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Allie
“Why are you avoiding your sister?” Mom asks.
A better question would be, why does Valentina feel the need to rub this wedding in? I was hoping the wedding would keep her and Mom so busy they’d leave me alone. Instead, the incessant calls from my mother and aunts have multiplied. Throw in Valentina’s constant texts and pics in her dress, picking out flowers, or images from her various glamorous luncheons with her model-esque friends, I’m ready to toss my phone in the Delaware.
“Mom, my final fitting was Tuesday and I pick up the dress this week. What can Valentina possibly need from me?”
“Your support. We never see you. You’re always working or with that man.”
“His name is Seamus and I have to go.”
“To be with him?” she snaps.
I look up at the stained-glass window that adorns the front of his shop. “Yes,” I say.
“Do you love him?” she asks, her tone prickly.
I do. But I don’t tell her that and I’m definitely not ready to tell him. “I have to go, Mom,” I say and disconnect.
I’ve only really known Seamus a few weeks. But if this isn’t love, I doubt I’ll ever feel it. I miss him all the time and I haven’t seen him in a while, which is why I drove to his place today.
I knock on the door, hurrying to adjust my breasts beneath my bra when I hear Seamus’s heavy footsteps approach. It’s not that I want my breasts to look good in this white T-shirt. It’s just that the lingerie I’m wearing makes it challenging to keep the girls from pointing skyward.
“Who the hell is it?” he barks from behind the door. “I’m not buying anything or changing my religion. And if you’re from the Girl Scouts, I never got my fucking Samoas.”
I’m already laughing and I’m not even through the door. It’s wonderful to hear his voice and even better to be around him, I only hope he feels the same. “It’s Allie, Seamus.”
He swings open the door, grimacing. At first, I think he’s still upset with me. Andres’ text pushed an unexpected wedge between us. I tried to ignore the feelings of being abandoned it stirred, along with all the insecurities I thought were long behind me. But his message dampened the already sober atmosphere of Declan and Melissa’s wedding.
While I didn’t respond to Andres’ text or the next few that followed, I reverted to the role I adopted when we broke up. I dove into my work like nothing else mattered, except there was someone who obviously did.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” I say to Seamus.
He doesn’t reply, watching me closely.
“And I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make lunch the other day.” I glance up, wishing I could express how much I’ve missed him these past two weeks. “And that I had to cancel our dinner plans.”
I sigh when he says nothing. It wasn’t my intention to ignore him. I did have to work and so did he. But I was hoping he’d miss me, and maybe make the effort to see me. “I’m really sorry, Seamus.”
“It’s okay,” he says, smiling. It’s not his typically wide ‘you’re not going to believe what happened to me’ smile. But it’s there, casting a glimmer on perfectly conceived irises and an extraordinarily rugged exterior. Okay, perhaps I did want to look nice for him and I’m really hoping I do in the jeans and cute heels I selected.
He leans against the door frame. “Why didn’t you just use your key?”
I gnaw at my lip, remembering how he passed me his spare key following Declan’s ceremony. “I thought that was for show. I didn’t want to assume I could walk into your home without asking.” I also didn’t want to assume he’d be alone. Not with yoga girl next door, or the postal carrier who’s wearing less and less each time she brings a package to the door.
“I wouldn’t have given it to you if I hadn’t expected you to use it.” He throws open the door. “Come in.”
Seamus locks the door as I slip out of my stylish olive Anorak jacket, another sweet item he helped pick out. He reaches for it and hangs it in the closet. As usual, the fresh scent of wood and oil reach my nose, but instead of the array of tools and pieces of lumbar scattered about, everything lays in neat piles. He hasn’t been working and I’m wondering why.
He shuffles up the stairs, his movements off. I hurry after him, the sound of my steps echoing in the large space.
“Are you all right?” I ask, watching him lean against the counter with his arms spread.
Again, he grimaces, turning his neck from side to side. “I hurt my back last night.”
I reach into his fridge and pull out a water bottle, putting it in front of him before searching his freezer for a bag of peas or something frozen I can place on his back. “On the boat?” I ask.
“Yup.”
His smirk causes his eyes to twinkle. I do believe Seamus O’Brien might be a little bit sexy. I say just a little bit, because I’m trying to be nice. I shut the door to the freezer when all I find is ice cream, wondering when I turned into such a liar. Seamus is the sexiest man I’ve ever met.
“Did you catch a big fish? A shark or something?”
“No. It was the damn stripper pole.”
I stop in front of him. “I thought you were taking Finn deep sea fishing for his bachelor party?” I don’t mean to sound disappointed, but I am. “Don’t you think Sol might be upset when she learns Finn lied to her?”
Yes, let’s make this all about Sol, so I don’t look like the jealous one.
Seamus almost chokes on his water. Yet it’s the pained scrunch of his face that makes me realize how sore he actually is. Poor thong-chasing slut.
“We did go fishing, babe,” he says.
“With strippers?” I ask. I nod thoughtfully. “I hear their casting abilities are superb.”
Seamus cracks up, the way he throws his head back causing him to groan. He rolls his shoulders. “There weren’t any strippers,” he says, rubbing his neck. “Just the poles.”
I fold my hands in front of me, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn’t respond, taking me in as if he’s expecting some kind of reaction.
“Are you jealous?”
“No,” I reply a little too fast.
“You sure?” He smirks. “You seem ready to belt me.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask sweetly. I don’t want to be the jealous type. I think it’s petty and unnecessary and good God, what kind of boat has stripper poles?
He laughs, appearing to enjoy himself. “Fine,” I say. “I give up. What happened to the ladies with the merrily swinging tassels dancing on the poles?”
“Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you.” He points at me. “But only because you asked, since a gentleman never tells.”
“I’ll be sure to inform the gentleman next time I see one.”
Again, Seamus cracks up. Well, aren’t we just having a lovely good time? “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
“I am. But I’ll let you off the hook.” He plants his hands back on the counter and leans toward me, causing his light blue shirt to stretch across his biceps, not that I really notice. “Angus hasn’t done shit for any of the weddings. Not Deck’s. Not Wren’s. Not Finnie’s,” Seamus begins. “Granted, we’ve tried to give him as little as possible. Last night was a prime example of why he’s better off complaining no one trusts him or blowing us off, because he’s supposedly busy. Are you ready for this?”
By now I’m smiling, too, ignoring the jealousy that remains, because God knows I don’t stand a chance against Seamus’s gorgeous face. “You have me at the edge of my seat,” I respond.
He falls into his best impression of Angus, his voice almost too deep to be human. “Don’t youz worry,” he says. “I hooked Finnie up good. Picture this. Luxury fishing boat. All the food we can eat and the best fishing the Atlantic Ocean has to offer. All for only four-fifty a pop.”
He switches his expression and glances around, appearing confused and altering his voice to mimic Curran’s. “Four-fifty a pop? Just because you plan the party doesn’t mean the rest of us have to pay for your ass.”
Once more Angus makes an appearance through Seamus’s expression and tone. “Fine,” he says, throwing out his hands. “Three-fifty a pop.”
Seamus takes on Killian next, standing on top of his chair to mirror Killian’s immense size. “Are you kidding me? What the hell was the extra hundred dollars paying for? Your mortgage?”
Seamus jumps off the chair, his expression agonized as he spreads out his arms. “Silence. Only silence, followed by the rest of us calling him an asshole.”
As much as he’s making me laugh, I can see what this riveting retelling of the bachelor party is costing him. I walk around the counter and rub his shoulders.
He tenses, then slowly relaxes. “Damn, that feels good.”
I’m not doing much, but he seems to like it. “How was the boat?” I ask, sparing him the trouble of having to continue with his performance.
He takes a few pulls of his water. “The best thing I can tell you about that piece of shit is that we’ll be fine after another two tetanus shots. It was nothing but rust on rust with a motor. I think if we had a nicer boat, the trip would’ve been smoother and Finn and Killian wouldn’t have puked as much as they did.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” he says. “I don’t know what the fuck their women feed them, but it went all over the upper deck—next to where the food Angus supposedly ordered was supposed to go.” He shudders. “But they weren’t the only ones. Everyone was hurling off the side of the boat except for me. I was always the only one who could handle those dizzy rides at Six Flags. By the time we made it out to our chosen destination, everybody was lying on their sides begging to die. It was just me and the stripper pole left to save the party.”
“I apologize,” I say, scratching his back lightly. “But what exactly was a stripper pole doing on a boat?”
He glances at the way I’m gingerly touching him. “I told you,” he says. “We made the mistake of letting Angus book the trip. Everyone is looking and feeling like shit so I try to get a laugh out of them. I think I managed one and a half swings around the pole before the boat tipped to the side and I went flying. I hit a couple of metal cages. There was rotting meat in at least one.”
“Why were there metal cages and rotting meat on a boat?”
“Because when the captain isn’t hosting these awesome fishing excursions, he illegally transports exotic animals. Tiger cubs and lions if you can believe it. That was another thing that pissed Curran and Declan off. Not only did they puke themselves into oblivion, they had to report the captain, and arrange to have him arrested once we docked.”
I gasp. “Oh, goodness.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it. The whole thing sucked. We had to play like we were having a good time so the captain wouldn’t suspect he was in trouble and toss our asses overboard.”
“That sounds absolutely awful.”
“Oh, it totally sucked balls.” He takes a breath when I hit a tender spot. “Evan came to the rescue, once he stopped puking, I mean,” he adds. “He’s taking us to the World Series for his bachelor party. Box seats, VIP passes, the whole shebang.” He motions to the phone, although it seems to hurt him. “I just got the text from him and the one from Wren ripping Angus apart.”
Seamus curls forward, every part of him appearing battered and bruised. “You’re not doing so well, are you?”
“I’ve had better pole dancing experiences,” he admits.
I pat his back. “I’m sure you have, big guy. How about I give you a massage. A real one?”
He raises his eyebrows. “You’d do that for me, Curvy Sue?”
“You bet all those singles you earned in your G-string.”
“How did you know I was in a G-string?” he asks.
“I would expect nothing else,” I say, lightly pushing him toward his bedroom.
He glances at me over his shoulder. I shouldn’t love it as much as I do. The kisses he’s given me meant the world to me. I wish they meant more to him than just a show. Seamus is so cute. His personality. His face. Even the wall of muscles that tighten so firmly against my palms.
“Just lay on your bed and allow me to work my magic.”
“I can’t wait,” he murmurs.
I try not to focus on the deep thrum that lingers over each word he utters. “You have any medicated cream for muscle aches?” I ask, grateful that for once my voice doesn’t crack from the weight of his hotness.
“Tiger Balm,” he says. My hand slip away from him as he shuffles into his bathroom. “It’s the greatest stuff ever. Killian and Finnie use it all the time after their workouts.”
The opening and closing of several drawers are followed by his quick return.
I edge toward the bed. His stance seems off. “You really did a number on your back, didn’t you?” My words stick to my throat when he strips out of his shirt and exposes everything nature blessed him with. Holy . . . Seamus isn’t attractive. He’s perfection dripping in sex and freakish manliness.
And now I’m supposed to touch him!
“Do you like what you see?” he asks.
If that’s not bad enough, he winks. Winks. My heart cartwheels and then slams to a halt. I clutch my chest, lucky to be alive.
“Allie?”
It’s not just that he says my name. It’s how he says it. As if he’s unsure what I may do next. Of course, because I haven’t completely embarrassed myself enough, I’m pointing, actually pointing, at him.
I’m going to orgasm where I stand. I swear I am. “You have a bruise,” I stammer. I motion to a dark spot along his side, ignoring the fact that it’s nowhere close to where I was pointing. “Right there,” I add when he stares at me.
He lifts his left arm and looks down. “You’re right. Shit.” He turns around slowly with his arms out. “How does the rest of me look?”
Um. Fan-fucking-tastic? Seamus is inhuman. A life-sized sculpture of a superhero without a cape, shield, or anything else that might block his magnificence.
The best I can say about my behavior is that I don’t outwardly faint. My heart races ahead, scorching my insides with blood-sizzling desire. I volunteered to touch him and his muscles and tendons and silky, flawless skin—
I slap my hands over my eyes. How am I going to keep from straddling him? I’m his friend, dammit. He made it more than clear following that dinner with Valentina and Andres. He didn’t ask to spend the night, or even to spend a few hours when he took me home. He simply walked away as if the kiss had meant nothing.
“What are you thinking?” Seamus asks, his deep voice unfairly husky.
I drop my hands away. “That you really did a number on yourself, mister.”
There are moments when I wish I could really slap myself. This is one of those moments.
“Oh.” He tosses his shirt on the bed, crumpling his forehead. He must be in complete torment. Thank the good Lord he has me and all my asinine comments to help him.
I wish I could be better. That I can somehow save us from a life of loneliness. But I’m not Valentina, the woman he couldn’t forget and always found attractive.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
“In bed,” I reply honestly.
He pauses briefly then spreads across his dark chocolate comforter, his stomach on the mattress and his bulging arms crossing in front of him.
Each word spills from my lips before I realize my sadly deprived nether regions have taken over my mind. “Would you mind if I straddled you?”
“No,” he replies before I can finish.
His response is enticing, daring, and nothing I expected. Perhaps because there’s nothing to expect. Seamus would never be interested in a woman like me. He doesn’t want to settle down, or anything more than a good night and a goodbye. Why should he? Our agreement didn’t include any real feelings, even though that’s what I’ve come to have.
I inch forward, resolving to treat him as the friend he’s been to me. I won’t ruin what we have by forcing something that isn’t there.
I lift the tin lying directly beside him, opening the lid with a brief ping. “I hope you have time,” I say. “It’s going to take me a while to work all your muscles.”
My frustration punches my comment. I shouldn’t be angry at him, and I’m not. Perhaps I’m just angry at myself.
Seamus drops his forehead against his arms. “Do what you want,” he says. “I’ve got time.”
He sounds angry, too. I can’t blame him. I sound like a raging idiot.
I slip out of my shoes and straddle his back, my knees falling on either side of his waist. I drop my hand, the tension between us increasing with every breath I take. I don’t want to touch him merely to relieve his pain. I want to touch him like a lover, someone who means more to him than the woman he jokes with.
Time passes. Too much for the both of us. “Look,” he says. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. It’s not like I expect anything from you.”
“I know you don’t,” I reply. This time, instead of exasperation, another emotion pokes through, one of longing and more disappointment than I dare to admit.
With shaky fingers, I dip into the balm. The scent of eucalyptus, and what might be cannabis, drift into the air, strong yet oddly soothing. I welcome the aroma, allowing it to relax me.
My fingers trace down Seamus’s spine, dissolving the ointment into a thin liquid. His shoulder blades quiver. “Are you cold?” I ask, speaking quietly.
“No,” he replies.
“Are you certain?” I rub my hands along his shoulders in small circles and widen them slowly, digging into the thick and dense musculature that makes up his back. The balm alternates between warming and cooling. Again, he trembles. “Would you like me to turn on the heat?”
“I’m fine,” he says, his voice tighter.
“Okay . . .” I adjust my hips, focusing on how his skin just barely moves beneath my splaying fingers. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”
He doesn’t respond, unless you count the primal groan breaking through his chest.
“Am I being too rough?” I ask.
“No. Don’t. Stop.” He clears his throat, but not all the rasp behind it. “You’re fucking amazing.”
Oh, that’s so sweet. “I’m glad you like it,” I say, unable to stop my smile. Seamus has done so much for me, the least I can do is relieve his pain. Even though I wish this was more than a therapeutic session.
I want to make him feel good in ways he can’t possibly imagine. I want to take him deep with each pass of my naked hips and feel his bare skin glide against mine. It’s how I picture us every night since he kissed me. It’s sweet, sexy, becoming rough and wild when he flips me onto my knees.
I adjust my position, wiggling down until I’m almost to his thighs. His breath hitches. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” He shakes his head, appearing out of it. “I need to get lower so I can reach the muscles along your waist.”
He grunts, but otherwise doesn’t reply.
I’m starting to wonder if I’m doing more harm than good. “Seamus . . . are you all right with me on top of you?”
At least from this position he can’t see me blush.
“Totally,” he says, his voice oddly terse.
I start to lift off him, worried he’s just being nice. “No,” he warns. “Don’t you dare move now.”
I settle back on top of him. “All right. If you insist,” I say. He seems uncomfortable, if that makes any sense. Still, if this is what he wants . . .
My fingers work him from his waist, to both sides of his spine, and back down, repeating the motion and using the weight of my upper body to soothe the tightness I feel.
Seamus grows abruptly still when I reach for more balm. “Did something snap?”
“No.”
My goodness, he sounds grumpy. I dig my hands and fingers deeper into his skin. “Don’t be surprised if you hear a crack, I’m working you pretty well.”
“Got that right,” he mutters, the rigid planes of his back twitching.
I pause in the middle of working his shoulders. Grumpy isn’t the right word here. Neither is tense. He sounds turned on. No. That can’t be right. All I’m doing is rubbing his back.
I resume my work, flexing and extending my fingers into his shoulders hard enough to make them ache and him moan.
“Allie,” he says in a grunt. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”
“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But therapeutic massage is often quite strenuous. You’ll feel better when I’m done. I promise.”
“Therapeutic massage?” he asks. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“Well, yes,” I reply. “Based on your stance, you don’t need a relaxing massage or hot stones. You needed some roughening up to exhaust the muscles so they naturally relax.”
I sigh when he doesn’t reply. I’m trying to make him feel good, but I’m not certain it’s working.
“You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing.”
I shift position and start on his arms. “A little more than the average person, but not as much as a professional masseuse,” I admit.
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I took massage as an elective in college, believing it was an easy way to earn an ‘A.’” I laugh a little. “I had no idea I’d have to study anatomy.” I toss my head back to remove some of the hair gathered around my face. “But I was committed to doing well, and learned a great deal more than I’d planned.”
“You don’t strike me as a science person.”
I shake my head, although he can’t see me. “I’m not. It was the last class I needed to graduate, and was so stressed because of it. I struggled with understanding the human body and the science of massage. What helped me was that the physical piece of it came naturally.”
He pushes up enough to turn his head. “So, why’d you stay with it? You could have dropped the class when you saw the syllabus and switched to something you didn’t have to be so stressed about passing.”
I play with his hands, noting how massive they are compared to mine. He watches me, his eyes glazing over with something I don’t quite recognize. “I wanted to be good at massage. I thought it would help me please Andres.”
“What?”
As hilarious as my intentions sound now, they’re not even worth a giggle. “In many ways I’m a traditional Latina and traditional Latinas please their men in every way possible. I thought if I learned to touch Andres better, he’d stay a happy and contented husband.” I try to laugh. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
Seamus frowns. “The only stupid thing here is Andres. Allie, I don’t get how that loser broke your heart. I mean, I do, but I don’t. You wasted your time.”
I return to Seamus’s back so I don’t have to face him, dragging my fingernails in a backward motion. “You’re right. But I didn’t know it at the time.”
Seamus makes a funky movement with his toes. I wish I could relish the effect I have, but all I can think about are his words, and how little he can relate to my situation with Andres.
“This may be hard for you to understand,” I say, my tone barely audible. “But it wasn’t just me believing I loved Andres. It was me believing I’d never have a chance to love anyone else.”
“Why? That’s insane.”
I stop for a moment, staring across the mountains of silky flesh beneath rock hard strength. “Seamus, you had your choice of pretty girls from the moment you began to notice them. I only ever had Andres, who I believed was my friend.”
When the only thing that comes is silence, I think I more than proved my point.
“I’m going to ask you something that’s completely out of line,” he says, halting me when I try to lift off him.
“It won’t be the first time,” I remind him.
He can’t see me smiling, but his laugh makes me thinks he knows I am. “All right. I’ll give you that one.” He waits and asks, “Have you ever slept with anybody besides him?”
“Yes.”
My lack of hesitation seems to give him pause. For a moment, all that exists is air between us. “Okay . . . give me a number.”
“You want specifics?”
“Why not?” He pauses. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Although I’ve dreamt of more, yes, I suppose we are.
“Four,” I confess. “One almost immediately following Andres. The others about every two years.” I resume my massage. “The first time was because I needed to feel desirable. He was a good kisser and that’s about it.”
“And the others?” he asks, sounding perturbed. “Were they good kissers, too?”
I lean forward slowly, using my weight to dig the heels of my palms. “They weren’t much of anything. We went out a few times and not much more afterward.”
“After you had sex, you mean?”
“Yes,” I admit.
He huffs. “Did the shitheads at least call you?” he asks.
Wow. Now he sounds angry.
“I didn’t feel like I was going anywhere with anyone. They were wasting my time and I was done with that nonsense following Andres.” I shrug. “So, instead of committing to a man, I committed to becoming successful. I suppose a lot of good came out of it.”
“But did they call?” he asks as if my explanation wasn’t enough. “Or were they assholes who used you until they got what they wanted?”
I throw my leg to the side as if dismounting from a horse, not a man with enough sex appeal to bring an equestrian down.
Seamus snags my wrist. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I’m moving on to your legs,” I respond.
“Do you want me to take my pants off?”
“Please don’t,” I say a little too quickly.
He releases his hold like I slapped him. “All right.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I knew what you meant, Alz,” he says.
Throughout our time, his voice has conveyed a great deal of emotion: anger, annoyance, resentment, but this time there’s a sense of sadness to it that practically splits my heart. “Just answer the question. Did the dickheads call you or not?”
I lower my hand to his thigh, although at this point I’m not certain he wants me touching him. When he doesn’t object, I begin to work the muscles of his legs. I finally answer. “They called, but I told them I didn’t think we’d make a good match.”
“All righty then,” he says, appearing satisfied.
“Why did you want to know?” I clarify my response before he can explain. “It seems like you’re happy they called me. But from what you’ve told me, you don’t call back the women you sleep with. Ever.”
“That’s different,” he answers.
“Why?” I ask. “Those women are no different than me and what I wanted, someone who would change their lives forever.”
“You don’t know the women I’ve slept with. And, no offense, you’re romanticizing something that isn’t there. The only men capable of changing their lives are their probation officers when they catch them doing shit they’re not supposed to.”
I sit back on my heels, reaching for his calves. “That’s not fair, Seamus. They all can’t be that bad, and like I mentioned, they’re looking for someone to love.”
“No, they’re looking for sex and that’s what I give them.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I want it, too, and I’m damn good at it.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. If these women are so terrible, why not look for someone who isn’t so terrible, who hasn’t served a prison term or stabbed her last boyfriend?” He jerks, making me think I’m being too aggressive. “When we were discussing books the other week, you mention The Good Earth and how you empathized with that poor Asian woman who was stuck with that horrible creature of a man.”
“You’re assuming I look for women with a rap sheet.” He turns enough to show me he’s frowning. “And that I’m that horrible creature of a man.”
“That’s not exactly what I mean. But Seamus, you have to take responsibility for the type of woman you sleep with and are attracted to.”
He pushes up on his elbow and flips onto his back, fiddling with the pillows until he gets them just right. “It’s not that I’m attracted to them.” He holds out a hand. “Scratch that. There’s some attraction there.” I look at him. “Okay. A lot of attraction. But the places I go tend to be, ah, what’s a good word?”
“Seedy?” I guess.
He points at me. “But with good food and you know it.”
I cover my mouth, albeit briefly. “How do you make me laugh, even though I have every right to be angry at you?”
“It’s a gift?” he offers.
For a moment I stare at him, embarrassed that I’m not trying to hide it. He smiles, making me think it’s okay to stare. “Like I was saying, I don’t hang out in the classiest joints this city has to offer. Are the patrons a little hardcore?” He shrugs. “Probably. But you’re wrong if you think I go looking for a woman who’ll steal my keys and take off with my microwave.”
I don’t even want to know how that happened. “Then how do you end up with the women that you do?”
Seamus doesn’t hesitate, but it’s like his explanation comes to him all at once. “I don’t necessarily look for dangerous women. But I think I give off that dangerous, willing to try anything, let’s go crazy, kind of vibe. In the end, I’m usually the one in danger, with some psycho trying to slice me into confetti or booking the next flight to Singapore with my credit cards. I don’t plan it that way, but that’s how it always ends up. After years of going through it, I should be used to it. But I’m not.”
“So why not try someone better?” I ask. “Perhaps allow someone you trust to introduce you to someone a little more stable.”
“You have anyone in mind?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” I snap. I can’t believe he hasn’t guessed I want him all to myself. But I don’t give off that dangerous vibe that seems to attract him. I’m just me.
My attention drifts to the framed picture of Seamus with his family he keeps on his dresser. They’re all in bathing suits and Santa hats, straddling an immense promotional bottle of Guinness they dressed up like Rudolph. That must be the Christmas photo they sent last year. As much as I don’t like the direction our conversation has strayed in, I wish I would have known him well enough then to have received a card.
I cross my legs, returning my focus to this man I’ve fallen so hard for. “What’s stopped you from meeting a nice woman?”
“I’ve met my share,” he says. “But these so-called nice girls were never interested in me. ‘Dumbass’ one of them called me. ‘I’m hoping to marry a doctor,’ another one said. I was told they were nice. But that niceness didn’t last when they found out I was ‘just a carpenter.’”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Why would I lie to my girl?”
His term of endearment hits me harder than it should. This time, he’s the one looking away.
“Do I sleep with women who may not be as classy or educated as the so-called nice ones?” he asks, waiting for me to react. “Yeah. But at least they think I’m good enough.”
“I understand.” I move closer to Seamus. “Never mind. I don’t. You’re very attractive.”
“Good looks and a winning personality only get you so far, babe,” he says. I think he means to joke, but the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I don’t just mean your looks, Seamus,” I reply, wishing I wasn’t so scared to say what I do. “I mean you.”
I think I’m going too far, taking our friendship somewhere it may not return from. Even so, I allow the words to come. “I don’t always agree with what you say or how you say it. That doesn’t mean I don’t sense your heart behind every word.”
I try to smile when he doesn’t respond, reverting to one of the last things he said. “I suppose the women you choose to spend your time with appreciate your honesty.” I make a face. “That is, until you use your dead grandmother as an excuse for not calling them.”
“Don’t bring Grammie—God rest her soul—into this. In all fairness, Pop-Pop would understand.”
Again, that humor he’s going for fails to light that face I constantly dream about. “My point is, at least you don’t promise these women anything past the time you spend with them.”
“You’re right. I don’t,” he agrees.
“Then I suppose I can’t blame you for seeking the women you do. They’re as honest with you as you need them to be.”
He nods thoughtfully. “There have been a few married ones, and some who may or may not have warrants out for their arrest. But yeah, they accept me for the carpenter I am instead of dropping me flat for a doctor they may never meet.”
I ask my next question, but I’m already afraid to know. “Have you ever wanted to spend more than one night with a woman?”
The way he takes me in robs the universe of time and all celestial beings. No one else exists. It’s simply us.
“Just once,” he rumbles.
