Deserving It

by Angela Quarles

  I snuggle up to him, and he drapes his arm around me, holding me to his chest. “Why not? It’s what was on your mind. You can be honest with me.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and I wait him out. Finally, he says, “I was with a girl back in Ireland. Brianna. Knew her since I was in nappies, and she was my first girlfriend. We were both each other’s firsts.”

  “Sex?”

  “Yeah. And we stayed together through college, and I was of a fair mind to marrying her. Was wanting to get myself set up with a steady job first, prove myself. But she broke it off with me shortly after graduating. Knocked me back.”

  Oh man. “Did she say why?” I have a strange urge to either hunt the woman down and bop her head or kiss her.

  “Yeah. Said I didn’t have any substance.”

  I sit up and stare down at him. “I’d like to knock some substance into her.” God, that’s awful. And so this was the embarrassing breakup he blurted while playing poker. “So it made you worry no one would have a reason to want to be with you.”

  He pulls me back down against him. “Let’s not be talking about Brianna anymore, yeah.”

  “Okay.” But it kills me that someone as solid as Conor would ever doubt himself. The mind games we play with ourselves can be harmful. Boy, am I all too aware. I stroke his chest and play with one of his nipples. We’re quiet for a time as I absently stroke his skin, content to just be.

  “Why’d you leave Ireland?”

  He’s quiet. His chest rises, and he blows out a breath. “Many reasons. And before you ask, yeah, Brianna was a major one. Wanted to start my life over.”

  I could certainly understand wanting to wipe your slate clean.

  I go to blow out the candles but notice something.

  “Oh, wow.” I sit back up again and stare at his crotch. I’ve never seen an uncircumcised penis before. I mean, I’d seen his, but it looked like any other one in the main aspects. But now it’s not hard. Well, it’s starting to stir, which was what caught my eye at first. “Can I touch it?”

  “I won’t be saying no to that, but you’re acting like you’ve never seen a man’s wire before.”

  “Wire?” I chuckle. “That’s a new one. I’ve just never seen one uncut before.”

  I take him in hand and poke the tip, which is almost hidden inside his foreskin, like it’s playing peek-a-boo. I pull down, and the head comes fully out to greet me. “Oh cool.” I smooth it back up, completely hiding it. And then back down. Which definitely has an effect as he grows hard in my hand.

  “We’ll have to be getting creative in finishing if you keep with the stroking.”

  I cock my head.

  His handsome features are twisted into a frown. “No more condoms.”

  “They might sell some in the little shop next to the check-in desk.”

  He levers up and swipes his jeans off the floor. “Say no more.”

  Chapter 15

  Claire

  I awake with a start, bolting upright, groggy and unsure what awakened me. I sit there a moment as my brain catches up with my surroundings and what day it is. I glance around.

  Hotel room.

  Clothes on the floor.

  Heat rushes over me. Oh, yeah. I look to the other side of the bed, and my heart does a weird squeeze. It’s empty.

  I smooth my hand over it. Still warm. Surely he didn’t leave?

  “Would you be looking for me, yeah?” a sexy Irish voice says from the doorway.

  I yank my hand away and tuck it under my thigh. Now I know I’m blushing. God, how embarrassing.

  Conor strolls in carrying a tray, his stride confident and powerful. He has his jeans on, but no shirt. “Could you eat now?”

  “Yes, I am actually hungry.”

  When he lowers the tray over my lap, I catch my breath. He’s set a mini table for me—plate, napkin, and silverware. On the plate are two muffins, and he’s cut up one of the apples.

  Another part of me melts. “Oh wow. This is awesome, thank you!”

  He grins. “You’re welcome. I’ll be but a moment.”

  He trots out and returns with another tray, settling in beside me on the bed with his own tray over his lap.

  “Where did you get the trays?” I didn’t see any in our kitchenette. I’m also looking for an excuse to talk—anything to keep the situation flowing as if this is all normal. And by all, I mean the sex, waking up with him bringing me breakfast in bed.

  “I went down to the foyer for some news and grabbed them from the buffet.” He turns his big grin on me and bites into his apple, which he didn’t cut.

  “Thank you. So what did you find out?” I bite into my banana nut muffin, still light and the right amount of moist. Hmm, I think they put some cinnamon in this one. Delicious.

  “Not much of use. Trees down everywhere, and power’s still out. There’s a fuckton of debris in the car park.”

  “Still raining?”

  “Not a bit of it. Sky’s all blue, acting as innocent as a nun.”

  I’m antsy to get out of the room. “We should go out and help.” I need some fresh air but also some space outside this room to sort through my feelings. Last night was amazing—even better than the first time. But also worse because it seemed more intense. And with the breakfast? I need to get my head—and heart—realigned with reality.

  After we finish eating, we get dressed and go outside.

  Conor wasn’t exaggerating. It looks as if we were in a giant snow globe that got shaken up pretty hard. Frankly I’m surprised that there were this many tree limbs so close to the airport. Mixed in are random objects picked up by the force of the wind—trashcans, torn bits of plastic, a shoe, and tons and tons of leaves.

  The hotel chain will have their corporate owners pay for a cleaning crew, but it feels good to do something out in the fresh air. We must not be the only ones wanting to help—a few other guests I recognize from the impromptu sing-along last night are outside dragging smaller limbs over to the distant corner of the lot.

  We start to help, and while this is mostly giving me the space I need to sort out my feelings—and being in a situation that is not sexual certainly helps—it’s also relaxing, and the camaraderie with Conor and the others feels great. It also leaves me even more lost, though. As if I’m stuck in limbo, literally and emotionally. We can’t go anywhere until that limbo is over, and could the sex just be due to our circumstances? Was this just…limbo sex? Was the storm just glue?

  A shout jolts me from my ever-spiraling thoughts. “You can’t do that!” Some guy from the hotel is running toward us, arms waving.

  “We’re just wanting to help, yeah.” Conor stops and turns to face him, arms loaded with sticks and limbs.

  “I know, but corporate will have my head if you get hurt. Can’t afford a lawsuit, and I want to keep my job.”

  Conor drops the load he was hefting and looks at me with his eyebrows raised. “You Americans are so bloody bolloxed.”

  “I know.” I shrug. “Well, we tried.”

  “Want to go for a walk then?”

  “Sure.”

  Downed trees are everywhere, and people like us are looking around. It’s kinda hard not to gawk. On their own, our hands find each other and thread together, the movement so natural, it took me several steps to realize what we’re doing. And I know it’s stupid to be analyzing holding hands, but it feels like a punctuation mark. An exclamation point really. Last night in the lobby, I’d been surprised he’d reached for my hand but chalked it up to him offering sympathy for my mom. This, after the sex last night, the talk after, feels couple-y.

  Because, yep, last night was blistering hot. And breakfast in bed was sweet. But as we walk, the destruction reminds me exactly why we’ve been in our own bubble outside of reality. And that reminder is sobering. Everything is temporary.

  We don’t make it far, though. Conor points ahead. “Sure look it. Downed power line.”

  “Yikes. Yeah, we better turn back.” Dammit. I
still need more time outside—outside where I can think and process and not get pulled prematurely back into limbo-sex land and thinking it can be more.

  Conor squeezes my hand. “Claire, I want to be asking you something, yeah.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’d like to be calling on you when we return if you’re keen.”

  “Call?”

  He curses then laughs. “Fucking language. Visit you. Date you, yeah?”

  My chest flutters, but I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that. I…like what we’ve started.” Hope blooms, mixing with my panic. Okay. Okay. So it's not limbo sex.

  As soon as we get back to our room, I call Jane and give her an update on my status.

  “Wait,” she says. “You’re in a room with Conor?”

  Honestly. She sounds like a grade-schooler. I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure it’s still Jane.

  “Yeeessss.” I turn around and watch the object of our discussion putzing around in the kitchen. He holds up the packet of trail mix with a raised brow, and I shake my head no.

  I fill her in on what happened.

  “He’s there right now, so you can’t talk, right?”

  “Yes.” Not that I would have said much more, but it’s a convenient excuse.

  “How about if I ask yes or no questions?”

  What the hell? “Jane.”

  “Come on. Play along. You were all up in my business with Aiden. Payback time.”

  I groan, which she mistakes for permission, because she asks, “Have you slept with him yet?”

  My brief silence as I think how to respond says plenty, because she gasps. “You go, girl. So you guys are a thing?”

  I step over to the window and run a finger down the glass pane. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  I pull my finger off the cool pane and ball my hand into a fist, resting it against the glass. I lower my voice. “Jane, can you lay off with the questions?”

  “Spoil sport. Speaking of. Have you made plans yet to visit your mother?”

  Guilt swamps me. Fuck. My mother.

  I’d successfully shoved that mess into a mental corner, going all ostrich-in-sand. Knowing I can’t keep this from Jane, I tell her about my call from the Denver hospital.

  “Oh my God. You have to go now, Claire.”

  My chest tightens with panic. “I know, I know. There’s the little matter of being stuck here right now.”

  “You’re still not going to go, are you?”

  I zip into the bedroom and shut the door. “Jane, I just…”

  “What’s going on?” Gone is her frustration. Now her voice holds concern with a trace of curiosity. “Why don’t you want to go? You never said—I just assumed it was your usual bullheadedness. But now…”

  “Can you trust me that I have reasons? I can’t tell you now.” I reinvented myself and moved to escape the emotional turmoil of my childhood. And since that childhood represented the old me, I never felt the need to tell even my closest friend. But I’m starting to wonder if keeping my best friend from this part of my life is doing me any good. She knows me well enough now not to see that old, sick me as me me. Shame washes through me at what I used to do. And what I had to do.

  “Because he’s there.”

  “Yes.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll tell you when I get back, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispers. “It must be bad, and I’m sorry I pushed you. We’ll go for drinks.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” My words come out fast.

  We catch up on other things and hang up.

  And I still don’t feel any more settled in my mind. Yes, he’s saying he wants to continue to date, which makes me feel stupid-giddy, but it also still scares me. Can I still maintain my self?

  Chapter 16

  Conor

  While Claire’s on her mobile with Jane, mine pings with an alert.

  Delta’s flying again, thank you, Mother Mary.

  I use the last of my laptop’s battery and book a flight for early afternoon.

  I glance at the closed bedroom door.

  And think about why Claire would be mucking about over visiting her mam. The most likely seeming reason to me? Finances. And that’d be the reason most would be reluctant to admit to.

  Especially someone as proud and tough as Claire.

  Ever since I woke up, I’ve been doing some thinking. Claire asking about my sister and her farm was bothering me, and as we worked to clear limbs, I realized I’m needing to let my guilt go about the farm. Need to believe in my sister, I do. Believe she knows what she’s doing. And that if she ever needs me to lend a hand, she’ll know to reach out.

  I pour trail mix into a bowl and settle on the couch. God, it hurts to just not help, but I’m needing to do this. For myself and my sister.

  But thinking is not the same as doing, now is it? I pull up flights for Denver and use the money I would have sent Siobhan for Claire’s flight, as well as one from there to Sarasota, date of return flexible. Typing in my card number makes guilt flood me anew that I’m using the money earmarked for the farm. Which—fuck—confirms I’m in the right of it. Confirms I wasn’t helping Siobhan for the right reasons.

  The confirmation screen pops up when the bedroom door opens.

  “I’ve good news,” I say, closing my laptop.

  She looks at me with her eyebrows up.

  “Airport’s been cleared for flights.”

  “Oh. That’s…great.” She’s not looking all that happy.

  Thinking it’s worry for her mam and how she’ll get there, I point to the laptop. “Got you a flight to Denver, yeah.” Jaysus. That felt good to say.

  “You…wait, what?”

  Tension crackles in the air, and I let my hand drop. “To go visit your mam? Didn’t you say she’s in hospital in Denver?”

  She marches into the living room. “You bought me a ticket to Denver?”

  “Yeah, sure. What else would I be doing? I figured you’ll be wanting to leave as soon as you can, so I booked the first flight.”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “What the hell? Why would you do that?”

  I wince and fall back against the couch. Bollocks. I should’ve thought this through. If she’s too proud to admit she’s short of cash, she’ll not be wanting to accept something she sees as charity.

  I wave a no-big-deal. “Just thought I’d help out a little. A gift, yeah.”

  “A gift?” Her voice rises on the end.

  Shite. I’m making a right hash of things and sounding as if I’m paying her as a thank-you for the sex. Shut yer gob, Conor.

  She quick-steps to the kitchen in a huff, stops, and marches over to the window and stares out. She rounds on me looking cheesed off enough to skin me alive. Anger blares from her eyes. Her chest is heaving as if she’s trying to catch her breath. “You have no right to control my life and what I will and won’t do.”

  Fuck—what? “Control your life?” I leap off the couch. “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are. I told you last night I didn’t want to go, and you just ignore that?”

  Jaysus, she’s lost her head, and this is a right bags now. This is why I’m no bloody good at relationships. Too many minefields, and I’m too dense to scout them out. “Yeah, you said you’d think about it, and I thought…”

  “You thought what?”

  “That maybe you…” Fuck. I’ll just have to say it, because I’m already in deep. “I was thinking you might be hedging on going because you couldn’t afford the price of it.”

  She looks up at the ceiling. “Jesus.”

  Now I’m pissed off. I was trying to help, and it fucking backfires on me. Part of me can see there’s obviously a different reason she’s not wanting to go other than money. But that part is swamped by feeling utterly gobsmacked.

  Claire

  I’m standing here shaking as memories cascade over me, one after another. Memories of all the times my mom or e
x-boyfriend tried to control me, completely overriding my wishes. Why did I think this time would be different? I open myself up, make myself vulnerable, and it’s like boom—everyone thinks I’m a doormat or that I haven’t spoken or that I don’t know my own mind.

  “You have no room to talk, Conor. You won’t even be honest with yourself about why you work so hard to help your sister.”

  He takes a step back. “Yeah, I’m realizing that. It’s why I bought you a ticket.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I’m using the money I would have sent her, yeah.”

  “So now you’re just transferring your superhero-save-the-day attention to me? I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help.”

  A pained look crosses his face, and part of me cringes, because I know he’s all about helping, but I’m worried about my walls crumbling for him.

  “Yeah, sure, but…” He scrapes his hand through his hair and pulls.

  “You’re just transferring. Don’t you see? You help her out of some guilt you feel for leaving the farm, leaving Ireland. What do you feel guilty about with me, huh?”

  His hands come down, his brow furrowing and his gaze narrowing. “What the bleeding hell? You’ve got a maggoting idea there, you have.”

  “I know you feel guilt about your family farm. It comes off you in waves whenever you talk about it.”

  “You might have the right of that, but I’m not helping you out of some flaming sense of guilt. You’re out there.”

  I clamp my lips shut. Maybe I have crossed a line, but I feel hemmed in. Can’t he see he’s trying to micromanage me like he does his sister?

  “Thank you, Conor, but I can manage fine on my own.” I can’t follow that with Always have, which does feel like the next natural line, but that’s part of the problem. I haven’t. And I got really sick.

  I slip into my room and pull up my cell. The next flight available to Sarasota isn’t until 8:27 that night. Ugh. A little message icon shows that I have an email. I pull it up, and it’s from Delta, with the itinerary shared with me from Conor when he booked the ticket for Denver.