Page 13 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter nine

Marry me, gorgeous...

Nell glanced at the wine she’d spilled on the bed, wondering if Danny’s tolerance was so catastrophically low that a single sip had transformed the usually sensible, rational man into the kind of lunatic who proposed marriage.

Someone hammered on a door in the corridor outside the room, yelling at the occupant to get a move on if they were to make the gig at King Tut’s on time. The door banged open and shut and the two people walked away, debating the merits of the grunge band they were going to see.

She stared at the rumpled bed—the same bed where Danny had just spent the last half hour teasing an orgasm out of her that left her trembling. If only she could rewind time, erase the last five minutes, and stay cocooned in that blissful bubble.

If she said no, there’d be no salvaging this. She couldn’t look at him, too afraid her expression—whatever the hell her face was doing right now—would hurt him.

Instead, she sat up, took another sip of wine, and tugged the green slip back into place, its straps settling on her shoulders like a flimsy shield.

“Nell… Nell?”

Oh, God. He sounded lost. This man who had swept her up, whose relentless busyness—that bloody sandwich business and how it devoured his time—drove her mad.

But Danny had wormed his way under her skin from the start.

The way he’d chased after her that first time they met, catching up with her in her halls.

That first kiss. The mind-blowing sex. His kindness, his unwavering consideration.

Was it that ridiculous an idea?

Of course it was.

“But I’m twenty-one,” she said. “And you’re only twenty-two, sweetie. And we live in the 1990s, not the 1890s. Even my grandmother was older than I am now when she got married.”

Danny shifted onto his knees, balancing on his heels, his hands resting lightly on her thighs. His face—classic Celt, dark hair, white skin—flushed, the redness sharpening the shadows of his old acne scars. His eyes had that feverish intensity as he scanned her face.

“That just makes us a bit cool, then. Not doing what everyone else does. And you always say I know what I want, that I don’t like wasting time.”

She took another swig of wine from the mug before setting it aside. “Yes. You’re very… single-minded.”

He tilted his head. “Thanks. I think.”

“Aren’t you supposed to live together first?” Nell asked, brow furrowed. It was a tricky subject. Danny’s ultra-religious Catholic mother, Trish, still considered sex before marriage a mortal sin. His increasingly creative excuses for staying out all night at Nell’s halls never failed to amuse her.

“So, Mr Murray,” she’d tease, “are you staying at Joe’s tonight because he lives closer to the office, or are you back to the old classic? Camping out at work with that sleeping bag you bought just to convince your mum that’s a thing you do…?”

Trish had been polite enough when Danny introduced them, but later that evening, she’d pulled Nell aside, her tone firm but painfully civil. She understood that Nell’s student lifestyle might come with… different values, but she’d be extremely disappointed if Nell led her son astray .

Now, ‘led astray’ had become their private joke, complete with its own shorthand. All Nell had to do was lick her top lip and purr, “Danny, d’you fancy being led astray…?” and he would stiffen at once.

“What if we move in together and discover we’ve got terrible habits the other person can’t stand?” Nell pressed, realising with some surprise that she was genuinely considering the idea. “But by then, we’re married, and it’s too late.”

Danny squeezed her hands, his voice steady. “I already know all your bad habits.”

He smiled then, and she could see it—that moment of certainty, the sense of lost-ness lifting as he realised that she was actually thinking about it.

“And you know mine,” he went on. “I’m a workaholic who puts in eighty-hour weeks. I don’t know any fancy big words, so I cannae hold an intellectual conversation like you do with your student pals. I get grumpy if I dinnae eat. And you fart like a trooper.”

Oh, outrageous!

Her jaw dropped. “Danny! I do not! That was one bloody time, and I thought you were asleep!”

She yanked her hands from his and launched herself at him, giggling as she pummelled his chest. They tumbled back onto the bed in a blur of laughter and tangled limbs.

Before he could react, she straddled him, her bare skin grazing his stomach beneath the silk slip. His breath hitched as she pinned his hands above his head, her eyes flashing with playful fury.

“Take that back!”

“Only if you say yes!”

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, mock scandalised. “Are you blackmailing me into marrying you?”

“Aye!”

Single-minded, see?

She wriggled down, freeing one of his hands just long enough to undo his jeans.

He shoved them down, and in the next moment, he was inside her, his back arching as she moved against him.

She closed her eyes, sinking into the slow, steady build of pleasure, the heat of him, the way he filled her completely.

One man. Just this one man, for the rest of her life.

There were far worse prospects.

“You,” Danny panted, voice ragged, “squeeze your legs together—ahhh, keep going—Do. Not. Fart. Like. A. Trooper.” His head tipped back, a groan slipping from his lips. “Will you… marry me? Please, Nell?”

Sod it. It wasn’t just the sex. Danny was the dictionary-definition of a decent man. Solid, kind, hers.

“Fine,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, YES! ”

Hours later, cramped together in the single bed, she traced lazy patterns over his chest as he tentatively suggested that if they married the following spring, they’d need to live with his parents until they saved enough for a flat deposit.

“What?” She jerked back, staring at him. Daily exposure to Trish Murray. Hmm.

“Honestly, it’ll be fine, Nell.” He pulled her back against him, his arm warm and solid around her shoulders.

“My bedroom’s bigger than this one, Mum’s out at church and church groups half the time, Dad’s either in the pub or at the football, and my brothers and sister are always off at school or sports clubs. ”

From the communal kitchen came a sudden eruption of shouting, as one student accused another of stealing their milk and putting the empty container back in the fridge.

Danny smiled. “Living with my mum and dad will be much quieter than this place.”

She chewed her bottom lip, doubt creeping in again.

“Promise it won’t be for long,” she murmured.

He nodded against her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin. Their bodies fit together effortlessly, the way they always had, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

And yet, in the dim light, she swore she could see a hulking, grey shape in the corner of the room. A trunk twitching, ears flapping. Should she say something…?

Her brain helpfully presented a pros and cons list, weighing the arguments for and against. The ‘against’ column was worryingly full.

But she had to say something.

Danny’s breathing had settled into that slow, steady rhythm that suggested he was on the verge of sleep.

She hesitated, then whispered urgently, “Thing is, Danny… I don’t.

And I mean this—I really, really mean it.

I don’t want kids. Not at all. Not ever.

Ever, ever, ever. Is that okay? D’you still want to marry me? ”

“’Course,” he mumbled.

Had he even heard her? The steady rise and fall of his chest suggested… possibly not.

Well, she’d said it. Made it crystal clear.

She would marry him. Despite their age, despite the madness of it all, it did feel like something that would work.

It was just that there would never be any kids.

Never, never, never.