in the same disarray it usually is, and looking at it makes my fingers itch to touch it.
“Quit looking at me like that,” he says while still facing forward. What the hell? The guy’s got mutant vision.
“Like what?” I ask, trying to convey as much innocence in my question as I feasibly can.
Declan gives me a quick assessing glance before facing forward again. “Like you want me with a side of fries.”
I snort with laughter. I can’t help it.
“How dare you! I am not a piece of meat,” he states in mock outrage. He’s trying hard to suppress his smile, but it’s not working and only results in a skewed grimace—which, of course, causes me to laugh harder.
When we arrive a few minutes later, he backs into a spot so we can watch from the bed of the truck. He goes to the concession building to grab us a couple burgers and some drinks while I lay out a blanket in the bed for us to sit on. I proceed to kick off my sandals and get comfortable, killing some time people-watching. The lot is packed with cars; people have camp chairs set up randomly, and there are a couple teenagers off to the side throwing a football. It’s a very calm and happy atmosphere, and I really dig it.