EIGHT
The heavy pulse of music thumps against my feet as Sayo, Layla and I near Fubar’s. Thin smoke wafts from the door and a long line queues around the side of the building. Mollie is popular and anytime she DJs, there is always a crowd. We squeeze in through the entrance just as the bouncers pull closed their red ropes.
Our hands joined, my friends and I navigate the crowd, squint against the flashing lights from above that scatter sharp streaks of light around the masses. Sporadic faces are illuminated—dancing couples, tongue-locked bodies that sway and gyrate to Mollie’s well-timed beats. As we skirt around the crowd, my lips stretch into a wide smile. Heads turn at Sayo’s approach, her vivid pink hair is like a beacon in a messy bun and the black mini that barely hits her upper thigh with sleeves that are cut to expose her shoulders and arms, giving peeks of her luminous skin. Men always stare at her. They should. She’s stunning.
I’m dwarfed by Layla as well with her endless legs and draped neckline, sleeveless red mini dress, her white blonde hair flowing in soft waves over her shoulders. I opted for something a bit more low key. My burgundy halter dress does show some skin since I know how hot Fubar’s generally gets when Mollie’s DJ’ing, but it isn’t anything risqué. Just a simple silhouette that hugs my curves and comes to just above my knee. I don’t have a problem getting attention either, but I am like many women in Cavanagh, flaming ginger hair and scatters of freckles. Sayo and Layla are standouts. I’m thicker than my friends as well, with more curves, but I don’t mind. I love having a woman’s body.
We finally find a spot at the bar and immediately get our drinks. Sayo is a Cosmo girl. Layla likes the “Black Stuff” and I stick to the classics: Glenlivet straight up. We glance up at the DJ booth and Mollie is already sweating. She’s got her hair pulled back in a high, tight ponytail and rests her head against her shoulder, holding her massive earphones in place. She looks up when Sayo whistles at her and gives us a wave, then smiles and the song switches to one of our favorites.
We hit the floor, triplet dancers bouncing to the music. For twenty minutes straight Mollie spins beats and amps up the crowd as we forget everything and get lost in the music. We pop and twist, dance against one another, twirl each other, bump and sway with guys we don’t know and laugh until our stomachs ache. For those few minutes I forget about my father. I forget about baking and car accidents and missing my mom until my chest burns, I forget how quiet my apartment is. I forget about Tucker calling dibs on me like an enthusiastic fifteen year old and I definitely forget about Declan and his annoying smirk, or the way he stares at my lips, how he looked today sweaty and winded on the pitch. I forget everything and just let the music seep into my soul, eradicate any care, any concern.
A bit sweaty and parched, we return to the bar and three fresh drinks are placed in front of us. The music slows, the bar fills with smoke and, predictably, Sayo is whisked away, drink in hand, to dance with a massive, muscular blonde. She has a thing for blondes. Layla disappears seconds later and tucks under the chin of the largest guy I have ever seen. She looks like a kid next to this guy’s massive chest and thick arms.
The scotch slides down my throat and the cool air from the vent above me whispers against my moist neck. Twice I’m asked to dance, twice I refuse, grateful for this minor reprieve. Layla will be drunk in less than an hour. She’s likely to flash someone, something Sayo and I generally have to monitor since Mullens has spies all over the town. When a subtle breath inches on my neck, I instantly regret refusing to dance. To my right an abundant, tattooed arm curls up on the bar next to my hand.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” Declan says. He stands so close that I feel the brittle wisp of his stubble on the curve of my ear. I ignore him, stand straighter, try to edge away from him. “Seems like a good song. Don’t you like grinding against some random?”
I can only make out his chin when my head turns. His face is obscured by the dim lighting and surrounding smoke. “The night’s not over yet,” I say, my voice sharp.
There is a grunt of a response then he is so close to me that I can feel the contours of his chest against my back. The fine hairs on my exposed skin lift when I feel his chest move in an exhale. I try not to react, but he smells delicious, like a musky mix of jasmine and cedar, and his breath is hot against my neck. I take a quick sip of my drink and focus on the slight burn of the scotch against the back of my throat.
“Where’s your fella?”
“I don’t have a fella, Declan.”
“What was that shite after the match then?”
I’m prepared to admonish him for his idiotic fight, but my breath catches as I turn. The bruises and whelps on his face are red. Instantly a laugh bubbles up my throat. “Oh, God, I hope that hurts.” He shakes his head and stares out into the dancing crowd. There is a large bruise just under his left eye and a cut that runs from the bottom of his nose to his upper lip.
“He looks worse, I promise you.”
I guess Mullens didn’t separate them quickly enough.
I don’t tell him that I know. There’s no reason for Declan to hear about Tucker’s little meltdown this afternoon. That would only invite more drama and I’ve had my belly full for one day. “You’re both idiots.”
“Is that so? Well I was just defending myself. He’s the one who got all hacked off thinking I was trying to bed his woman.”
My humor disappears. “I am not Tucker’s woman, Declan. I’m not anyone’s woman.”
He rests against the bar, his cheeks reddening. “Then you may well want to tell him that, McShane.”
“Trust me, I did and he seems to think... You know what? It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business when Nancy Boy takes a swing at me.”
“You threw the ball at him.”
He pauses, seems as though he’s trying to come up with a logical excuse for acting like a jackass. “He looked entirely too smug. To hear him tell it, he won that match on his own.” My head falls onto the bar, just for a second before I lift up. Declan faces away from the dance floor and motions for the bartender to bring him a pint. We don’t speak and I move around to see Sayo dancing with the same blonde. Layla has already moved on to another partner and I grin at how loud her laughter is, but then Declan’s eyes are on me and the smile leaves my face.
“What?” I say.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think about you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“He takes another sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You hugged him when you said you weren’t interested in bringing back the past.”
One glance at him, and my eyebrow arches up. “You said you don’t give a shite who I touch. Why does me hugging Tucker annoy you?”
“McShane, I’m just watching out for you. He’s not overly fond of being told no.”
“I don’t need you to watch out for me, Declan. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“Not against him you’re not. He could—” My stare, wide mouthed and shocked expression stops Declan’s little speech. “What?” he says.
“I get it now. I do.”
“What?”
“You grabbed me that night on the pitch. You were drunk and I let that slide. Then you get all apologetic when you mention my mom and then kiss me when I have my little freak out and then again, last night at the courtyard.”
“I was there.”
“You were, but now you’re warning me to stay away from Tucker because he’s used to getting his way and what? You think he’ll lose control and attack me?”
“I’m guessin’ you should be careful, is all.”
“Oh, Declan.” I bet he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Poor thing. “I’m not sure if you are aware, but it’s not 1952.” He starts to speak, but I interrupt, grabbing his chin, mortified that he honestly thinks I need his protection. “My entire adult life, it was my mom and I and she taught me a few things about the kind of woman I should be. Because of her, I can protect myself. I can provide for myself. I can do what needs to be done to make sure I’m happy. Most importantly I became a woman who doesn’t want or require a hero.”
“I’m not saying that you do. I just mean that a girl like you should be—”
“Stop it. Don’t you dare tell me what a girl like me should do. I haven’t needed a man since my dad skipped out on us. And I got over the domineering caveman shit after Tucker. Now it only pisses me off. And just for the record,” my mouth comes just close enough to him that I violate his personal space. “I am most certainly not a girl.”
I slam the last of the scotch in my mouth and manage one brief glance at his face, catching the way Declan’s mouth tightens, the way his nostrils flare as though he’s breathing heavy. I’m not here for him. I’m not here to soothe his ridiculous ego. Layla skips my way, her hair already a sweaty mess and she hugs me, presses her drunken mouth next to my face.
“I love you, Autumn!”
“Damn, already, Layla?”
“Hey bitches!” Layla and I turn toward Mollie when her voice breaks over the mic. “How about some old school?” The funky little baseline sounds through the large, black speakers and Layla’s loud squeal rings in my ears. Sayo runs across the dance floor, tackling us in one big hug and my friends toss me into the center of crowding bodies as “The Humpty Dance” rings out.
We dance together, hips shaking, arms extended up and I get the distinct feeling that Declan watches me. My skin prickles, vibrates as though his hard stare is running over my body. Turning around Sayo and her Thor-looking blonde, I catch Declan’s vibrant arms, don’t miss his angry scowl. He slumps on the railing next to the dance floor, a beer limp in his hands and his mouth is pinched into a severe line.
“Whatever,” I say, under my breath, but Sayo catches the word, serves me with a weak smile.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. My eyes lift once, catching Declan’s stupid little glare, and then my attention is back on the music, the funny, obnoxious song and my girls. “Nothing at all.”
“My feet are killing me! I’m gonna take them off. Should I take them off? OK I’m still gonna.” Layla is a sloppy drunk, but by the movement of the floor and the blur of the lights, yeah, I’m not exactly sober.
When she stumbles, laying her cheek against my chest, I’m not coherent enough to push her off of me. For some strange reason, my friend slobbering against my cleavage is incredibly funny to me. “Autumn, look. Your boyfriend is cheating on you.” She points across the dance floor to Declan who is dancing against a scrawny, big chested blonde.
“He’s not…I don’t…whatever…”
“Are your friends okay?” I hear Sayo’s Thor clone ask.
“They’re fine.” She leans over, with her hands still clutching him. “You two are fine, right?”
“Hell yes!” Layla yells, then flaps her hands when Mollie’s next song is a slow, sensual track. “Snap! Baby making music.”
She leaves me standing alone on the dance floor, but I don’t mind. The air from the vents is cool on my hot skin and all around me are willing, completely unfamiliar strangers who handle me this way and that, take turns grinding against me. I stumble once, then recover by skidding away from my random friends and am nearly to the bar when a large hand grabs me, pulls me close to his thick chest.
Declan’s body is solid against mine and that masculine, outdoorsy smell of his wafts into my nose, makes my stomach twist pleasantly. I start to pull away, my anger at him a bit stronger than my buzz, but he stops me, wraps his large hands on my waist.
“Be nice,” he says and nuzzles my neck.
That rational part of my brain that tells me to walk away, to get as far from this caveman as possible, seems to be sleeping. I’m too focused on the way he feels, how tight he holds me, how his breath warms my neck as he pulls me against him. I don’t care about the blonde he just left, don’t mind that his hands are on my waist, that I can feel the strong contours of his chest as we keep a slow, close rhythm.
But I can’t take the heat in his eyes, how dark they’ve become, how intensely his gaze eats away at my features. I turn, my back to his chest, my head rests on his shoulder and Declan settles his hands around my hips, guides me as we dance. The sputtering of my heart is fast. My head rolls to the side and his bourbon and beer mixed breath fans over my face. My body responds to the way he feels against me, how his hands slide up my arms, my hips, how warm his breath feels on my skin. When his arms tighten around my waist and he kisses my neck, I lift my head to the side and watch him.
“What are you doing?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“This is more of that too much friendliness behavior we talked about.”
He moves me to face him, holds my cheeks in his hands. His pupils are wide, the green in his irises shining bright and I’m sure he’s likely as drunk as I am. But he smells sweet, he feels sweeter and I forget to care about our drunkenness or that he pissed me off earlier.
“I’m not your fecking friend, McShane.” And then his mouth covers mine, searing, certain. This isn’t like the simple peck that he gave me last night. It’s firmer, more severe and heated than even our first kisses in the basement. His kiss is deep and long and when I try to pull back, afraid his tongue will make an appearance, the pressure on my face increases. He breaks away from me, but his arm curls tight around my body, at the curve of my lower back. Through the haze of drunkenness and that left-unfilled pulse against my clit, I forget my earlier declarations, ignore the fact that he isn’t right for me or that I’m being irresponsible. I kiss him back, let my tongue slide across his bottom lip. His low growl vibrates against his throat, makes my stomach flutter and I’m instantly caught up in the need and want of him. Declan moves back, kisses my neck again, lets his mouth leave cool tracks of moisture in its wake and then he whispers in my ear. “Come with me.”
Drunk and swaying, I follow Declan to the back of the bar. There are couches and chaises in a semi-circle and a row of plush chairs pushed back against the wall. We never make it to any of them. It is late, the crowd has thinned and Declan finds a small, dark alcove illuminated only by the slight red light of the exit sign. He pulls on my hand, pushes me against the wall and spends five full seconds staring at me, no smile quirking his lips, as though he’s giving me an out. When I pull my bottom lip under my teeth, Declan’s nostrils flare and his hands cradle my face, his mouth returns to mine.
His tongue slips between my lips, so simple, so effortless, as though that is where it was always meant to be and I moan as he cups my ass. He pauses, a wicked smirk on his face. “Not going to knee me again, are you?”
A quick smile twists across my lips before I grab his hand and lead it back onto my body. “Do it again.”
We become a flurry of motions. He lifts me up, grip tight on the backs of my thighs. I pull on his hair, yank his head back to expose his neck, nibble on the skin and by the shake of his body, by how tight his grip is on me, how thick he feels against me, I know that Declan is as desperate for more as I am.
He stops as though he’s fighting for control and then his eyes are searching mine. He worries his bottom lip. “My God, I’m dying here.” He moves in close to breathe against my neck, his mouth just near the shell of my ear. “I want to be inside you,” he whispers, then rests his head on my shoulder, his breathing a hard pant. “But I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”
Whatever I thought I might say becomes a blur. I want to continue, I want him back at my apartment, in my bed, but my head spins and the lights and sounds around me twist my stomach into knots. I push him back, make him stop and he gives me little resistance.
“Shite, don’t get mad, McShane—”
I grab his collar and close my eyes. “Shut up, Declan. I’m not mad. I’m just…I’m going to be sick.”