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Saoirse

 

 

 

I was sitting in Diarmuid’s truck with his date.

How the fuck did I get here?

I’d forgotten about his date the instant that Diarmuid had appeared before me, throwing that spectator aside like he had been a doll. I forgot all about her when he held me close, pushing our way to the exit. I’d forgotten everything except for him, especially when he laced his fingers into mine and tugged me across the parking lot to his truck as if I was his.

Then the bastard let go of my hand the moment her saw her. His real date.

Even now in the passenger seat of his truck, his date in the back, my stomach stung with jealousy.

It didn’t matter that he had come for me when the fight had started. He had arrived at the fight with her.

She was a grown woman, closer to his age, someone that he should be with. And she seemed sweet, too. That’s who Diarmuid needed. Someone sweet. Someone not like me.

We pulled up in front of what I assumed to be his date’s house.

“Well,” she said from the back seat, “it’s been interesting. Nice to meet you, Saoirse.”

“Oh, uh, you too.”

I realised I didn’t know her name.

She got out of the truck.

Diarmuid opened his door. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

I watched with a heavy heart as Diarmuid chased his date to the front steps of the porch. If he kissed her, I would throw up. When he leaned in I had to turn my head.

How could he do that with me watching? Did he want to torture me?

The driver’s side door opened quicker than I expected, making me flinch.

“That was quick,” I said sarcastically. “Didn’t you wanna take her in for a quickie? I could have sat here for a few minutes.”

“Don’t be childish, selkie.”

Childish? Fuck him.

I sank back in my seat, arms jammed across my chest, hating him with every second that went past, with every glare that he shot me.

He was angry at me? How dare he be angry at me after what he’d done.

Diarmuid pulled up onto the sidewalk of a deserted suburban street, his tires screeching, probably taking out part of that poor person’s tiny lawn. He leapt out of the truck. I pushed the door open and jumped out too, meeting him halfway around the front bumper.

“What the hell were you thinking going to a fight with that douchebag?” Diarmuid yelled, his voice echoing into the night. The neighbours were probably already calling the cops on our fight, not that I cared right now.

“Me? What about you acting one way then dropping my hand like a hot potato as soon as we get near your date.”

His cheeks flushed and I knew I’d hit on a point.

“If I wasn’t there to get you out of the brawl, who the fuck knows what could have happened? That kid is a fucking loser. You don’t go out with him again.”

“How dare you think you can tell me who to see. You don’t want me, remember?” I choked on this bitter truth. “You have no fucking right.”

“Don’t want you?” He grabbed my upper arms. “Do you know what it does to me to think that he might be touching you? That he is allowed to touch you while I can’t?”

He was so angry he was practically vibrating with it, shaking me in his hands.

“It kills me, selkie, it fucking kills me.”

I sucked in a breath. His eyes, dark and intense, had never been so damn beautiful.

“I want you so much I’m choking with it,” he said. “I want to be yours so hard it hurts. I can’t be yours. I shouldn’t be yours. But I’m too fucking selfish. I need you—only you. The rest of the world can go to hell.”

I don’t know who moved first. It didn’t matter. Because we both lunged for each other, his hands yanking me to him.

Our lips collided. They parted, our tongues warring as we had been warring, fierce and passionate, with love and tenderness underneath it.

We were kissing like the world was ending right here in the middle of a public street, and I didn’t care.

I just wanted him. The rest of the world could go to hell.

If only the lawmakers could feel what we were feeling right now. Then they’d turn a blind eye to my age and his.

His hands grabbed my ass and pulled me up against his hardness. We groaned into each other’s mouths at the illicit contact as he settled me on the bonnet of his truck. I wrapped my legs around him, pressing my hips against the very thing I ached for.

Our kiss went from flame to raging wildfire in a second. I twisted my fingers in his hair, tilting my head so I could get closer. God, I couldn’t get close enough.

His hand ran up my side and cupped my left breast. I moaned at the forbidden touch, a touch I’d been dreaming about for years.

When he pinched my nipple through my clothing with his thumb and forefinger, I almost died.

I would let him have me right here in the street if he wanted it.

Dear God, did I want it.

He pulled back, snatching his hand off my breast. “Wait…” he breathed.

I moaned at the loss of him. He rubbed his nose against mine in placation, then leaned his forehead against mine, his breath coming out in hard pants.

I saw the second reality hit him. He winced.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That wasn’t meant—”

I shoved him back off me. I wasn’t that strong compared to him, but he stumbled back, probably out of surprise rather than my brute strength.

I pointed a stern finger at him. “Don’t you dare say that wasn’t meant to happen.”

Before he could say anything, I jumped off the bonnet and stormed into the passenger side, slamming the door shut behind me. I sat in the seat, glaring out the front window, arms crossed.

Diarmuid remained standing where he was for what felt like hours. Then he walked slowly to his side and got in.

It was deathly silent as he drove the final way to my house.

Even as my nerves kept jumping around all over the place. My lips still raw from his kiss, my core throbbing in time with my anger.

Fuck him. Seriously. Fuck him.

I was sick to death of this want you, shouldn’t have you, push-pull bullshit.

Diarmuid pulled up in front of my house, turning the engine off rather than letting it idle.

He twisted his torso towards me and opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” I said, cutting him off.

I didn’t want to hear it. I gave him a cold glare.

“This…” I pointed between us, “you and me…we are already a thing, no matter how much you deny it. I’m under your skin. I’m weaved into your soul. And you are part of me.”

Diarmuid sank back into his seat. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed like such a boy.

I did not want a boy. I needed a man.

I lifted my chin. “Call me when you get over yourself.”

I pushed open the truck door and slammed it shut behind me. Then I walked, head held high, all the way up my path, his eyes burning into my back.

I did not look back. Not once.

If he wanted me, he’d have to grow up and come chase me.