by Butler, Eden
She didn’t like that and I reckon I couldn’t blame her. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“Autumn…”
Again she tried fighting me, seemed intent to put as much space between us as possible, but I couldn’t let her go, didn’t want to be more than inches from her. I tugged on her jeans, slid her toward me by her belt loops and frowned at her, challenging her with a look to push me away.
“Just go upstairs. Do the stuff that Sayo asked you to do and leave me alone.”
Yeah, that’s not what she wanted. She wasn’t pushing anymore and her eyes stared too long, too hard. We didn’t speak, didn’t argue in the least. A small kiss on her forehead, the smallest taste of her sweet skin and I was undone. She shuddered, moved her arms and shoulders as though she’d grown cold.
Nope, she didn’t want me leaving.
“I can’t do that.” I didn’t think I could ever leave her alone. She was in my blood like an infection, heady and consuming. With her so close to me, her breath lifting over my face I did the only thing I could and moved my thumb across her bottom lip. I was going to kiss her. There was nothing for it…moth, flame, I was well fucked and I pulled her closer, there, just a bit closer… “Autumn…”
“No.”
Buggering hell.
I watched her face, the play of resistance and need, moving across her features, forcing her eyes shut as she struggled for control. And then, she scooted back, jumped to her feet, as though I was contagious, as though being anywhere near me was a slight on her good sense. I understood, trust me. My rational mind organized reason and logic and helped me see that my rejection of her had her wanting distance.
Telling my body that, though, was impossible. Primal Declan grunted “want…woman…now” and I followed her, barely managed to keep myself back, ignored that she wouldn’t face me, that suddenly the bookshelf was the height of interest to Autumn.
Then, she jabbed below the belt. “I’d hate for Tucker to find out we’re fighting. We—we need you playing. Cameron gave us hell last season and—”
“Don’t tell me about you and fecking Tucker.” I couldn’t take it. The edge of my patience was somewhere behind me, and I let all my frustration, all my anger spill over, slamming my fist on the table. “I don’t want to know about it.”
I knew I’d scared her. The severity in her stance was back, her cheeks had paled. “I didn’t say anything about us.”
I’d seen them, the night before, cozied up together at the coffee shop. He touched her, touched my Autumn, and she let him. I wanted to avoid a scene, give her space, let that wanker see that I could follow directions, that I wasn’t as consumed by her as he assumed. What a fake I was. I couldn’t manage to get far away, slipped out of the shop and watched them through the window. Like an idiot. Like someone whose heart had been ripped right out of his chest. Morrison held her hand, lead McShane to their table with his hand on her back. I had to walk away. If I hadn’t, I was certain I wouldn’t be able to hold back from bloodying his face. Again.
Just the thought of them together had my blood boiling and I couldn’t calm myself, couldn’t resist getting too close to Autumn, invading her personal space, circling her head with my arms, breath hard, expression likely desperate, pathetic. “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—” No, I didn’t want to remember it, shook my head to drive out the memory. “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.”
A worse, highly graphic image pumped through my brain and I couldn’t make sense of the thoughts I was having. Ridiculous ideas, desperate assumptions I knew couldn’t possibly be true. “Did you fuck him?”
“What?”
“Jaysus, you did, didn’t you? You fucked that nancy bollocks.” I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t stomach the shock on her face; the expression I tried to convince myself wasn’t shame. “I can’t believe that pouncy little shite—”
“Declan! Stop it.” Autumn reached for me, but my mind was too full of those wild scenarios invented by my addled brain. I didn’t want her then, brushed off her hand as she drew closer. Her fingers shook, pulled at me. “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.”
Morrison’s lips on her neck. McShane gripping at him, moaning, panting as he touched her. The thought made me sick, had me forcing bile back down my throat. I had to know. Even if it gutted me, even though deep down I knew I was being irrational, I had to hear her tell me the truth. “Did you, Autumn? Did you let him touch you?”
“I didn’t sleep with him, dammit.”
My hands trembled but when I touched her, when I pulled Autumn close, cupped her face between my hands, it felt like coming home. “Don’t ever let him, love. He doesn’t deserve you. I can’t stand the thought of you with him…you have to—” I wanted to pour everything into the kiss I gave her. I wanted her to forget that I rejected her. I wanted her to know she was mine, even if it was only for a moment. “No one touches you, McShane. No one but me.”
She didn’t push me away. She did nothing but brush against me, became pliant by my touch and it felt fecking unreal. In that moment we hadn’t argued, hadn’t been separated by lies, by secrets. Just then, with my mouth working over her lips, with her hands slipping under my shirt, scraping, grabbing at my skin, the world melted away. There was her touch, her taste and a moment of serenity.
With her small fingers smoothing down my stomach, Autumn reminded me what it was to be touched by her. How could I have walked away from that? Even if it was for her own good, how could I ever have pretended not to want her? I was drowning, sinking beneath whatever tide she swept over me, gladly letting her suffocate me, and when she tugged lower, when her fingers touched the head of my dick, I died, just then, just for a moment.
A hiss moved between my teeth and I caught her stare, urging her on, silently begging her to keep her hand just where it was, on me, working me until I thought the glint in her eyes, the smell of her breath against my mouth would make me explode.
My jeans loosened, barely hung off my hips as she continued and I heard noises escaping my throat, noises and grunts I likely should have withheld. She already had too much control over me, but I was drunk off her touch, too far gone to mind things like control and decency.
“Yes.” It was a simple word, but held so much meaning; giving her permission, telling her what a wasted mess I was. Then my body took over, hips helping her along in the job, bollocks tightening. Only McShane could make me feel this, and only I could give the same back to her. “Promise me,” I told her. “Fecking promise me you won’t let anyone else touch you.”
And then she backed away, took her fingers from me and frowned at me as though I’d slapped her. “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 didn’t stop her when she shoved me against the bookshelf. “Do you hear me, Declan? I don’t belong to you.”
The moment was dashed by the harsh reality of my words, of what I’d said to keep her from knowing the truth. My dick throbbed, and I shut my eyes, realizing what a fecking arsehole I was. “I know you don’t.” I stared at my feet, the floor, anywhere but back at the accusing expression on her face as I righted my jeans. “I’m…I’m sorry, McShane. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m just…I’m not for you.”
I left her standing there, knowing she wanted me, knowing what I was denying us both, and yet still not abandoning hope that the day
would come when she would never stop touching me.
On the pitch, I was free.
I ran, sprinted, tackled, stole the ball and there was nothing else that clouded my mind. On the pitch, I had not been forced into secrets, not responsible for anything but loving the smell of the grass and the heavy grunts and curses from my opponents.
Out there, my mind was not cluttered with the memory of Autumn’s lips or the taste of her skin. This was my time to focus. This was my moment of glory. Unless, she runs around us, right on the fecking track, tempting me.
Autumn McShane was my kryptonite.
I had managed to avoid her, to break clear of her completely. Well, if I’m being honest, not wholly and completely. I saw her at the book sale, watched her with... with her da, and a part of me still wanted to protect her, wanted to shield her from the man who had abandoned her. Other parts of me that were louder and nagged more insistently, told me to leave off. Mostly, I listened to those parts. But fuck me, was it hard.
You simply didn’t walk away from someone like Autumn. She gets into your system, eradicates your sense. The woman was a fecking witch. A hot, funny, curvy, soft-in-the-right-spots, witch.
Morrison whistled at her as she ran past the pitch and I resisted the urge to attack him, though it was so fecking hard. She didn’t offer him more than a curt nod, seeming focused on her run, but because I stared after her a little longer than necessary, stopping my sprints to watch the way her hips moved, the lush curves of her arse, well, I drew the attention of the coach and our bollocks of a captain.
“Problem, Fraser?” he said, daring me with one look to keep gawking at Autumn.
I shook my head, not eager to invite more trouble from that wanker, and doubled my efforts with the squad. “Come on, lads. Let’s get this right this time,” I told my teammates, discussing new plays, tactics that I hoped would help us in our next match.
I blocked Autumn out, pretended I couldn’t smell her perfume on the wind, and instead tried to concentrate on our practice. Freedom. That’s what the sport was to me. Freedom from worries and submitting to the sheer euphoria of my blood pumping, the viral speed of endorphins shooting to my brain, moving me down the field with joy across my face. We scrimmaged, I ran and focused on the drills, on the new plays until I didn’t notice her staring at me, until Morrison with his damn whistle and smug, satisfied smile became a blur.
Then, I took a breath, grabbed a bottle of water from the sidelines and noticed that Autumn was no longer alone.
Shite. Feck. Bollocks.
Ms. Complication was with her. I had not seen this particular complication coming until it wiggled its way into my life. “It” being the too thin, wicked busty form of Heather. That girl was insistent and she simply refused to accept the word “no”.
I only tolerated her because Primal Declan was a jealous sod. I didn’t want anyone but Autumn. I especially didn’t want Heather. But that caveman bugger thought being around Heather would hack Autumn off. I wasn’t sure how well that was working until that day on the pitch.
I saw them face to face, Heather’s smug little grin telling me that the conversation they were having was anything but friendly. My stomach curled at what they were saying. I wasn’t worried about them comparing notes, I hadn’t touched Heather once, had barely seen her more than in the class we shared together, but she had followed me to practice, to the coffee shop despite my telling her that I wasn’t interested in anything serious.
It was like she had a filter, a You-Don’t-Mean-That-Silly-Boy filter. My rejection only strengthened her attachment and if Primal Declan had any sense, he’d let me tell her to fuck off. But, he was jealous of the time Autumn spent with Morrison and so I hadn’t given her the Gollum speech yet. You know the one “Go away and never come beck, er, back.”
Autumn’s shoulders were rigid—she does that when she’s hacked off or worried—and by the small frown tightening her lips, I knew that expression had nothing to do with worry. She was gearing up to slap Heather. Primal Declan usually had control of my dick and just the idea of Autumn lashing out had me a wee bit chubby.
But then Heather walked away, right onto the pitch to serve me a wink and a smile that promised things my baser, unattached-to-Autumn self might find fun. This wasn’t going to be good. I had to know what they talked about, but Morrison blew that fecking whistle again and sprints started up and my glance followed Autumn as she ran from the track with her friends trailing behind her and my mind erased any questions about Heather from my thoughts.
The ginger angel really did have a distracting, beautiful round arse.
“What’s the matter, Fraser?” Morrison again. I swear that wanker lives to hack me off.
“Sorry?” I said, tugging my gear into my bag. I was tired and sweaty and my mind was still full of the image of Autumn running away from the pitch. Nice image, that.
“You seemed a little out of sorts today. Just curious what’s got you off?” Morrison leaned against the locker and I could tell he was itching for a tussle. That fecking sod would do just about anything to keep me on the bench during our next match.
“What’s your problem, Morrison?” Donovan blocked me from Morrison. I didn’t need him to fight my battles, but my best mate didn’t have to worry about invoking the captain’s anger. His family had been in Cavanagh for ages and his folks were well off. Their money meant more to Coach than anything Morrison managed to do during a match.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Donovan. Fraser’s the one who was distracted today.”
“Distracted?” My best mate got right in the Captain’s face. “Did you see that play he came up with? The sneak? You’re outta your fucking head, dude. He was on fire today.” Donovan squared his shoulders and I couldn’t help but love the way Morrison’s eyes moved around the locker room to gauge how much attention was being drawn to them; he didn’t like what he saw.
“Bullshit. He was more worried about what was going on off the pitch than committing to practice. That kind of distraction can cost us a match.”
“You’re a worthless bollocks, you know that, Morrison?” I moved Donovan out of my way and came nose to nose with the captain. No way was I going to let him pull Autumn into the middle of this.
“Yeah? Well, Autumn doesn’t think so.” Morrison looked up at me and when that arsehole sneered, I knew I’d fallen right into his trap. “I took her out, but you knew that right? Probably going out with her again next week.”
He was pathetic. He knew well and good that I’d seen them, but I wasn’t going to get into some sort of twisted pissing match with him. He wasn’t worth it. “If you’re trying to hack me off, give it up. I know what she thinks about you. She knows what you are.”
There was a moment of what I thought was realization in the captain’s eyes. I didn’t know what Autumn was doing with him, other than trying to make me jealous. Guess she had her own primal idiot urging her to do barmy things, same as me. But Morrison let his annoyance go and the stupid sneer of his moved back over his mouth. I should have known what he was planning. I should have seen it coming, but at the time I only knew that my fists were curling and that I had to keep them at my sides.
“Yeah? Well just remember one thing, Fraser, it doesn’t matter what you say to her. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me.” When he spoke again, his voice was low, cut deep like a threat. “I had it first and it was fucking amazing.”
Donovan grabbed me by the arms, pulled me back when my fist went forward. Good thing he did. Coach came out of nowhere, stood right next to us and Morrison’s smile only widened.
“That’s enough. Break it up.” Coach said, pulling on the captain’s collar to push him away from me.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Morrison knew exactly what to say to get under my fecking skin. I was distracted, trying to drive the image he painted of him and Autumn from my mind. He had been her boyfriend for two years. I knew that. I knew they’d been together, I wasn’t stupid. But now?
No. That couldn’t happen. Not again. I was determined to see her. I just wanted to make sure she knew I was sorry, that all this shite was temporary. I made it as far as the bleachers outside of the pitch, gripping my gear bag over my shoulder, those sickening images of Autumn and Morrison running through my head like a fecking porno, gearing me up for a fight, but my name coming from the soft voice behind me stopped me in my tracks.
Great. Fecking Heather.
“Hey,” she said. She moved like a snake, gliding toward me, her nails like fangs ready to strike.
Heather didn’t smell like Autumn. Her skin wasn’t as soft, too tanned, too untouchable. But she had a nice face, a small button nose and luscious, thick lips. What? I’m a bloke. Hard not to notice those things. I knew what she wanted. Those claws were itching to scratch down my back, I could tell, but I couldn’t shake that picture Morrison had painted for me. Couldn’t be rid of the memory of him holding Autumn’s hand or the feel of her fingers working over my dick.
I needed to tell Heather the truth. I needed her to understand that she and I weren’t ever going to happen.
When she leaned up on her toes, planted a kiss on my cheek, I pulled her arms away from me. “Heather, what are you doing here?”
“Coffee?” she said like it was supposed to explain everything. Like that one word promised more than a brief conversation and a flaky pastry.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The lipstick on my cheek left a mark on my sleeve when I wiped it away.
“Why not? It’s just coffee, Declan. I’m not asking you to marry me.” Her laugh was too high, too piercing and I was just about to deliver the Gollum speech, just about to make a clean break, but then Morrison walked past us, his phone to his ear and I heard him say Autumn’s name. The images came back and Primal Declan kicked my rejection back down my throat.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Morrison as he laughed into his phone. Heather curled her arm around mine and for a moment I forgot that I didn’t want her touching me.
