Chapter Ten

Eva

My living room fills with the ring of our laughter. 

I turn away, flitting through my records for something fun to play on Oscar. We need an upbeat tune, maybe even celebratory. But  when I glance down, my attention snags on my outfit.

Why am I dressed for dance class?

“Leave the shoes on.” Jamie’s thunder voice cracks across the room. 

I whip around, facing him in all his sexy glory. He’s  seated on my couch. Arms spread wide across the cream suede-like fabric but the playful expression on his face has vanished.

As if we weren’t laughing a second ago.

As if it was never there.

All that remains is something so intense, my lips part from the heat of its caress. It starts at my feet, climbing my legs, across my hips, continuing up my chest to my throat, and setting my blood ablaze in its path.

Just like the subway. 

“Oh,” I laugh, pretending that my skin isn’t on fire and two sizes too tight under his gaze as I bend to untie the ribbon around my ankles. “I don’t need them right now-–” 

“I said leave your shoes on, Doe Eyes.”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Without moving a muscle, I raise my eyes to meet his. 

“Dance for me again.”

Fireworks go off in my chest.

“Are…um…” I straighten; my fingers flexing at my sides as I take a tentative step towards the man currently eating me alive with nothing but a look. “Are you sure?”

His head tilts to the side, a tiny smirk playing across his lips. “Dance for me, Doe Eyes.”

My god, I would walk straight off a cliff if he asked me with that expression on his face.

His voice runs along my skin, leaving decadent goosebumps in its wake. With my heart punching through my ribs, I rise to my toes, tilting into a piraquette. The silence is as thick as smoke as I move in the small space. 

With every step, Jamie’s jaw winds tighter.

His eyes are almost feral as they run over me. Like he’s worried he’ll miss something.

I draw close, rising into an arabesque. As I tilt forward I reach out, barely touching my fingertips to his chest. 

What would it be like to really touch him? To run my hands over every inch of his inked skin. To sink against him and experience his heart pounding against mine? I bet it'd be too much. Like plunging into the winter ocean; thrilling in a way that lets you feel every atom of your existence. But it's impossible to survive. 

I still need more.   

I flatten my palm to Jamie’s chest. Those impossibly blue eyes snap to mine, turbulent like a seething sea. I can’t breathe; his gaze drowns me.   

  “Fuck it.”

Like lightning his arms band around my waist, hauling me forward and pulling me under him.

I gasp as his mouth crashes to mine; his lips like perfection as he settles between my thighs. Without a second thought, I kiss him back, feeding him my tongue as I thread my fingers through his hair. He groans into my mouth and sucks my bottom lip between his teeth. The cut of his bite sends a searing heat low. My hips roll against his again and again until his hands fist around my tights, tearing the fabric from my body.

“Fuck, I need you.” He runs his rough hands up my sides, pushing my top over my chest before he dips his head to suck my nipple between his lips. 

“Oh god…” 

“That’s right, let me see what you look like when you fall apart.” His other hand glides down my abdomen, slipping between my legs. 

Jamie goddamn Delahunt, wants me.

Me.

That fact alone is enough to make me dizzy.

“I need…” I pant, bucking against his fingers in a sad attempt to give myself what I really want.. “I… fuck me, please.”

The vibrations of his chuckle against my neck sink into my bones. “What my girl wants…”

His girl. 

“Look at me.”

My eyes fly open– I didn’t realize they’d fallen closed– meeting his blue.

In one swift motion he slams his hips forward, hitting a spot so good and deep I didn’t even know it existed.

That hefty vibrator in my top drawer is useless compared to Jamie.

My back bows off the sofa, my head falling back but Jamie’s hand moves to the front of my throat, holding me in place. 

“I said look at me.”

My ears ring.

“Don’t take your eyes off me, Doe Eyes.”

The ringing gets louder..

And lounder…

My eyes crack open. A bone deep disappointment soaking my chest as I look around my overly bright and empty bedroom.

I was just getting to the good part of that dream, damnnit.

*********

Eva

“So, this is a weekly thing here?”

Declan pops yet another piece of bread in his mouth, instantly reaching for more. I intercept his sticky fingers and smack his hand before he can get his grubby paws on it.

        “You steal any more food and I’m banishing you to the hallway,” I warn as I chop some veggies for the salad.

        “You know,” he leans against the counter, eyeing me up and down. “I like you better when you’re drunk.” 

        I laugh not looking up from my task. This is my fifth pasta night and I have to admit, I’m getting pretty good at it. I had to make some adjustments for the extra people; Declan, Chris from the cafe, and...maybe Jamie?

My cheeks heat at the memory of my dream this morning. 

God that dream. Which reminds me I need fresh batteries next time I’m at the store.

        Against all odds, my kitchen is in pretty good shape as the sauce and water bubble away. I even had time to make some bruschetta for everyone to snack on. So long as Declan leaves enough food for them to enjoy it. He stopped in early under the pretense of helping but so far all he’s done is pilfer food.

        “Make yourself useful and wash those dishes.” I jerk my chin in the direction of the sink.

        “Hey slave driver,” he cries looking acutely aghast. “I came here to eat, not work.”

        “You literally said you were here early to help out.”

        “Yeah and I literally thought you knew I was lying.”

        I point my knife at him, “Boy, you’re lucky I let you in at all after my morning. Now get to it or get going.”

        “Vengeful hag.” He mumbles as he rolls up his sleeves and drags his feet towards the sink like a toddler in a tantrum.

        “Call me a hag again and watch what happens.”

        There’s a quick knock on the door and Ryan strolls in with three bottles of wine and a large coffee that better be for me. He takes one look at his friend sulking at the sink and shakes his head. 

        “Told ya she wouldn’t feed you.” He laughs and hands me my coffee.

         “You could have warned me about her being a tyrant—shit—I mean she’s perfection personified,” he amends when I turn from my chopping and plant my knifed fist on my hip.

       “Smells great Eves.” Ryan sits down at the counter and takes the cork screw I slide to him, opening the bottles. “Do you want any?” 

        “I’m never drinking again.” That’s all the answer he needs. I place the bruschetta on the counter along with the salad and bread.

        “Quitter.” Declan goads from the sink.

         “Hush you.”

         After some more aspirin, a nap, and a gallon of Gatorade; I can officially say that I’ve returned to the land of the living, but I’ve most certainly developed an aversion to alcohol over the past twelve hours.

         Which is mighty inconvenient right now. 

         If Ryan is here that means everyone else will be walking through the door any second. The bout of obsessive primping I did this afternoon was likely time wasted. I put on mascara and a sheer lip gloss, styled my hair and opted for a snug black sweater dress and over the knee boots… as opposed to the pajama rags I usually wear to host these things. I told myself I was dressing up for Chris, even though the whole time I was getting ready all I could think about was my dream.

Which is dumb because Jamie probably won’t even show.

         The door swings open with a bang that can only be the entrance of my bestie.

Nina marches in with Luke in tow, holding another three bottles in his arms. My breath catches in my chest as I lurch forward to see if it’s just them, only for my shoulders to slump when Luke kicks the door closed behind him. 

         Of course he didn’t come. 

I don’t know why I hoped otherwise. I fiddle with baguette slices arranged around the bowl of bruschetta, keeping my eyes down in case anyone catches my frown. It’s probably for the best anyway. He and Declan play together about as well as a cactus and a balloon and my living room doesn’t give them much space to keep clear of each other. 

        Still...

         “Don’t ask me for another favor ever again,” Declan declares as he takes a seat next to Ryan and mean-mugs me while he pours himself some wine.

         Nina must hear him mouthing off  because she swiftly smacks the eldest Carson boy upside the head as she breezes by. My girl needs zero context to come to my defense. Without giving her victim a second glance, she rounds the counter and pops a piece of bruschetta in her mouth.

         “Hiya hot stuff,” she hums around her bite. “How are you feeling?”

         “Like a pretty little ginger just smacked me.” Declan says as he rubs the side of head.

         “Kinky fucker.” She rolls her eyes as she pours herself some wine and looks at me expectantly.

         “Everything hurts from the hair down.” I try to fix the frown tugging at my mouth as I take the meatballs from the oven. I comfort myself with the rich savory scent as I set them aside. I fish the marrow bone from the sauce along with the basil stem, bay leaves, and Parmesan rind. Then dip a cup into the mixture and set it aside for the pasta before dropping the meatballs into the sauce to simmer for a couple minutes. I love the system of cooking; the routine of building a meal to share. 

It makes me feel like part of a family.

        “Been there, doll,” she rubs my back comforting me, but pauses when notices my upgrade of a Sunday dinner outfit. “At least you look great!”

         My phone pings as I’m salting the water before dropping the pasta. I open the message and see a sad face emoji from Chris. My mouth pulls the side and I type out a quick response, letting him know it’s fine.

         Whatever. More pasta for me later.

        “So, is he coming?” She asks in a quiet voice.

         I freeze thinking for a second she’s talking about Jamie then I realize she’s referring to Chris. We’ve been trying to hang out for a few weeks now but our schedules don’t seem to ever line up.

        “No, he’s got a test tomorrow he needs to cram for.” I pour a couple drops of olive oil into the boiling water before twisting and dropping the spaghetti. I should be more disappointed that yet another opportunity to hang out with him is a no-go but the only person I seem to be concerned about not being here is Jamie.

        “I’d give him an ultimatum. Like, ‘hang out with me or lose my number’. Because this shit is starting to feel like a waste of time.” She plucks the wooden spoon from my hand and bumps me out of the way with her hip to take over stirring the pasta so I can work elsewhere on the meal.

        I check to see if he’s responding but toss the phone down on the counter with a sigh when I don’t see the tell-tale dots before I get back to work. “We hang out...”

Nina rolls her eyes so hard she looks like a witch conjuring some kind of spirit.       

So dramatic.

         “No you sure-as-shit do not!” She cries, pulling a noodle from the pot to taste test it. “Stopping in for coffee you’d be getting anyway while he takes his breaks is not “hanging out.””

         “It’s fine—” I’m interrupted  by a brisk knock at my door.

Every single muscle in my body locks at the cracking sound. Everyone who would knock is here which means…

Jamie strolls through my front door. A bottle of bourbon in his hand. He’s wearing a soft white v neck with dark jeans, a black beanie, and his signature scowl.

         Goddamn he looks perfect. My mouth runs dry at the sight of him. The memory of my dream heating my cheeks as he crosses the room. Do his lips feel that amazing in real life?

         I snatch Nina’s glass from her hands and gulp her wine, ignoring my body’s outrage as I frantically break my vow of lifetime sobriety. It feels like acid going down—but sacrifices must be made in times like this.

         So sorry about it, liver.

         Nina glances over her shoulder, her jaw practically hits the floor when she sees him striding over to the counter. Her nostrils flare. She’s about to say something snarky, but I lightly pinch her arm and give a subtle shake of my head. I haven’t gotten a chance to tell her about our truce yet, and just like the head slap to Declan a few minutes ago, I know she’ll fly into aggressive mode without any details.

         Everyone needs a little ride or die like my Nina.

         “Hey, you made it!” I cry with a smile bright enough to drown the sun. My cheeks hurt from how tight I’m pulling them.

         Damnnit, St Clair, reel it in.

         He greets the guys, flips off Declan, who in turn, pretends he’s catching the gesture and blows him a kiss. Finally, Jamie turns to us. His jaw flexes as he takes me in. My fingers twitch, with the need to fidget under his gaze. 

          This outfit looks stupid.   I should have worn my yellow skirt.

He  dipping his hands into his front pockets and looking decidedly regretful that he came. “Yeah.”

     Nina, never missing a beat, refills her wine and pours me a big ole glass of my own. Her expression is friendly enough but she pinches the back of my arm as she hands it over, silently letting me know she’s here if I need backup.

         “You’re late.” She comments lightly.

         He ignores her.

         “Oh, you’re not late! I’m just getting dinner together now.” I continue to smile maniacally. “Help yourself to wine, salad, and bruschetta though?” 

         I spin away before I pull a muscle in my face and hide deep in my task of draining the pasta then mixing it with the reserved sauce and a splash of the starchy water. It doesn’t take nearly enough time to get shit in order but alas, life isn’t fair.

         “So,” Nina whispers from my side as she holds the serving dish out for the food. “Ya wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

         “We made up?”

         “Aw, yahtzee!” She balances the serving tray in one hand as she covertly pushes my wine towards me with the other. “Well, drink up and pull yourself together. You’re one sentence away from talking in questions and that smile is scary.”

         “Thanks.”I gulp it down like a whale swallowing water. Seriously, so much for never drinking again.

         We work together to get the pasta and meatballs set up on the counter. I pull some garlic bread out of the oven, barely getting to it in time before it burns. Then Nina plates it up and just like that, my masterpiece is complete.

         “Mangia!” We are all Italian on Sunday nights.

         This part is always the pits. I’m dying to dump a heaping plateful of food into my mouth Garfield style, but resist and sip my almost forgotten coffee as everyone gets their plates. It’s only a few minute wait as everyone settles in but it always feels like eternity.

         I just want my pasta.

         “Hey, Sweetness,” Declan reaches over and pats my hand as he shoves his food into his mouth. “I forgive you.” He says and twirls more pasta on his fork.

         “For fucking what?” Jamie’s gaze slants towards his best friend’s brother, an echo of threat lurking beneath the three short words.

         “She made him do the dishes.” Ryan snickers into his wine glass.

         The faintest smirk drifts over Jamie’s features but he doesn’t respond past that. After another moment he looks up from his food and jerks his chin at me. “You gonna eat or what?”

        “Don’t bother with that battle, friend.” Nina laughs as she bites into a meatball off of her fork like it’s a lollipop . “It’s not worth the effort.”

         “I like to make sure everyone’s settled in before I do.” I mumble as I resentfully make up a kiddie size portion for myself. Left to my own devices I would eat everyone’s share.

        I can feel him eyeing my plate with displeasure and I reach for another gulp of my wine. “Relax, Christian Grey, I’m going to eat more later.” I mutter, leaning on the counter before I dig into my offensively tiny meal.

          Next to me, Nina lets out a quick shout of laughter at my Fifty Shades quip. No surprise at all, the reference is totally lost on Jamie as he returns to eating his food like he’s punishing it for making him miserable.

Think of something he likes and talk about that.

Shit what does he like?

         “That’s a nice tattoo.” I point to the red rose on the back of his hand in a weak little attempt to distract him from whatever is crawling up his butt. I’ve always loved the design. The red bloom is truly exquisite, with  distinctively outlined petals, the red varies in a mix of rich shadows and vibrant yellow highlights.

         He glances down at his hand but doesn’t respond.

         Nina pokes the rose with her fork. “Is that the kind of style you’re looking for?” She asks me. I know she doesn’t give a shit about this, she’s just trying to support my attempt at small talk with the human equivalent of a brick wall.

         I think it over, studying his hand closely. I really do love it. It seems classic and dynamic at the same time. I give a little nod, finishing off the last of my pasta, scraping at the remaining streaks of sauce on my plate. “Yeah actually. I think I do want something like this.”

       “It totally suits you. So, Jamie,” she throws an arm around my shoulder, tossing Jamie a smile that’s all sharp edges and silent threats. “Think you can hook a girl up?”

         All hail, the queen of subtlety.

         His eyes bounce over my shoulder to my fridge. “Is a tattoo on that old list you got or something?”

Shit… The List.

         “Hold up.” Nina’s brows hit her hairline as her head whips my way so fast, I get a mouthful of her hair. “He knows about The List?” She drops her voice into the world’s most useless whisper. 

        “Um yeah… I sorta went through a bunch of items last night when we got back up here.” I can’t believe I went through The List last night. Nina knows I don’t advertise it to everyone that there’s a massive list of embarrassingly basic things I want to do in my kitchen. The only reason she knows about it is because she made it her personal mission to bring me out of my shell.

         Serves me right for keeping said embarrassing list on my damn fridge.

         My girl stays quiet but refills our wine, pinching my arm again with an encouraging smile as she heads over to Luke. I guess she decided that if I was sharing The List with Jamie, that I must not need her help after all.

         I grab my glass and run my finger along the rim to give my hands something to do and take a small drink. The wine is relaxing me a little now thank god. I was getting tired of reminding myself not to talk in questions.  But without Nina here, it seems I don’t really have to talk at all. This is awkward as fuck. And maybe it’d just be better to get proper-drunk like last night. 

         My insides cry in despair at the notion.

         “So...what kind of tattoo do you want?” He asks, pushing some of his pasta onto my plate. I try to stop him but his eyes cut up to me in warning. “Just fucking eat. You’re pissing me off with that small ass plate.”

         I relent with a slow sigh. Partly because I don’t want to argue and partly because I really am still hungry. I twirl his spaghetti on my fork, which somehow looks more delicious because it’s not mine, and answer his previous question.

         “I’m not sure. I figure I should pin down the style I want first. I’ve been researching like crazy. I mean, I don’t want my first tattoo to be something I end up regretting. Maybe my tenth, but not my first.” I laugh.

         He nods,  “Just keep it simple. If you like flowers and shit, go with that.” He lifts his loose fist as an example. “It doesn’t need to have a deep meaning. It can just be something you like.” 

         He takes a drink of his wine watching me eat. The edges of his mouth soften ever so slightly and my pride does a few victorious cartwheels from the accomplishment.

         “I do love flowers,” I muse finishing my plate.

         “Do you know where you want it?”

         “Under my arm maybe? Or is that like, a shitty  place to put it?” I ask sipping some more wine. “Aren’t some areas better to tat than others?”

         He chuckles softly at my clueless expression, his dimples don’t quite show, but something about the reaction has my lips stretching into a happy smile. It’s like the second that scowl softens my brain dumps endorphins into my system. 

          I like being the reason he forgets to be angry.

         We talk for a while about my ideas; going over color choices and placement and he gives me the contact information for an artist he thinks can do what I want. I slyly load a second helping of food onto his plate while we talk and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. This is nice.

         You know what, fuck nice—it’s amazing.

         “So how’d you like it?” I ask, dropping my eyes to his once again empty plate.

         He glances down, his tongue rolling over his bottom lip as his mouth spreads into a slow smile. Dimples and all. “It’s no grilled cheese.”

God, I want to feel that smile under my fingertips.

    “It really was the perfect sandwich.” I take his plate and switch his drink to the whiskey he brought. “At least we’re even now.”

         His eyes cut to the side. “Not exactly.”

         I pause my pour and cock an eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to elaborate.

         “Fine.” He scratches the side of his jaw and sighs. “I ate that food you sent up after your first pasta thing. So, technically... we’re 2-1.”

         “So I’m winning then...” I taunt like a brat.

         “Don’t get cocky Doe Eyes. I’ll even the score.” He stands up and pulls his cigarettes from his pocket. “Be right back.”

         Does that mean he wants to feed me again— Aka hang out with me?

         I shove away my hopeful thoughts and remind myself that civility within the group is more than I thought possible with us and to just be thankful for that alone.

        I make myself busy while he’s gone gathering everyone’s plates and topping off their wine. I laugh at the lively debate Declan and Luke are having over who is the better brothe, which I think might just be a thinly veiled excuse to share embarrassing stories about each other. I look around at my apartment filled with people laughing and drinking after another hearty meal that I cooked. 

Tonight has turned out to be grand. 

        I walk to my fridge and lift the worn paper of The List finding the hidden item I jotted down when I got here. Smiling broadly, I drag my pen through it.

MAKE FRIENDS WITH JAMIE DELAHUNT

         I smooth down the paper and set the dishes in the sink to soak. Debating on if I should make Declan do another round of sink duty as penance for my hangover.

         I’m in a good mood. I think I’ll let him slide.

        Jamie returns to his seat, another small smile playing across his mouth as he watches me top off his glass.

I’m in the best mood.