Page 27

twenty-four

. . .

[India]

Declan’s gift was so thoughtful I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I also couldn’t stop thinking about taking him up to my bedroom and skipping all the other items on our at-home date list. If I worried that Declan wanted to see me publicly, he reassured me repeatedly last night when he called me late after the game to arrange tonight.

A date at my house. He’d provide the activities, including dinner.

I was hopeful the evening would include strip poker minus the poker.

Instead, we have casual conversation during dinner, discussing the merits of nachos and then tease each other about other favorite, or not so favorite, foods. How can anyone love meatloaf?

After dinner, he insists he’ll clean up while I sit and watch, and I’d never seen anything as sexy as a man cleaning up my kitchen. I want him to bend me over the kitchen island, so I can express my gratitude for him.

Declan has other plans. “We could listen to your new record?”

We could and it would definitely spark some memories for me, but I have another suggestion.

“How about we watch the movie?”

“Netflix and chill?” Declan keeps his eyes fixed on my face, but I let mine roam, drinking in the tight tee and loose jeans he’s wearing. He kicked off his shoes earlier, exposing strong bare feet.

I’m not certain I’ve ever been turned on by naked toes, but I am with his. Everything about him is a green light. The plant. The dinner. The gift. Him standing in my kitchen.

The moment feels right. Too right .

Because Netflix and chill has its own meaning, I laugh. “I don’t fuck on the first date.” Thankfully, we’ve established this is our second date.

Declan laughs as well, as we’re already a little past the fucking stage. He walks over to me, wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me toward him, muttering into my temple. “Neither do I, sweetheart.”

Surprisingly, I’m a little disappointed at his comment but I direct him to the living room off the small kitchen, and we settle on my couch which faces a gas fireplace with the television mounted over the mantel.

The setup isn’t exactly what I’d wanted, reminding me too much of how my previous home was laid out but the situation works best in this room which feels nothing like my old house.

This place is mine, like I’d told Declan. Not surprisingly, I am happy to share the space with him.

Declan slouches into the cushions, curling me into his side.

I loop a leg over his outstretched ones, where his ankles rest on the ottoman in front of the couch.

With the lights off, the television illuminates the room, and Declan and I settle in to watch a movie about women playing baseball in the mid-40s, breaking records and barriers.

“You know, I always wanted to play,” I whisper, as the actresses playing sisters discuss joining the newly developed female teams because men were being drawn into war.

Declan hums, twirling strands of my hair around his finger.

I’d been a decent hitter; as much as one can be before twelve years old. Because my father was a former pitcher, then a coach in my younger years, he’d been an excellent teacher . . . to Isaiah. However, I refused to sit on the sidelines. I demanded my turn at bat, and I intended to play.

Then I turned twelve.

Then I heard Dad make his comment about Title IX.

Because of my age, I couldn’t continue playing with the boys in their league. There wasn’t a baseball league for girls.

“I bet you were a real slugger,” Declan teases.

I punch him lightly in his tight abs to prove his point. He tugs me closer to his side and kisses the top of my head.

“It wasn’t fair,” I whisper. Not allowed to play. Not encouraged by my father.

“I know, sweetheart.” He squeezes me to this side again.

And it’s one reason I’m hellbent on proving myself in other ways.

However, this evening I’m relaxed more than relentless, and because I work unusual hours, my sleep pattern is a bit irregular.

Staying up late and sleeping later in the mornings is my norm, but this morning I’d been awake earlier than usual.

Whether it was the anticipation of this evening or something else, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I am too comfortable in Declan’s arms and eventually doze off with my head against his chest.

When I wake, Madonna is singing “This Used to Be My Playground” which is part of the movie’s end credits, and Declan is stroking his fingers through my hair where my head is resting on his thigh.

I quickly press myself upright. “Oh my God. Did I fall asleep?”

Declan only chuckles, slinging his arm over the back of my couch while I’m perched on my extended arm, still a little dazed.

“That tends to happen when one closes her eyes in a dark room,” he scoffs, giving me a crooked smile.

“You must think I’m so lame.” Who falls asleep with the man of her dream’s finally in her home?

Glancing down at his jeans, the slight outline of a wet spot is highlighted on his thigh.

I even drooled on him!

Declan lovingly brushes back my hair, which must be wild from lying my head in his lap. He swipes more strands over my shoulder and then scoops some over my ear.

“You can sleep on me anytime.” He winks. “But not tonight.” He presses off the couch, standing to his full height, and holds out his hand. “Tonight, you need rest.”

“What?” I must be hearing him incorrectly. He doesn’t want to have sex with me? I wince internally, certain he now sees me as some hot mess who needs to go to bed to “rest up”.

Even stranger, after taking my hand he leads me to the front door and then stops at the bottom of the steps leading up to the second floor and my bedroom. He sits down on the landing and slips into his shoes.

“What are you doing?”

Once his shoes are tied, he stands to his full height again. “I didn’t bring a toothbrush.”

We’d been joking about the necessity earlier, but I don’t care about a toothbrush right now. I want him to take me upstairs.

Leaning forward, he kisses the corner of my mouth. I cup the back of his neck before he can retreat too far and pull him to my mouth. Forget jalapeno breath. I want his lips on mine. His hands on my backside. Mine on his?—

Declan abruptly pulls away, leaving me chasing his lips.

“You’re not staying?” I question as he stands still, not making any attempt to lead us up the staircase.

He cups my jaw and leans in for a second kiss. One more thorough. Tongue and teeth, sucking all the air from me.

When he pulls away a second time, I’m struggling to stand upright as well as catch my breath.

“Nope,” he responds to my question. “Not tonight.”

He opens my front door but then he pulls me outside. I trip over the step and crash into his chest, where he wraps his arms around my lower back.

“Now, I’m going to give you a proper good night kiss at your front door and call it a night.”

I can’t fight the smile that takes over my face because he’s too cute with this chivalrous behavior. Like we’ve actually gone out on a date and he’s giving me a front-porch kiss.

I still want to have sex with him, but I’ll accept this sweet moment. It’s so much more. It’s romantic.

“How many dates have you kissed on front porches?” I tease, not really wanting a number.

“Dates?” He pauses a second. “Never.”

Our eyes lock for a second before he scoops my hair behind my ear again. He’s already told me it’s been eighteen months since his last sexual encounter. This sounds an awful lot like he might never date.

“But you’re going to kiss me on my front porch,” I clarify. Another first for us.

He leans in and kisses me to confirm my statement. And boy, does he kiss me. Hands on my jaw. Mouth moving against mine. Tongue soft and purposeful. Like he’s memorizing every stroke and suck before sinking his teeth playfully into my lower lip and giving a gentle, final tug .

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winks, releasing his hands from my face and leaving me a little stunned.

“What if I have plans?” I finally counter, finding the words shaky and breathless. I don’t have plans. He’s the plan.

“You do. With me.”

Cocky much? Then again, I’m the one eager for more of him.

More nacho nights, second dates, and front porch kisses.

“We’re going out,” Declan says three nights after that second date and our last night outside of the league’s return to the season after the four days off for All-Star Week. Tomorrow, the Terrors start a home series with Cincinnati.

“Declan,” I groan. Somehow, I knew he’d grow bored of only staying in.

He returned to my place on the second night, telling me he wasn’t fool enough to ‘waste’ another night without me.

“ I’m not a saint ,” he joked about his willpower to stay away one moment longer. Since then, we’ve been holed up in my house, gracing a few pieces of furniture, including the kitchen island, and my bed where we spent most of yesterday.

“I swear, it’s private,” he says before slapping my ass as he passes me, leaving me standing in the kitchen after a dinner. “I’m going to shower quick.”

I’d ask to join him, but it would only distract us. Maybe I should distract him , change his mind about us leaving my house.

When he steps out of my bathroom into my bedroom, I’m wearing a summery sundress.

If we’re going out, I thought I should dress casual and comfortable as I don’t know where we are going, but Declan is dressed in shorts and a Terrors tee.

Maybe I overdressed, being a little eager to actually leave my place with him.

“Is this dress okay?” I ask, tugging at the side of the giant-red-poppy-covered material.

Declan hums while appraising my outfit. “I could make a comment about how that dress will look amazing draped over that chair behind you, but for now, let’s leave it on. You look beautiful.”

My face heats at both comments. The promise of him taking it off later and the fact he likes it on me just as much.