SIXTEEN
I wasn’t overly fond of the idea of coming in this morning. I had, in fact, toyed with the notion of calling Sayo and telling her I couldn’t make it, but that would require a convincing excuse and other than “I don’t want to see Declan,” or “I’m still annoyed with you,” and I didn’t have one. Besides, either would have been a lie.
I wasn’t angry with Sayo and the moment I left her at the falls I realized what an unbelievable bitch I’d been to my best friend. Sayo’s been nothing but good to me and I repaid her friendship with quick anger that meant nothing at all. At the moment, Declan is secondary. I need to make amends to my friend. She didn’t deserve my anger, not really. Not over something that happened five years ago with my ex who isn’t even a consideration to me now.
As for Declan, I tell myself I will not speak to him first. I tell myself that no matter what he does, how he watches at me, I will not open my mouth or even look at him unless absolutely necessary.
I predict I will fail miserably.
He is early, earlier than me when I walk into the library. Sayo is giving him instructions, pointing in this direction and that and I am happy when I realize her demands require him to spend most of the day moving boxes in the Reference Department, blissfully out of my way.
“Hey,” I say to Sayo when I walk in. Her smile is faint as though she’s unsure if I am still angry with her. When my shoulders lower as she hands me a coffee, I grab her, pull her into the lobby, away from Declan. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, friend.”
“Me too. I really am. I should have told you everything.”
I shake my head, dismissing her apology. “I know you’d never hurt me on purpose. I know everything you do is to protect me and I’m an asshole. I’ve been an asshole for months.” I step close, wanting her attention. “I think I was hurt that when you needed me, even if it was years ago, you didn’t come to me.”
“I know. I’m sorry, sweetie,” Sayo says. She shakes her head as though thinking something she doesn’t find important enough to mention. “You were half way across the world and I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you worrying about me.”
“I would have jumped on a plane and been back here. Nothing is more important to me than you, friend.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you back then. And then later, well, I didn’t think it mattered, but I should have warned you about Tucker.” Sayo glances at the floor, pulls her arms around her middle. “He had us all fooled, I guess. He’s good at that.”
I don’t argue. Tucker was smooth, he still is and when we’d first started dating he’d laid the charm on thick like frosting—full of shit that was just bad for me. Sayo doesn’t wait for an invitation or even let the quick silence between us lengthen. She hugs me tight and I laugh when she sways us side to side, an exaggerated embrace. When we break a part, laughing, a smile lights up her entire face. Sayo looks over her shoulder, into the room where Declan paces around. “What did you find out last night?” she whispers.
“Nothing, but I made it clear to Tucker that we weren’t going to happen as a couple.” I stretch my neck, scan the empty Reference Department. “I’ve got an evil plan, but it’s going to require more recon work. You okay with that?”
“I am. I don’t like it, but I get what you’re up to.”
“Awesome. Then are we good?”
“Duh. Of course. Now give me another hug before you disappear into the basement.” When my forehead wrinkles, Sayo rolls her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t want to be around him all day. I’ve already got you set up down there.”
“This is why I love you.” She hugs me again and the breath I didn’t know I was holding eases out of my lungs.
I can feel Declan’s eyes on me, but I don’t bother to even look at him as I head for the basement. I can’t make my heart stop racing. It rattles against my chest and I have to sit on the bottom step of the stairs before I set to work on the tasks ahead of me. I hear a ring and then Sayo’s voice goes high and girly and I know Sam must be calling.
The boxes are all off the shelf when I enter the basement and I set down my coffee on the table next to the door and brush aside the stickers left remaining from the last time Declan and I worked down here. My eyes burn and convince myself that it’s only the dust, the havoc my allergies are treated to anytime I get near these dusty books. Ignoring them, I blink and set to work.
It is a wonderfully quiet half-hour before I hear any noise from upstairs. I find two copies of some ridiculous erotica and toss them in the trash knowing Sayo would have a fit should these go up for sale, and then grab three identical copies of “Infinite Jest,” flipping over the back covers, torn between kissing and slapping David Foster Wallace’s face. My feelings for him are always a dichotomy.
I hear Sayo call down to me, but don’t bother to move from my spot on the floor when she says “I’m going to bring Sam his jacket. He’s stuck at the pub. Will you be okay?”
“Oh, I don’t know, friend. It’s all dark and scary down here and I am, after all, just a woman. How will I ever face the day without your guiding presence?”
“‘Yes’ would have been fine, bitch.” I hear her laughter and can’t help but smile. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Go away please.”
I pick up Wallace’s book again and stare at his author picture. “I’m still mad at you, you know. Freakin’ suicide.” I hold the book in my lap and rub the face idly, not paying attention to what I’m doing, trying to ignore the feet making a slow descent down the stairs. I’m thinking of the quiet of the library, the din of stillness in my apartment, how one is so distracting that reflection becomes impossible, the other so quiet that its echoes fill me with anxiety. Those miserable thoughts vanish from my mind when I feel the back of my neck heat up. I turn around to find Declan standing in the doorway with a full box in his hands.
“Those need sorting?” I ask and he grunts in return. “Just put them down here,” I say nodding toward an empty space on the floor to my right. He does as I ask and I hold my breath, praying he’ll hurry back up the stairs.
Clearly, I’m not going to have my prayers answered today.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I level a quick glance at his face and then return my attention to the books in front of me. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
I hear him exhale, a regrettable, annoyed sound and I try not to flinch when he lowers on his haunches. “I know you were upset.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“Yes, because all the weeks you’ve known me gives you unfettered knowledge to every one of my emotions.”
Declan’s large hands cover his face and shoulders lower with his heavy inhalation. I can feel the quick zip of tension running through his body, in the rough way he scratches the tips of his fingers over his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is muffled behind his hands. “I just meant that the other night, after our date, at your apartment, wasn’t how I—”
“Don’t mention it. I’m over it. It was fun, but it’s not gonna happen again. You made that perfectly clear.”
He waits, settles his chin on the back of his hand. “Autumn…” I don’t like this. It’s the first time he’s ever used my given name and I hate the whisper of his voice, the weighted sigh of each syllable.
“It’s fine, Declan. Don’t worry about me. You were right. We would be a disaster.” He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t, in fact, move a muscle. He just squats next to me, his wrists resting on his knees, his eyes boring onto my face, waiting, I guess for my expression to betray me.
“Disaster is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“I don’t.” I throw aside the book in my hand and pick up another one.
“Really? I thought we were going to be mates.”
“I have enough mates. Don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.” I throw another book into the trash, this one a torn picture book and Declan remains staring at me. “Besides, it’s not like we have anything at all in common. That’s sort of a requirement for friendship.”
“We have plenty in common.”
“Dead mothers and rugby does not a friendship make, Declan.”
He stands up and I can finally exhale. But he doesn’t move and his presence looming over me strangles the air in the room. He’s so large that he blocks out the light from the stairwell. “You don’t have to be a bitch about this, McShane.”
I jump to my feet. “I’m not, Declan. We aren’t friends. We were never friends. Remember telling me that? You were right. Friends don’t attack you when they’re drunk. Friends don’t cheat you into a date. Friends don’t act like assholes after—after kissing you and touching you and—. Where was friendship in all of that?”
His expression shifts, anger, annoyance and then, nothing but a small fragment of impassive gawking with his eyes on my mouth, over my cheeks. His anger deepens and then, seemingly just to piss me off, he reaches for me. I step back, my feet twist and I trip over a box, onto the littered books covering the floor and I land flat on my ass.
“Shit. Oh, shit.” I say, grabbing my ankle. Immediately he kneels in front of me, trying to reach for my foot. “Stop. I don’t need your help.”
“Let me see, you big baby.” His large fingers cup my ankle, discard my boot, my thin sock and he rotates foot. “It’s not swelling. Probably no worse than a sprain.”
“Yes, I know, thanks.” I scoot away from him, focus on my foot, but he keeps my leg in his hand. My ankle throbs, but there isn’t any swelling, no shooting pain that tells me I’ve done myself serious injury.
“Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?”
“No. I want you to go back upstairs and do what Sayo told you to do. I can manage on my own.”
“Why are you being like this? I want…I want us—”
“I don’t really care what you want.” Again, I try to pull my leg from him, but his grip is firm, unmoving. “I could give a flying shit about what you want, Declan. Just get out of here. Leave me alone.” When he doesn’t move, I throw books at him. Wallace flies across the room, joined next by another coverless, brittle text. Declan ducks, jumps back and heads into the stairwell. “Get. Out.” Disgusted that my eyes are burning, I turn around so he can’t see me.
My cheeks are wet and I suppose I must have released a small sob, because in the next moment, Declan is kneeling behind me with his hands running over my hair. I try to brush him off of me, but he doesn’t flinch.
“I’m sorry, love. I really am.” His apology cracks, splits between the consonants and the rapid quake of my heartbeat skips, vibrates. He breathes against my neck, his head lowered in the curtain of my hair. He still touches me, his fingers rubbing against my shoulders and I try not to like the way his touch feels.
Despite myself I want to know what happened. “Was it me?” My voice sounds ridiculous, weak.
“Course not.” He sits down and pulls my legs into his lap.
“It was too fast, right?”
“I pushed, remember? I’d have likely pushed harder if I thought you’d let me get away with it. It’s not you.” He rubs my face dry. “You’re right, something did happen, but I can’t say—”
“Are you married?” I don’t know where the idea came from, but it’s out of my mouth before I can give it any real thought.
“What? God no.”
“Do you have a kid you just found out about or are you dying?”
He sighs. “No, McShane, it’s none of those things.” I don’t think he even notices the way he touches me. His hand running up and down my leg is dismissive, instinctive and his face has returned to blank. “It’s not my secret to tell. If I could, I would tell you and you’d know and everything would be grand, but I can’t.” He squeezes my knee. “I just can’t.”
“Don’t you trust me, Declan?” His mouth opens, his grip tightens, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t offer me anything but his silence. I can’t stand it, can’t believe that he expects me to take him at his word. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Autumn…”
When I try to move out of his lap, his fingers curl around my jeans, pull on the seam and I slide against him. I want to ignore the frown on his face. I want to disregard the way his breathing has increased, but the look he gives me is severe. His t-shirt is gray with red letters on the chest in college font, Hogwarts Alumni, it reads, but even that reference doesn’t pull my attention away from his expression, from the intense slope of his mouth. “Just go upstairs. Do the stuff that Sayo asked you to do and leave me alone.” Even to my own ears the command sounds weak.
He pulls me closer, but I turn my head, watch the streaks of light coming in through the window. There is heat against my forehead, breath warming my skin from his open mouth and then from the soft kiss he places there. “I can’t do that.” Declan’s fingers dislodge from my hip, raise to my chin and pull my face up.
I can’t breathe when he looks at me like this. I can’t remember why we are arguing, what he’s done to make my lungs feel like they burn. And when his thumb slides across my bottom lip in the same practiced motion we’ve traded over the past few weeks, all thought empties from my mind. There is only him, his sweet smell attacking my senses, his arms, large, certain, circling my body, his moist, round lips inching closer and closer toward my mouth. “Autumn,” he says, my name a soft hope on his tongue, a promise, a question he wants me to answer.
“No.” My refusal stops him just inches from my mouth. My eyes squeeze shut as though blocking out the sight of him will make him vanish. I crawl back on my hands. I need space from him, distance and I hobble to my feet, stand in front of the bookshelf, giving him my back. “Just go. Please go. I don’t want Sayo to come back here and find us together.” I swallow, let the knotted breath lingering in my throat clear. He did this. It was his choice and I want him to taste the sting of hurt, to feel just a hint of what he gave me that day on the pitch. “I’d hate for Tucker to find out we’re fighting. We—we need you playing. Cameron gave us hell last season and—”
Declan releases a loud, frustrated cry, cursing under his breath and then slams his fist on the table. “Don’t tell me about you and fecking Tucker. I don’t want to know about it.”
“I didn’t say anything about us.”
He rushes me, jerks me back against the bookshelf, cages me with his large hands. “Did you want to hurt me? Last night, when you were with him? Did you want me jealous?”
“I didn’t do—”
“I saw you, McShane. I saw you with that bollocks. You know I saw you. Him touching you—” His eyes close, pinch at the corners and he shakes his head as though he tries to rip the memory of Tucker and me from his mind. He opens his eyes and his pupils are dilated, huge. “He kept touching you. You let him. He held your hand, you held his, I saw that too. God, did he kiss you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
His eyes widen and I swear I think I see his chin shake. “Did you fuck him?”
“What?”
“Jaysus, you did, didn’t you? You fucked that nancy bollocks.” His face turns nearly purple as his temper flares and he pushes back, away from the bookshelves, away from me. He rubs his hands over his face and curses low and guttural. “I can’t believe that pouncy little shite—”
“Declan! Stop it.” I’ve never seen his anger so present. I’ve never seen him so desperate. “Calm down, will you? What is your problem?”
“I told that arse not to try anything. I warned him—”
“You can’t do that. It’s not your place.”
Realization hits him, it must. I can tell he wants to make an excuse, that he needs to find a reasonable pretext for this abnormal bout of possessiveness. He doesn’t. He steps forward, seems barely able to manage focusing on me without his hands squeezing down on my shoulders, without his eyes wild and frantic. “Did you, Autumn? Did you let him touch you?”
“I didn’t sleep with him, dammit.”
Declan’s hands tremble as they smooth up my shoulder, as they hold my face. “Don’t ever let him, love. He doesn’t deserve you. I can’t stand the thought of you with him…you have to—” he finishes with his lips on my mouth, pulling, twisting before he tugs me forward, lapping his tongue against mine. “No one touches you, McShane. No one but me.”
I don’t understand. This doesn’t make sense. But I can’t find the words to stop him. I want this, him. I want his hands on my body. I welcome his heavy pant, his strumming heart as he pulls me close. The moan in my throat breaks free and I don’t stop it, can’t think far enough ahead of his touch, his lips, his body arching against mine to hold him back, to control the way my hands slip under his shirt, up his finely ridged stomach, to scrape against the tight muscle there.
I want to control this moment. I want him to remember what it’s like when I touch him, to have my hands on his body. I want him to miss this connection so that he knows he can’t simply walk away from me. When my hand slides beneath his waist and I feel the trail of course hair and the firm, silky texture of the head of his dick against my fingers, Declan releases a hiss, stares at me, desperate, eager. That expression tells me to continue, to move forward, to never, ever stop touching him.
His dick is against my hand, smooth, throbbing and I pop the button of his jeans, relieving the constriction, smiling at the measured roll of his eyes, at the grating whine in his groan. He rests against me, his forehead on my shoulder and my hand works further down, his jeans loosening with every stroke I make against him.
“Yes,” he moans, grinding against my palm, working his hips forward until my hand is fully around him, until my fingertips touch. I squeeze once, twice and Declan grabs my breast, pinching my tender nipple between his fingers and my hold loosens, too distracted by his touch to concentrate fully on him. “Promise me,” he says against my ear. “Fecking promise me you won’t let anyone else touch you.”
The heat bubbling in my body, lowering down my stomach, right to my clit, is instantly dowsed by his request. I release him, extricate my hand from his body, push him back and try to ignore the throbbing in my breast and the warmth that lingers in my hand. “What are you doing to me? What the hell are you doing to me? You can’t tell me that we don’t spark anymore and then kiss me. You can’t ask me if I’ve slept with Tucker and then order me to promise never to let him touch me. You don’t own me. I am not yours.” I shove his chest and he wobbles back, stricken. “Do you hear me, Declan? I don’t belong to you.”
His gaze flicks to my breast, then to his loose jeans. He closes his eyes as though he’s just realized what we were doing, how we touched each other. “I know you don’t.” He adjusts his jeans, buttons them without managing to look at me. “I’m…I’m sorry, McShane. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m just…I’m not for you.”
Declan leaves me in the basement, confused and wanting. I close my hand, and pull it under my shirt to keep the feel of him there. His shadow shrinks as he marches up the steps and I slide to the floor wondering what just happened. I hope, fleetingly that it might happen again.