Page 12 of Unreasonably Yours

Cillian

Sweat is beading on my neck, my leg is starting to ache, and I feel fucking incredible.

Nothing—and I've dabbled with enough poor decisions in my life to have a large sample set to pull from—beats the feeling of playing music with my friends. All the noise in my skull goes quiet. I forget the ghosts, my guilt, and everything else.

I soak it in with one final deep breath.

“As always, tip your bartenders.” I gesture to the bar, and they all take a bow. The crowd cheers in their direction. “And don't be an asshole. Goodnight!”

Toni slow claps as we make our way over to the bar. “Holy. Shit. Y'all.” She emphasizes each word, and I notice a little twang sneaking into the edges. “That was amazing!”

“I know I am,” Lucy tosses her long bob.

“Shots!” Ginelle announces, setting out shots for the four of us.

I raise a brow. “Just handing out shots?”

Ginelle rolls her eyes. “They're from Matt. ”

As if being summoned, Matt manifests, along with a whole group of people. Everyone is nice enough—mostly friends of Lucy and Oliver—but the press of bodies and the din of everyone trying to be heard begins to sap away the dopamine from being on stage.

I look down at Toni beside me, she's quiet but doesn't seem uncomfortable in the chaos.

“I'm gonna step out for a minute,” I say close to her ear.

“Can I join?”

I nod, taking her hand in mine on reflex and lead her through the crowd. It's not until we're outside that I realize, but neither of us lets go immediately.

She let's out a large sigh. “That's better. I was struggling to hear myself think.”

“You hid it well.”

“I mean, I was fine. Everyone seems great. It all just becomes static after a bit.” She makes a dismissive noise. “But that might just be me, or maybe that last shot.”

“Not just you,” I assure her.

She releases my hand suddenly, placing herself in front of me. “Why didn't you tell me you could sing like that?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why didn't you tell me you draw?”

Her perfect mouth opens and closes, arms falling to her side. “How...” She shakes her head, blinking as if she could clear the surprise from her features. “Don't change the subject. You have an actual gift.”

Old bitterness slithers through me. There was a time when anyone making comments like that would sour my mood for days, send me into a spiral of what-ifs and could-have-beens. Years of therapy had certainly helped temper that reaction, but this was a wound I'd likely never be rid of.

“Thank you,” I manage. “It's just a hobby, though. ”

“Ginelle said you had a scholarship. To some prestigious music school?”

My cousin and I were going to have to have a talk about not telling other people's business. “Had. It didn't work out.”

“Why not?”

“Could we change the subject?” I snap. Toni flinches back, so subtly I'm sure most wouldn't notice it. But as someone who started pushing six feet by the age of 14, I've had a lifetime of being aware of people's reactions to me.

“Sorry,” she says.

I shake my head. “No. I am. I just—It's the first domino in a long line of shitty things. Things I'd rather?—”

“You don't have to explain. We all have our skeletons.”

Some of ours are literal. I think sourly.

“Oof.” Toni huffs, letting herself lean heavily into the brick facade.

“You good?” I ask, reaching for her waist, stopping short of touching her.

“Mhm,” she nods, eyes closed.

“That last shot?” I ask.

She smiles lazily, opening her eyes. “Might be.”

“Want a ride home?”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. “I live close. I can just walk.”

“I can walk you,” I offer.

“I'm good. You should go back in there.” She gestures to the door with a bit too much force, testing her fragile balance. I close the distance between us, steadying her with my hands on her shoulders.

I chuckle. “I'm king of the Irish exit. No one in there expects me to be back.” I run my thumb along the sliver of skin between the strap of her dress and harness. “Come on, let me get you home.”

Toni grabs my hips, pulling me even closer. My hands travel from her shoulders to her back, holding her to me .

“Or maybe...” She traces my St. Cecilia pendant with one finger. “Your place?”

The mere suggestion practically makes my mouth water. “Not tonight, doll.” I can't resist the urge to trace the edge of that adorable dimple that pops up with her exaggerated pout. “Don't think I don't want to.”

“Then, what's the issue?”

I lower my face to hers, our noses brushing. “You are drunk.” She steals a fleeting kiss, and we both laugh.

“Not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough that even if I desperately want to know if this,” I wrap my fingers around the leather strap running up her spine, giving the slightest tug backward-, “is just an accessory or an invitation, I'm not going to be finding out tonight.”

She sighs. “I'm annoyed that I'm mad at you for being a decent man.”

“I'm sure I'll do something indecent soon enough.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

I laugh, releasing her. “So...am I driving you home or walking you?”

“Again, you don't?—”

“Those are your two choices. The third option is me getting you a ride share. Pick.”

She cocks one perfectly arched brow at me. “So bossy.”

I am a decent man. At least I try to be. Sometimes. And sometimes, I fail.

My hand shoots out, grabbing the front of her harness. I pull her to me, swallowing her sound of surprise with a kiss that leaves us both panting.

“Pick one,” I say. My voice sounds rough, the effort of holding back all the ways I'd love to boss her around weighing on my vocal cords.

“Walk,” she says on a breath .

I nod, releasing her.

“So that sketchbook?” I ask as we turn off the square and onto a quieter residential street. She gives me a sideways glance. “What do you draw?”

“Just doodles,” she keeps her attention on the sidewalk. “Something to keep my hands busy. Nothing special.”

I pull her to a stop. “If you can look me in the face and say that, I'll believe you.”

“What makes you think I'm lying?”

“People don't try to avoid talking about things that are 'nothing special.'“

“Like you and your mysterious scholarship domino?” She asks, a touch of venom in her tone. “Sorry,” she blurts in practically the same breath. “That was shitty.”

“I can drop it if?—”

“No. I...I need to stop acting like it's nothing.” She pulls a small sketchbook from her purse.

“I never used to. But my ex convinced me it was frivolous and...Fuck him, ya know? Why would I keep listening to him—” Toni stops, drawing in a deep breath.

“Anyway.” She hands the sketchbook to me and starts strolling along the sidewalk.

I join her, flipping open the book, soaking in as much of the content as I can from the streetlights.

Instead of page after page of the same thing, Toni's sketchbook is a menagerie of color, style, and talent.

One features swaths of abstract pastels with lines running across, another contains detailed drawings of buildings I don't recognize, and another is full-color renderings of hydrangeas in bloom.

Even the ones that could be classified as doodles are literal works of art.

“Your ex is a fucking moron,” I say. “You should be showing in galleries and shit.”

I'm drawn up short as I turn to a more recent page.

My own face stares back, everything slightly out of focus save for the eyes.

I'm flattered and admittedly a bit unnerved, not because she drew me—though I want to tell her she should focus her skills on more worthy subjects—but because of what she captured.

The man on the page doesn't look sad per se, but there is a clear melancholy there, peeking out through his eyes. I feel exposed.

I close the book and hold it out to her.

She takes it, putting it back in her purse. “I did years ago. Used to do murals, too.”

“Do you want to do that again?” She shrugs. “Lucy shows her metalwork sometimes. I'm sure she'd?—”

“Thanks.” Toni looks up at me with an expression too sad to be a smile. “I won't be here long enough to get something off the ground, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Won't be here?” I ask, not liking any of the myriad implications brought on by that statement.

“That sounds so bleak.” Toni laughs. “I'm almost two months into a six-month sublease.”

“Ah.” I try to push my disappointment down. “Where to next?”

We come up to a duplex, and Toni sits on the stoop. “Don't know.” She leans back on her elbows, looking up at me. “I thought about New Orleans, certainly my brother's preference, but I hate the heat.”

“What about your parents?” I ask, leaning against the brick railing.

Darkness flickers across her features. “They're... Well, technically, they're not dead... at least I don't think they are. We haven't spoken in over a decade.”

“Damn.” I shove my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do with them.

“Eh. It's fine. I moved out when I was 17, so it's not like we've ever had much of what you'd call a relationship. ”

“That's so young,” I say, like I didn't enlist at that age. Not that I had any right to do that so young, either.

“I’d been freelancing adulthood for a few years by then, so I just went professional, upgraded to legally emancipated teen, rather than girl who sometimes sleeps in her car. And trust me, it was better than the alternative.”

She's smiling up at me, but I still want to gather her into my arms. I'd made so many dumb choices while being lucky enough to have a family in my corner. I didn't want to think where I'd be if I were on my own or how tiring and lonely that must've been.

“Why not just stay here?” The question slips past my better sense.

“I...” She pauses, sitting up, expression thoughtful.

“I don't know. Coming here wasn't so much a plan, more an act of desperation.” She looks away, sheepish.

“To be honest, I haven't even gone into Boston yet. Hell, I've hardly left my apartment, which is something sober me wouldn’t be owning up to.”

I take a seat one step down from her, placing us nearly at eye level. “So what you're saying is you haven't been giving this place a chance.”

“I guess.”

“Bet I could make you stay.” There goes my mouth again, writing checks I'm not entirely sure I can or should cash.

She smirks. “Oh? Gonna use your siren song on me?”

I bark a laugh. “Yes. Lure you into the depths of the Charles with the sweet sounds of construction and aggressive drivers.”

“Not really selling it,” she teases.

“Can't sell you on a lie.” I rest my elbow on the step beside her. “But I can convince you to give Boston a real chance.”

“This is Somerville,” she points out, grinning .

“Ok, Miss Details. I bet I can convince you to stay in the greater Boston metropolitan area.”

“And if you can't?”

“I'll personally help you move anywhere you want.” She raises her brows at that. “The physical labor alone has to be worth at least a few hundred.”

She weighs the merit of my proposal for a beat before standing to extend a hand to me. “Deal.”

I give her hand a firm shake and pull her down onto my lap. It's a dumb choice, one a better version of me wouldn't make, but I just want to feel the weight of her against me. She lets out an adorable shriek that reminds me of how she clung to me when I carried her to bed.

“If seducing me is a part of your grand plan...”

“Nah.” If only I had an actual plan. “Anything involving me should be squarely in the cons column.”

“I don't know about that.” She settles her arms around my neck.

I let her pull me into a kiss, her tongue teasing my mouth open, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip. I groan, pulling back.

“Sure you don't want to take me home?” she teases.

“We’re already at your home.” Not that it mattered. She might have sobered up a bit, but not enough that I felt good about taking her to bed. No matter how much my aching cock was begging me to make a different choice.

“No boys allowed.” She boops my nose. It's so fucking cute I could scream.

“I want to.” I savor the little shiver that runs through her as my fingers trace the back strap of her harness. “Just not tonight.” I lean in, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck. “But if you're no longer worried about hurricanes or whatever, I'd be glad to take you home some other night.”

“Just at night?” Toni asks, voice rough with need .

I huff a laugh, just below her ear, watching the gooseflesh rise. “Woman, I'd have you in the middle of this street in broad daylight if you'd let me.”

“Not typically an exhibitionist, but I'll try anything once.” There is no way she doesn't feel the way the mere thought makes my cock twitch.

“Ok,” she says with a sigh. “I will let you try to convince me to stick around. And we can just...”

“Not overthink it,” I say it with the full confidence of someone talking entirely out of his ass. I always overthink everything. Except when making unreasonably reckless choices, like enlisting or letting myself get far too entangled in this beautiful woman.

But if I couldn't truly have her, maybe I could at least be something good in her life for a little while.

She nods, a gentle smile lifting her lips. “Not overthink it.”

I can't resist pulling her mouth to mine one more time.

Eventually, with painful effort, we break apart. I make sure she's steady on her feet by her door before stepping back.

“So when should I expect the sales pitch to start?” she asks.

I smile, even though my brain feels like a hornet's nest. “Next week?”

“Looking forward to it.” She kisses me on the cheek. “Goodnight, Cillian.”

“Goodnight.”

I'm at the bottom of the stoop when she calls out. “Oh, and Cillian.”

I turn back to find her leaning against one of the porch's supporting pillars. “Yeah?”

She runs her fingers across the leather crisscrossing over her ribcage. “It's not just an accessory. And if you want, it can absolutely be an invitation.”

My self-control had already been dangling by a very thin thread. Now that I’m imagining everything that invitation might entail? Fuck.

“Good to know,” I manage to say. “Now get inside and drink some water.”

She smirks wickedly. “Yes, sir.”

Maybe she was right to warn me about the dangers of hurricanes.