by Eden Butler
“Declan, I’ve lived here my whole life. Of course I can catch a firefly.”
My efforts are just sad. I’m sorely out of practice and being here on the lake, these flickering creatures peppering the sky with yellow light, reminds me of times my father would take me fishing. We’d spend the day here, hooking and releasing fish because I couldn’t bear to keep any of them. Then, when the sun was setting, Joe would snatch the low flying fireflies in his hand and I’d peek through his cupped fingers. That was a long time ago, and when I miss three small bugs that zip in front of my face, Declan stands behind me, moves my wrists once, twice, until finally, I’m able to capture the little insect.
“That’s it, McShane,” he says, but I can’t concentrate on the game. He smells too good and I’m too comfortable with his long arms around my body, his wide chest rubbing against my shoulders.
At my side, Declan holds up the jar, squints as he watches the firefly zooming around the glass and I notice his eyes are brighter tonight, likely set off by the green color of his shirt. He must notice my scrutiny, because his eyes slide to my face and his mouth quirks up. I blink twice at the jar.
“You know, in late spring, there is a group of synchrony fireflies that swarm in the Smokies,” I say. “It’s beautiful. There are six seconds of total darkness and then in perfect synchrony, thousands of bugs light up six times in a three second period before going dark for six more seconds. You can actually take a tour up the mountain to watch it happen.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“When I was a kid. It’s been a long time, but they’re still there, every June.”
He isn’t staring at the jar anymore. Instead, his eyes lower to my mouth, then back up and he bites his lip. “Well then, McShane, maybe next spring you can show me.”
“Maybe.” He hasn’t moved, hasn’t taken his arms from my body or lowered the jar. I can feel the small thump of the firefly against the glass. “So. Do you want to catch another one?” He shakes his head and I finally can no longer take the way he watches me or the soft light of the bug reflecting in Declan’s beautiful green eyes. A step back and I pull the jar away from him, releasing the firefly.
Declan bends to my feet to retrieve a smooth rock from the bank and then turns to the lake, extending his wrist to skip the pebble against the nearly still current. It jumps over the surface of the water, bounces three, four times before it disappears beneath the dark river.
“Beat that,” he says, nodding to my hand.
“Fine then.” I take my turn and my rock skips twice before it disappears. The competitive streak in me flares and I grab another rock. He watches me as the rock zings from my hand and skips, two, three, but not four times.
“You have to relax your wrist.”
“I know how to skip rocks, Declan.”
“Quit arguing with me. Here,” he comes behind me, moves against my body and takes my wrist. His long fingers drape over my hand and guides the direction. The rock leaves my grip and this time it skips five times before it disappears. “Watch me,” he says, picking up another rock. Five, six, seven. He’s good at this. Too good, I think and I instantly grab another rock, slapping his hand away when he tries to help me once more. “Stubborn.”
“Shh.” Finally, I think, as my rocks skids at least five times to the other side of the lake.
“Ah, see then, McShane. You’ve got it now.” He hasn’t moved from behind me. The heat his body generates surrounds me, his warm breath is against my hair, skirting up my neck. I bend over again for a rock and my body brushes against his thighs. I can’t help but enjoy the sensation of him so close to me. I fling the rock out into the water, but it falls short when Declan’s hand touches my waist.
“You did that on purpose.”
He nods, but doesn’t speak. His eyes run over my face, but I try to ignore how there is no expression bending his mouth or how intently he stares at me. “Can you ever not cheat?”
“That’s not cheating, love. That’s distraction.”
I turn around. “What’s the difference?”
“Intention. Calculated intention.”
It is too much; his nearness, the still, cool night, the smell of his skin whipping on the quick breeze. I return to the rocks, deciding distraction would alleviate the steady climb of my thumping heart, but I know he watches me. I know he moves closer, his shoes crunching against the rocks and sand at our feet. Declan is like a lion, fierce and calculating, but I have no intention of being a gazelle. I’m no prey.
Sayo’s words come back to me, and I did mind them, but it’s only been an hour and he’s already kissed me. My eyes glance to his and I can see in his expression that one kiss will not be enough for him. Still, I have no plans to let this be the gist of our night together. I want him to talk. I want him to ask me questions. I want him to, for now at least, stop leering at me as though my body is a delicious feast and he’s a hungry predator waiting to pounce.
He takes another step, but I keep my attention on the lake, on the quick skips of my rock over the water. “You look beautiful, here in the moonlight with your hair moving over your face.”
My smile is quick, barely a quirk. “Thanks,” I manage, stepping to my left. When he continues to stare, his feet moving him closer, I clear my throat with my eyes focused on the fireflies and on water in front of me. “You know, I thought you’d have more planned.”
“I do.”
“Really?” Finally, I face him. “So this date will consist more of skipping rocks and catching fireflies and you gawking at me like you want to devour me?”
He’s caught off guard by my accusation and his expression is jumbled with surprise, guilt and finally humor. “I’m sorry, McShane. You’re beautiful. I told you, I don’t hold back when I like something.” My cheeks burn at his compliment and he notices, touches my face with feather light fingers. “But yes, I have other things planned.” When my eyes narrow, he laughs. “None of which include laying you flat on your back. Unless of course—”
“There will be none of that, Mr. Fraser.”
“Ah well.” He runs his fingers through his hair and holds out his hand for me to take. “Nearing the end of the date, a fella might treat his lady to an after dinner snack.”
“We haven’t eaten dinner though.”
Declan touches the side of his nose to emphasis his point. “Exactly. Backwards date, remember?” He picks up the jars and the paper bag, and I follow him away from the quiet lake.
Downtown Cavanagh is busy tonight. There is a fall festival being held in the main square. Streets are blocked off for dozens of vendors selling crafts and homemade wares. The smell of fried pastries and cakes hang in the air, mixing with the sweet whiff of beer and cocoa. Declan takes my hand as we weave through the crowd. Children scatter around us, running, chasing one another with painted faces snuggled against scarves and wool hats. We pass a cart selling apple tarts and I think I catch a glimpse of Joe, but the crowd is thick and there are more gingers among the townsfolk than scarves and beer, and I keep my head straight, not bothering to confirm my suspicion. Besides, I’d really hate to introduce Joe to Declan and experience lingering minutes of awkwardness. My father doesn’t see me as a woman and he’s already told me a half dozen times since hearing Tucker and me argue in front of my building that no man will ever be good enough for me.
I follow Declan away from the crowd and he leads me into a small yogurt shop free from the lingering festival goers.
We stand in front of the counter and his usual smirk twists his mouth upward. “What are you plotting?” I say.
“You’re always so suspicious. Relax a bit, will you?”
“You’re seriously trying to fatten me up. I’m not a waif. It takes work to keep my weight down, you know.”
“Jaysus, why is that so important? I like the way you look, woman.”
“Yeah, well, since I graduated I haven’t had to keep myself in competition shape. Thanks to my parents, my metabolism isn’t wond
erful. Also? Hello, training.”
Declan orders a small cup of yogurt with lots of nuts and sprinkles and I sit across from him in a booth near the back of the shop. He dips the long plastic spoon into the bowl and waves it in front of my mouth.
“I’m not eating that,” I say, jerking back away from the spoon. “That would be an extra mile run tomorrow.”
“Fine then. I reckon another wager is in order.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.”
Declan’s lowered eyes and grin are immediately replaced with an expression of mock offense. “Miss McShane, do not besmirch my honor,” he says, copying my little joke from the day he cheated me into this date. When I don’t readily agree to yet another one of his rigged bets, he shrugs. “Ah, fine. No wager.” His eye light up. “Ever play ‘I’ve never?’”
Well. This could be interesting. It could be severely dangerous, but interesting nonetheless. I haven’t played the game since my friends and I were teenagers. Sayo had never heard of it, but when I explained that true statements that begin with “I never…” lead to players drinking when they’ve actually done the ‘never’ statement resulted in a lot of honesty and far too much drinking, she was game. But Declan and I playing? I’m not so sure about that.
“Of course I’ve played,” I tell him, “but I think you’ll agree you and I and alcohol don’t mix.”
“I say we mix fine, love, but let’s alter the rules.” Declan folds his long legs out of the booth and grabs another spoon from the counter. “We’ll forego the liquor.” He hands me the spoon then pushes the bowl of yogurt to the middle of the table. “Would you like to start then?”
I hate that my stomach flutters when he smiles at me. I hate that he wants to toy with me. I hate that I am a little worried about what statements he might make and which of my past experiences would match to his. But he licks his lips and taps the end of his spoon against the table and my curiosity vanquishes any worry from my mind. He’ll play hard ball. I can play harder.
“Sure.” There are a thousand things I could admit to, none of which I’m eager for Declan to know. So I start off with a trifle, an inconsequential thing that will relax him before I go for his throat. “I’ve never…stayed up all night to finish a book.”
We both dip our spoons into the yogurt.
“Yawn, McShane. How are we going to get to know each other if you keep things so vanilla?’
Ah yes, get comfortable, Mr. Fraser. “Fine then, smartass, you go.”
Smirk face again. That man needs a new expression. “I’ve never…snogged someone on a dare.”
Declan eats.
“I’ve never…cheated on a partner.”
Neither one of us take a bite of yogurt and a little worry that shouldn’t settle in my chest, eases. I don’t know where that fear came from.
His grin deepens the dimples on his cheeks and he rests his elbows on the table. When he speaks, his voice is so low I think he’s about to tell me a dirty little joke. “I’ve never…had sex at work.”
Declan’s spoon descends first, his eyes focused on my fingers and when my spoon joins his in the bowl, his eyebrow lifts as though I’ve just impressed him.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should even venture in this uncharted territory, but the game is fun and I liked seeing the small surprise that moved Declan’s features when I shattered whatever misconception he had about me. “I’ve never…had sex on the rugby pitch.”
“Which rugby pitch?” he says.
“Our rugby pitch.” We stare at each other, then at the spoons, before Declan dips his in the yogurt.
“Dirty, Mr. Fraser.”
“You’ve no idea.”
“I’ve never…rubbed one off in the shower.”
I hesitate, but then quickly dig my spoon in the bowl before Declan’s follows. His smile is so wide now that I can clearly see his straight, top molars.
“I’ve never…lied about getting laid,” I say, shaking my head when Declan spoon remains in his hand. “Liar. All guys lie about that.”
He still doesn’t scoop the yogurt. “Never had to, McShane.” He isn’t smug or bragging. He says this with a nonchalance that brokers nothing but fact. “I’ve never…had sex with a friend.”
Both our spoons remain in our hands.
“I’ve never had children,” I say and relax in my seat when Declan doesn’t take any of the yogurt.
“I’ve never done a body shot.”
We both have a spoonful and as the yogurt hits my tongue, Declan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. He wants to know, I’m sure, but that’s a story he won’t hear tonight.
“I’ve never asked to be spanked.” I don’t wait for his spoon to descend at my statement. I simply scoop up some yogurt, which he mimics, and I enjoy the how Declan chokes on his yogurt when I waggle my eyebrows at him.
He pauses, his eyes wide, then clears his throat. “I’ve never lied about wanting someone,” he says. A reluctant silence and then our spoons connect in the bowl. “I’ve never…”
“Not your turn,” I say before he can finish his statement.
“Slytherin, remember?” he says, as though that would explain him jumping the game. “I’ve never lied about wanting to be with Declan Fraser.”
He angles back, his arms crossing over his chest as he waits for my reaction. If I don’t dip my spoon into that Pandora ‘s Box yogurt, he’ll know I’m a liar. If I do, he’ll act on it. I have no doubt of that. But he’s kissed me a lot. He’s heard my low moans when his mouth descended over mine in the basement, at the club and again tonight. There’s no way I can deny the truth and the expression on his face tells me he’s aware of my answer. He just wants me to admit it right now. Releasing a breath and avoiding his stare, I slip my spoon into the bowl and try to ignore his low, lewd laughter.
THIRTEEN
“Are you mad? Gibbs? You can’t be serious, McShane.”
“I am wholly and completely serious. O’Meley’s hit to Gibbs knocked him out and he missed the next match. Besides, we’re talking the sheer violence of the hit. That one was God awful.”
“But John Hopoate’s shoulder charge to Keith Galloway cost him his career.”
It’s the same argument we’ve been having since we left the restaurant. In between our main course, then salad, then soup, which Declan insisted be served in that order, we started talking shop. He’s a Wallabies fan. I’m a diehard All Blacks devotee. And then we started in on the worst hits in rugby. Clearly, this man is insane.
We walk down the sidewalk heading to my building and he shakes his head, mumbles under his breath, catching my eye here and there as though he’s waiting for me to laugh, to admit to joking about my opinion. A quick flash of Tucker’s much more aggressive admonishments at me over my ideas slip into my mind, but then Declan grabs my hand and the memory vanishes.
“Well, I’ll have to convince you otherwise at some point, McShane.” He pulls my hand to his chest and I forget all about his insane devotion to Australia or his opinion on that admittedly bad hit. I can only focus on how tight his grip is, how my hand disappears under his.
We enter my building and I rest against my door not sure if I should invite him in, not certain if I want him to leave. He’s already had his goodnight kiss. I can’t decide if I want another. “Do I have to go in and have you knock or is here fine to end the night?”
“Not necessary since we got the snog out of the way.” He smiles. “Unless you planned on greeting me with a kiss, of course.”
“I wasn’t.”
He brings back the smirk I’ve grown used to. “Thanks for tonight.” I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Despite myself and my efforts to keep Declan at arm’s length, I don’t want this night to end. He’s made me laugh, made me blush, made me uncomfortable. I’ve loved every second of it. He’s made me willing to ignore the swarm currently thundering in my stomach.
“Are you—in a hurry to leave?” I say, not sure why I say that aloud. I like how
his smile returns, how his eyes are light, excited, as though he’s very pleased that I don’t want him to leave.
“I don’t have anywhere to be but here, McShane.” He glances over my head, into the kitchen through the door window. “I could polish off some of those biscuits for you.”
“Is that just an excuse to get into my apartment?”
“Of course it is.”
Just before his mouth connects with mine, I push on his chest, level a firm stare at him. “I’m not sleeping with you, Declan. No casualness.”
His shoulders lower and I can’t tell if he’s disappointed by my refusal or annoyed that I think that’s all he wants. His finger runs along my forehead. “I’m not interested in casualness, love.”
“Since when?”
He wets his lips and a dimple on his right cheek dents with his smile. “Invite me in.” He rubs my bottom lip. I had no idea what that little move would do to me, to him when I initiated it that night on the street all those weeks ago. I inhale, and his scent turns the swarm into pandemonium. “Just for a bit. I really want…” his mouth lingers so close to my lips that I feel his breath hot against my skin, “another biscuit.”
He smells my hair when I turn to unlock the door and I feel his gaze on me as I put down my keys and bag and snatch a couple of cookies for him off of my kitchen counter. “I have beer or wine or water. I’m afraid my selection is sparse.”
“I’m fine.” Declan’s fingers brush my wrist when he takes the cookies and I stare at his nose, his cheeks, anywhere but in his eyes. My mind is warring with a thousand different scenarios, hundreds of reasons why him in my home is a very bad, a very enticing idea. He seems far too relaxed, far too comfortable here. There is no tension in his shoulders as he walks around my place, taking in the movies next to my entertainment center. He simply nibbles on a cookie as he walks to the mantel, glances at the pictures there.
