by Ylana MIlls
"I have a hangover!" Eliza complained. "Leave the metaphors for-"
She was really going to make him say it.
"I was about to penetrate you when you passed out," he hissed, wishing his boner wouldn't make another of its triumphant appearances as those words left his lips. "I touched you, I touched myself, and when I was about to put myself inside you, you passed out, is that clear enough? Want me to draw a picture?"
"And then you just stopped?"
"Of course I did."
"Devon," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Come on."
"Come on, come on what?" he snapped. "You had passed out! Do you really think I would go through with it? What kind of man do you think I am?"
"I'm sorry!" she replied, and her eyes went wide. "Geez! Why are you so cranky?"
"Honestly?" Devon replied, feeling his blood boil as she gave him a little smile, crossing her bare legs in front of him. There was just so much a man could take! "You still ask?"
Eliza had to bite back the urge to laugh.
"You find it funny," he whispered. "Of course you do. You're evil, you know that?"
"I'll make up for that," she said, trying to ignore the pounding in her head, and somewhere below her waist. "As soon as the opportunity presents itself."
She saw him shake his head. 'Lie as much as you want,' she thought. 'I know you liked the sound of that.'
And then, her hormones ran away with her again. Why was she staring? Why? Weren't things embarrassing enough already?
And why was he staring back? Oh, the horrors of unresolved sexual tension!
"Come on," Devon said. After that little tingle in his groin, he knew exactly what would happen next if the two of them kept staring at each other like that. "I've made you breakfast."
He quickly left the room, and picked up his backpack from the couch when he saw Eliza had finally gotten up and was now heading to the dining table.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Today is Sunday," he replied, walking towards the door. "I don't work Sundays."
She tilted her head to look at him, but he was not having any of it. While she had spent the last few hours enjoying the bliss of drunken sleep, he had forced himself to a very long cold shower and at least one whole pot of very strong coffee in order to recover some of his sobriety, so that he could take care of her. Oh no, she hadn't gracefully floated towards her bed. He had carried her, after she had woken up in the couch complaining that she would be sick. He had given her water, medicine, a shoulder to cry on when her emotions were all over the place, then more water, then bathroom, more crying, bathroom again, more water…. Before she could rest peacefully in her bed, he had endured hell. And while she was in bed, he found himself checking on her every five minutes to make sure she was fine.
There was no way he would stay and work overtime.
"Seriously? After we nearly did it in that couch, you still find it in you to pull the "on duty/not on duty" crap?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "I mean… seriously?"
He shrugged, trying not to smile. If she wanted him, she would have to ask.
"You're such a tease," she whispered. She knew what he was doing: he was giving her that look of defiance she had grown to know so well. "Very well, then. As a guest, would you be as kind as to join me for breakfast?"
He looked at the floor, and his lips curled into a sly smile when he dropped his backpack onto the couch before heading to the kitchen to get himself a glass and a plate.
"You still owe me one for the "nearly" part of your sentence," he growled, when he joined her at the table.
"You're just not letting that one go, are you?"
"Never," he replied, taking a seat by her side. "I hope to live hundreds of years just to be able to remind you of that on a daily basis."
"How charming!" she said, trying to look serious. "But honestly, I can think of better things to do."
He poured himself some orange juice and raised his eyes to hers.
"I shall never fall for that one again," he replied, before taking a bite of a bagel, and she couldn't help but laugh, looking at him with nothing the purest form of delight in her eyes.
Somewhere along the line, she had fallen for that man.
"So, what are your plans for the day?" he asked.
Funny that she had come to that realization as he munched on a bagel. Maybe that was exactly the point. When you actually spent that much time looking at a certain person and thinking of how lovely he looked when he ate, it had to mean something.
Her eyes were wide. The toast in her hand, long forgotten.
"Eliza," he repeated. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Oh," she finally woke up from her trance. "Sorry, what?"
"Are you going out, staying in…?"
"I don't know…" she replied, putting down her toast and reaching out for the coffee pot. "Haven't got any plans."
"Can I ask you something?" he whispered, crossing his hands and leaning forward. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
Her hands trembled as she filled her cup, but she got herself together before it spilled onto the table.
"Go ahead."
"You grew up in an orphanage, right?"
"Correct."
"Do you have any rich relatives?" he asked.
She smiled lightly. Now she saw where that conversation was going.
"You want to know how I ended up in a rich condo in Tallahassee, is that it?"
"I'm just curious," Devon said, taking a sip of his juice and looking at her intently. "But you don't have to answer, if you think I'm being inconvenient."
Eliza put down her cup of coffee and bit her lip with a quizzical look in her eyes.
"You know what?" she asked, with a smile. "I can actually show you the answer to your question. Care to join me for a trip outdoors?"
"Now?"
"Well, not now now… I mean, I have to take a shower, get dressed and all…"
Devon nodded. It was definitely not now, then. Maybe in two, three hours at best.
"What do you say?" she asked, and her eyes were eager and excited as she waited for a response.
How could he ever say no to those eyes?
"Sounds great," he said, and soon enough she was joyfully making her way back to the bedroom as he headed to the kitchen. If he had to wait, he could as well make something useful out of his time.
-----
"What is this place?" Devon asked, as he and Eliza made their way into what looked an awful lot like a forest.
"This," Eliza replied with a smile, "is the Rogue Valley Archery Club."
That explained the bow and the arrows she was carrying, obviously. Still, he was having a hard time believing that was a club, when they seemed to be going further into the wilderness.
"You asked me how I ended up where I am today," she said, as soon as they reached the first station, from which a target stood some fifty yards away. "This is it. I used to be a professional archer."
Devon felt his jaw had dropped to the floor, as he watched sweet, bespectacled-pony-tailed-in-a-girly-dress Eliza Clark take her stance. Although the bow looked heavy, she didn't seem to be having any trouble maneuvering it as she loaded it, pointing towards the ground. He felt his throat tighten. There was something strangely enticing in how powerful she looked as she attached an arrow to the bowstring, and placed her index finger above the arrow as she held the string in the second joint of other two fingers.
He looked at her fiery eyes as she raised the bow and drew the string hand towards her mouth, and realized she was not the same Eliza Clark who had left her apartment a few minutes ago. Who was that woman, for crying out loud?
Whatever the answer to that question was, all he knew was that he wanted her to be the mother of his children, if he was ever going to be a father one day.
He heard a click, and saw her fingers relax as the arrow flew towards its destination.
Bullseye.
"Holy fuck," Devon muttered, and
Eliza turned her head to look at him with a proud look on her face.
"I took up archery when I was 10 years old, when I still lived in Phoenix" she explained. "I used to be this very angry kid, always picking fights at school, and there was this teacher of mine who told me I should take up some kind of activity that helped me get rid of all that energy. Too bad that I never liked the sports they offered at school…" she said, as they started walking again towards the next station. "One day, she assigns this project on medieval stuff… before I knew it, I was totally obsessed with the bow and arrow. Problem was, I had never seen it other than in books, and knew nobody who had a bow, to begin with."
They stopped when another target became visible further on, and she smiled.
"Not much later, she asks to talk to me after class, and tells me she had enrolled me in an archery class. She said that if I did really well, and really took it seriously, that I could get a scholarship. And I did get a scholarship later on. I loved it. I was good at it, it was almost as if it was on my DNA," Devon saw her eyes fill with tears. "What I only found out later was that she paid for all my classes until then. And I knew that they cost her a fortune."
She lowered the bow again, and prepared to load it with another arrow as a tear ran down her face.
"You have no idea what that meant to me," she said, wiping the tear away on her shoulder. "I decided I would be the best at it, and that I would make her proud."
She raised the bow and shot, barely taking a second to aim.
Bullseye.
"And I did," she whispered, with another smile. "I won many tournaments, made a great deal of money, became a professional at age 14. I tried to pay her back for those classes, but she never accepted it."
"Why did you stop?" Devon asked.
She turned to look at him, with yet another of her girlish smiles.
"I guess that when a hobby becomes a burden, you have to reevaluate your priorities," she replied. "Being a pro is not as funny as it seems. It was actually making me very unhappy."
Devon kept looking at her for a long minute, not sure as to what he should do now. Actually, he knew what he wanted to do, though, but maybe he should wait until she got rid of the bow. Otherwise, he might be in for some serious injury to his nether parts.
He smiled as she started to walk again.
"You know what?" he said, reaching out for the knife in his pocket and rolling it between his fingers. "I can better any of your shots."
She stopped dead on her tracks, and turned her head to look at him.
"Excuse me?"
"What you do with your bow… I can do better with my knife."
"Yeah, right," she snorted.
"Wanna bet?"
There it was, again. That stupid look of defiance!
'Oh, Devon Shaw…' her mind screamed. 'How you frustrate me!'
She slowly walked back to where the man was, and stood a mere inch from his face.
"Anything you want," she replied.
"Anything?"
She saw him raise his eyebrows, and rolled her eyes.
"See, that's your problem," she said. "You're just too full of your--"
Before she could finish her sentence, Devon had already thrown his knife, and it had landed right above Eliza's arrow in the target.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Beginner's luck," she shrugged, as he walked to the target and pulled his knife out.
In a matter of seconds, he was back at her side, smiling widely.
"My oh my," he chanted. "I get the feeling someone here is a sore loser!"
"No, I'm n-"
He threw the knife again, and once again Eliza's arrow swayed in the target.
"What the…?" she whispered. "Ok. Best of five."
Devon chuckled, as he cast a gaze towards the boxed lunches he had prepared lying on the ground.
"Fine. But I must say that there are things that are only good when they're hot…" he said. "Meatloaf being one of them."
Eliza shook her head as he spoke.
"I still can't believe you made meatloaf…" she whispered, after retrieving the arrow from the target and walking back towards him.
"You give me far too little credit, Ms. Clark," he replied with a grin. "I am a good cook, after all."
"You'd make a hell of a husband…" she said, with an amused smile.
Devon cleared his throat as she prepared her bow, and only then did she fully understand what she had just said. Freud had to be laughing at her for those revealing moments of truth.
"T-That's not what I…" she stuttered, trying to regain her composure.
"That's ok", Devon replied, watching her draw the string closer to her face. "I know you want me."
Eliza stumbled forward, and her arrow flew some good inches above the target.
"I request a do over," she said, trying to ignore the heat on her face.
"Go ahead," Devon chuckled. "I can do this all day."
Eliza swallowed, and tried to steady herself again. Load, draw, shoot.
White.
"Good one," said the man by her side, rolling his knife between his hands, "…but not excellent."
He then threw his knife, after aiming for no longer than three seconds.
Bullseye.
Eliza gasped.
"I… I am… absolutely shocked," she muttered, turning her head to look at Devon with a frown. "You win."
"I guess so," he said, walking towards the target to retrieve his knife.
"So what do you want?" she asked, looking thoroughly devastated.
"Do I have to cash it in right now?" Devon asked, wrinkling his forehead. "Can't it wait?"
"What for?"
"I haven't made up my mind yet."
"You don't know what you want?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as he moved closer to her.
She watched him chuckle, and then look to the ground.
"All I want is you," he whispered, finally raising his eyes to hers.
And then, she felt his hand cup the back of her neck as he brought her lips to his softly, as if testing her willingness to deepen the kiss. Her free hand clutched the rim of his sweatshirt as she parted her lips, and the tip of her tongue sneaked out to touch his. Then she coaxed his tongue gently into her mouth, licking and sucking and feeling his warm breath on her lips, as he held her waist and pressed her body against a tree.
He sucked on her lower lip before thrusting his tongue inside her mouth again, grabbing a handful of her hair as a rush of desire ran through his veins. Then it was her turn to dominate the kiss, with the clear intention of shoving her tongue down his throat, and he couldn't help but moan as he felt her hand sneak under his sweatshirt and graze his chest with her nails.
"Devon…"
He loved the lust in her voice as she moaned his name.
"Devon, my arm…"
His eyes shot open.
"My arm is cramping…" she whispered, before letting out a chuckle. "I'm sorry, but can you give me a minute?"
Only then did he realize that she still had her bow strapped to her arm.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm so sorry!"
"That's OK," she replied, putting away the bow before taking his face in her hands.
She looked into his eyes for a long minute as her fingertips traced patterns around his cheekbone. He was so handsome, he had such gorgeous features, but his eyes… His eyes hurt. She frowned, knowing that what she was about to ask would be the ultimate buzz-kill, but she just couldn't stop herself. She had to know.
"What happened to you?"
Devon had braced himself for some sort of question as Eliza looked at him, but that was definitely not it.
"Sorry, what?" he asked.
"Why are you so… sad?"
He had to swallow a lump in his throat, and blink.
"What makes you think I'm sad?"
"Your eyes. "
He looked away and walked towards the boxed lunches, shrugging.
"It's nothing."<
br />
All of a sudden, Devon really needed to avoid her gaze. Whatever it was that she had seen in his eyes, it would definitely not make for nice, pleasant conversation, and he was not about to dig into his past any time soon. They had just kissed, his mind was still fuzzy, they were having a great day… why ruin it?
"Ok," she said, as she moved to sit next to him after he took out a blanket from inside a bag and spread it on the earthy ground.
"It's been a long time since I had a picnic," he said, in a feeble attempt to make small talk.
By his side, Eliza's lips curled into a smile. Her eyes, however, were burning right past his gleeful façade, and he soon realized it would be useless to trick that woman into his foolish game of make believe.
She knew him too well, and he felt slightly distraught at how fast she was stripping him of the walls he had carefully built around his heart.
"It's just…" he started, playing with a dry branch near him as if it was the most interesting thing on earth. "I don't know. Must be because life's roughed me up a little. I guess it shows," he said, raising his eyes to look at Eliza. "But I'm fine, I really am."
She nodded in response, and it was obvious that she didn't believe he was fine, not in the slightest.
"I guess I should go," Devon said, as her eyes triggered his usual fight or flight response to that kind of situation.
"You don't have to," she said, grabbing his arm before he rose to his feet. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean to upset you."
Eliza let out another smile, and he felt enormously grateful for her consideration.
"Now," she said, trying her best to change the subject. "I think there is some apple sauce here somewhere..."
She was so adorable. And she had shared so much with him. The least he could do was show that she trusted her as well, even if he felt he was about to revisit a part of his life that always made him feel like crap…
"I spent a couple of years in an orphanage too," he said, avoiding her eyes. "My mother was Mexican. When she died, my father decided we should come to the US so that I could have a better life. Or so he told me," he chuckled sadly. "Then one day he leaves to see a doctor, never comes back. I was worried sick," he paused, as his mind took him back to some of the worst days of his life. "I was in a strange house, with strange people, in a strange city. But I did what I could to find him, went everywhere I could. Nothing. No one knew where he had gone, and I only found out many years later."
