Hannah

 

Kieran was good with the kids. Maybe he has younger brothers or sisters so he knows how to make them laugh. I'm probably the quietest one in my group of friends, but I found myself acting up as Teddy to keep the laughter going, because I wanted to impress him. For some reason, it matters to me what he thinks.

There's no way I want him picturing me as a big fat yellow teddy bear, so I go all out for our date (if you can call it that) and wear a peach silky blouse, little cream skirt and gold strappy sandals instead of my usual jeans and T-shirt.

“Of course it's a date,” my friend Amy insists. “You're going to dinner, aren't you? What else would it be? Do you like him?”

“I think I do.”

“Don't ruin it this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“That thing you've been doing since Simon. You know, giving guys a hard time, giving them the cold shoulder. They're not all like him, but it's like you're making the whole male species pay for his crap.”

“None of them have been worth the benefit of the doubt. I think Kieran might be.”

“None of other guys you've been out with since Simon were telling you that you were their one and only while they were married to someone else. So, what makes you trust this one?”

“I don't know if I even do trust him, not a hundred percent. He told me he wasn't married, and I believed him, but I hardly know him.”

“You've got to start trusting some time.”

“I'm going on the date, aren't I? Do I look okay?”

Amy undoes another button on my blouse. “There. Fixed it for you.”

I look at myself in the mirror. Serious cleavage. Can I go out like this?

“Do that up and I'll pull the button off,” Amy says. “You're not a nun. Just pretending to be one lately.”

I pull a face at her.

“And while you're out with him, find out if he has any friends,” Amy says. “What I could do with a hot fireman.”

“I can imagine.”

Though in truth I can't. Amy goes from guy to guy without a care in the world. Simon was not exactly Mr. Adventurous in bed, and I don't have much other experience with guys. He was my first, and if I don't get over being made such a fool by him, he'll be my last.

When I grab my jacket and go downstairs just after eight, Kieran is waiting for me at the bulletin board again.

“Lovely,” he says and bends to kiss my cheek. The brush of his lips on my skin and his clean soap scent, mixed with some kind of woody aftershave this time, sets my heart beating faster. I want to keep him to myself rather than going out and sharing him with everyone.

“Are you fixated on pizza and ice cream?” he asks. “Because I thought we might go to L'Etoile if you're not.”

“L'Etoile would be lovely. I've never been there.” And then the thought crosses my mind that he probably takes all his dates there and that Simon didn't because we always ended up going out of town for one reason or another or to “his” apartment that turned out belonged to a professor friend on sabbatical in Australia.

Kieran opens the car door for me and I get inside. My skirt has ridden up, exposing my thighs, so I go to pull it down.

“Don't cover up on my account,” he says and touches the hand on my thigh. He’s not physically stopping me from pulling down my skirt, exactly, but I still stop what I was going to do.

It's not as if it's indecent or anything, so I leave my skirt where it is, my nipples pebbling at his touch. I'm ridiculously pleased that my legs are still lightly tanned from a freak couple of days in April when I caught the sun.

When we get to the restaurant, it's clear he has made reservations.

“Were you so sure I'd say yes to L'Etoile rather than pizza?”

“Nope. But there's this modern invention, very handy in such situations. Not sure what it is, but they tell me it's useful when you need to cancel something.” He pulls the iPhone out of his jacket pocket and looks at it, as if he doesn't know what to make of it. “If you put your number in there, they say I can call you on it. Weird.”

He hands me his phone and we follow the waiter to our table, Kieran's hand on my back, guiding me. I'm acutely aware of the contact, his touch through my thin blouse. I put the phone in my bag.

“Hey, where did it go?”

“Confiscated until the end of dinner.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you'd make a wonderful teacher?”

“No.”

“Good. There might be a rebellion in the classroom if you take away their phones.”

“You like it when people follow the rules, don't you?”

“Like when there's a fire alarm going off, you mean?” But he's laughing this time. “Especially then. Other times I like a rebellious streak, even if I feel the urge to correct it.”

My heart quickens at his words. I'm sure he's talking about something other than correcting a pupil for speaking in class.

“Maybe I'll have to test your limits,” I say. “Rules are made for breaking.”

He raises his eyebrows and smiles. “I can't wait.”

The waiter interrupts our conversation with the menus. Maybe it’s just as well before things get out of hand.

The food is delicious. I haven't tasted anything as good as that in a long time, if ever, and I love the confident yet friendly way that Kieran deals with the waiter and sommelier. I try not to think about him bringing other women here and fail miserably.

“So, what happened to your arm to put you on education duty?” I ask.

“It was nothing, really. Just a wooden beam that collapsed, but I ended up with severe bruising.” He rolls his white shirt sleeve back and shows me. “They can't risk me not being up to full strength, especially if I have to pull someone out in a hurry, but it seems okay to me now. I want to go back.”

“Not too quickly, I hope. Who's going to play Fireman Kieran on those school visits?”

“That's true,” he says. “We can't let Traffic Teddy out alone.”

I catch Kieran's eyes straying down from my face a couple of times over dinner and wonder if it's just my cleavage he's looking at, or if my nipples look as obvious as they feel. The thought of him noticing them makes them harden more than ever. Maybe it's the wine I've drunk, but he is more intoxicating than any alcoholic drink I could have.

I want to finish dinner quickly so I can be alone with him. The anticipation is killing me. But I'm scared, too. Maybe he'll expect someone experienced, someone who will fall into bed with him without a thought, and I'll fall short.

“So, you're not Scottish,” he says over coffee. “You sound like you come from way over the other side of the Atlantic when you're excited.”

Damn! I was hoping my reaction to him wasn't so obvious. “How can you tell that? I've lived here since I was fifteen.”

“Some of the words you say. The way you say them. I don't know. They're just not quite Scottish. Is there a story there?”

“Not much to tell. My mother is Scottish, my father American. I was born in Seattle, but my father left when I was five. She stayed in the States for ten years, ten years too long, hoping he'd come back. He didn't. So she came back home with me.”

“You're not in touch with your dad?”

“No. He never came back.” I wince because it's hard to say it out loud.

“Sorry,” he says, as if he needs to apologize for all the shitty males in the world.

“It's not your fault.”

“I brought up the topic of families.”

“What's wrong with yours?”

“Nothing. Mine are the salt of the earth.” But there's something he's not saying. A shadow has crossed his face. I want my flirty fireman back.

Despite the delicious food and flowing wine, he hasn't drunk much himself, maybe half a glass. I ask him if he wants another glass of wine but he says, “I want to get you back safely.”

“I can get a cab.”

“No, I'll take you home.”

And as he pays and we get ready to leave, I feel somehow deflated despite his hands brushing me as he helps me on with my jacket. It's not the same as when he touched me earlier.

When he drops me at my door and I hand him back his phone, he doesn't mention me putting my number in there. Not once. Not even in jest.

What did I do wrong? Is he even going to take me on any more school visits? He didn’t mention anything at the end of the evening. I'll just have to go on with my assignment myself as best I can.

But it's not the effect on the project that is really bothering me about his coldness. It's that I need to kick myself, yet again. I have got to stop falling for guys who play games.