Chapter Three
Daniel
W e rumbled down my street, and I turned into the parking lot as I watched Wren out of the corner of my eye. It was a posh building for a student, but I wasn’t the only one who lived here. This was Arizona, and there were plenty of girls and guys spending their parents’ money to go to a school in a resort town. Yeah, I was spending some of my parents’ money too, but I planned to pay them back when I made a name for myself… The thing was, I didn’t think this was how Wren lived.
“Nice,” she commented when I pulled into my designated spot.
“It’s home for me, in a different country, away from my family.”
She nodded, and I realized that was all she was going to give me. No slapstick or sardonic comment. She was ingesting.
Car in park, I ran around to open her door. She obliged me, taking my hand, allowing me to help her out of the seat before slipping her fingers out from mine.
I walked next to her toward the elevator, wanting to run my hands through her curls, pulling her face close for a kiss, but I didn’t dare. At home, they’d call her a bonnie lass, but I could tell Wren was more than a beautiful package and not the hit it and quit it type—I wasn’t really about that style, but I’d learned the expression from my American teammates. I was more a friends with bennies guy, but Wren was a challenge, and one I couldn’t afford to get wrapped up in. Yet here I was, bringing her home with me.
“Have you lived here all four years? Or three so far?” She broke the silence, looking at me with her dark-pool eyes. I wanted to dive into those murky waters and explore in a way I’d never wanted to do before.
The elevator arrived and I ushered her in, my palm at the small of her back. “Was in the dorms my freshman year, and then here. I don’t go home for all the same breaks as everyone, and I like the space,” I explained as we rode up to my floor. More silent nodding as I led her off and to my door. “You good? I can take you home if you prefer?” I had to ask. I wasn’t one to make a woman feel uncomfortable.
“I’m good. Just kind of in awe. I live in an apartment too. It’s a shitty building with paper-thin walls and no pool, but this is nice. I get to go home…for holidays.”
She trailed off as I opened my door and stepped inside. Of course, as soon as Wren walked in, Brutus was off his bed in a flash, sitting right at her feet, looking for lavish pets and attention.
“Brutus, meet Wren. Wren, this is Brutus.”
And then, of course, she was on the floor, on her knees, kissing his face, telling him what a good boy he was.
“Okay, okay, Brutus, she’s here to see me,” I finally said.
She stood and said, “Are you going to give me a tour?”
“Right after I let this guy lift his leg. One sec. Make yourself at home.”
I could barely get Brutus to leave the apartment, and my guy peed faster than ever before…
“I know, I want to get back up to her too,” I mumbled to my dog as we walked toward the elevator.
Then I slammed my eyes shut faster than the elevator doors closed. What was I thinking? This wasn’t the time to get involved with a beautiful, smart, and funny seductress. Alas, I was riding back up to the proverbial siren, waiting for me in my apartment.
To make matters worse, I declared, “Honey, we’re home,” when I walked back inside.
Wren, clearly not one to miss a thing, raised an eyebrow.
“Joking. Joking,” I clarified.
“Good, because I’m not the stay-at-home June Cleaver, ‘have dinner waiting’ type,” she joked right back.
While she was busy giving Brutus a ten-finger massage, envy curled up my spine. I didn’t dare speak it aloud. Instead, I offered her a drink and she asked for a water. In my mind, it sounded like a sappy country song, yet I poured two glasses and met her by the sofa like an American cowboy might. Problem was, I was a Scotsman, living in America, who intended to play golf and drink scotch. Maybe both as a career…
“He takes all the attention.” I eyed my dog sitting at her feet.
“I doubt you’re lacking for attention,” she said boldly, meeting my gaze as I handed her the glass.
“You’d be surprised. I actually don’t seek it. False interest, I mean. Unless it’s about golf—real golf,” I clarified, “I don’t entertain it.”
I sat down next to her and doused the flame burning in my belly with a sip of water.
“Tell me about the golf.” She looked at me, dark eyes drilling into me, like she wanted to know about me.
Swallowing my pride, I admitted, “I didn’t always love it. In the beginning it was my dad’s game. He played, but it was more recreational for him. With me, he had his eyes set on something different. Says I showed promise back then.”
She nodded. “Pressure. I get it.”
“At some point, I started to love it. Somewhere around twelve, I didn’t mind missing video games or time playing football—not the American kind, but actual fútbol—for golf lessons and the driving range.”
This got me a giggle. “I assumed you didn’t mean the American kind.”
The way she mimicked my words, her sarcastic responses, and her adorable giggle were all so refreshing. This woman was not interested in false flattery or fanning my ego. She was real.
“And now?” She waited for me to answer.
“Now, I’m focused on the tour. The whole thing scares the feck out of me. I don’t admit that to many people or say it aloud much because I’ve waited all my life to do this, and here it is for the taking. Yet here I am, telling you.”
“Not for the taking. I don’t know much about this tour, but it appears you’re earning it every damn day. Which, by the way, is amazing. I mean, I still have to apply to med school, doing that this month, and then I wait to hear. After that, it takes a million more years of classes and then residency before I know what I’m going to do…and it’s not even my first choice.”
A wave of sadness washed over her face before she carefully schooled it. I didn’t have to be a psychologist to recognize it. “What’s your first choice?” I braved the question, thinking she wasn’t going to answer.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to be a doctor, which is why I get the pressure.”
She scooted a little closer, the tip of her kneecap hitting my thigh as she set her water on the coffee table. She had her outer leg tucked under her back one; sitting catty-corner from me, she looked like she belonged in my place. And a strange warm and fuzzy feeling crept over my chest.
“Seems like we have a lot in common. Except for our golf skills,” she added at the end with another one of her real giggles.
“I can tell you’re a fast learner.” I placed my drink next to hers and started leaning in. She didn’t pull away. “I’m going to kiss you,” I murmured. I watched her nod, and gently requested, “Say it.”
Verbal confirmation was important to me—for me. My dad had drilled it into my head. My big head, not the little one that could get me into trouble.
“Kiss me,” she mumbled, and I went in for the kill.
Our lips touched, at first lightly. With closed mouths we explored one another’s lips. Hers were soft, puffy…perfect. Mine a bit chapped, but she didn’t seem to mind. On a moan, my tongue entered her mouth, and her moan deepened. I took it as verbal confirmation.
We stayed like that for a while, a mashup of tender and hurried, until I broke free and grumbled, “I wasn’t expecting this. My life is complicated, and I wasn’t seeking this—”
“Me either.”
Her eyes were half closed, long lashes peeking out, hair a mess, and she looked stunning. And fucking sexy when she interrupted me. I wasn’t looking, but I couldn’t help being happy I’d stumbled upon whatever this moment was.
My lips found their way to her neck, nipping and kissing a lavish path to her clavicle. I breathed in and she breathed out. I was more in sync with this chick than anyone I’d ever met. Her hand slid under my shirt, and I reached back and yanked the shirt over my head, losing contact between her skin and my mouth.
“Okay?” I checked in, and then slipped my palm under her shirt, smoothing it over her flat belly until she mimicked my action and tugged her shirt off.
I kissed her and then started to move down her body, leaving a trail of kisses along the way. With my knees on the carpet and my head above her navel, I took a chance and glanced up at Wren, her head tossed back, smiling and seemingly enjoying a small moment of ecstasy. Until I tugged on the zipper to her jeans and she sat up in a huge hurry.
With her jeans splayed open, she said, “Shit,” and shoved her face into her hands.
It’d felt like she wanted this, but my heart started to pound and my pulse ratcheted.
“Oh, God. Sella said this would happen…”
“Um, is everything okay? I thought you were into this, but if not, I understand.” I stumbled over my words, which was not a regular habit for me.
Wren looked down toward her jeans and blew out a long breath. I couldn’t help but look at the same time and my eyes were greeted by mint green cotton panties the color of ice cream, covered in shamrocks and the wrong day of the week—Wednesday. There was no avoiding the smile overtaking my face. I felt it all the way to my eyes.
“I didn’t expect this,” she said, standing, trying to zip her jeans with one hand and flapping her free arm between the two of us.
I stood and stilled her. With my light grasp on her shoulders, she stopped all her extra movement, so my hands came down to take her fingers in mine. “It’s pretty cute.” I let go of her grip and brought my palm to her abdomen, tracing the top of her panties with my pinky. “Cutest fecking thing I ever did see.”
“Ugh,” she grumbled. “At least this is more evidence—partying, picking up boys and going home with them is not part of my agenda.”
“Who said anything about a boy?”
“That’s not what I meant…you know…I mean…er…”
She couldn’t help stopping and starting her words as my pinky slowly traversed inside her panties, running along the top of her hair. “Good thing I know today isn’t Wednesday, but I do like the luck of the Irish theme.”
My finger dipped lower, catching her small bundle of nerves, deep inside her underwear. With her eyes closed, she moaned, and I flicked the tiny nub again. It was warm, wet, and inviting where my hand traversed.
“Daniel.”
My name was a whoosh on her breath. I didn’t want to admit how much I liked it or dare ask why she was saying it. With my lips pressed to her forehead, my pants straining against my hardness, I pulled my hand out and started zipping up her pants.
“I’m going to take you home now,” was all I whispered.
This girl was affecting me beyond measure, and I needed to contain myself. She looked at me, mouth in a half pout, seemingly confused and hurt. I wanted to take every centimeter of her confusion away. I’d never wanted to make it all better with anyone before—Christ, I’d never shared nachos with someone either. My dad would lose his shit. The calories, the germs, the risks…he was a micromanager to the nth degree.
My lips lingering close to Wren’s forehead finally broke free when I glanced down at my dog fast asleep at her feet. I tried to break the tension and provide some comic relief. “Brutus is being better behaved than me.”
Her hand came up to touch her own lips, all puffy from mine earlier. I wanted to pound my chest and say, You’re going to be mine. A new feeling for me. A first, for sure. And not a welcome one. So instead of going American caveman, I straightened my shirt and laughed aloud again.
“You’re thinking of them, aren’t you?”
It was the tension getting to me, but I went with her perception. “They’re perfect,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “My favorite color, and let’s say Ireland is close enough to Scotland, so meant for me.”
“Come on,” she said, play-punching my arm.
I couldn’t help laughing again. We’d fallen into an easy banter. And not going to lie, I liked it. But I wasn’t going to be able to restrain myself for much longer, so I stood and held out a hand for her.
“It’s not goodbye, it’s hello,” I whispered in her ear when I stood, despite not being sure I could keep the promise.
She looked at me, and her lashes fell down over her eyes.
I ran my thumb over the blush creeping over her cheeks. “You can’t be shy after what we experienced with one another…”
This time, she laughed.
“By the way,” I said, yanking my phone off the coffee table, “can I have your number?”
She rattled the numbers off, and I darted to put them in my phone. I felt my dad looming somewhere, saying this was a bad idea. Resisting the urge to shake my head, I plugged in her contact. I need to hit balls, I require rest and sleep, and I’m not here for a relationship. But…that’s what my dad tells me.
“There you go, Birdie Bianchi,” I said, holding up my phone and showing her my contact for her.
“Birdie?” she asked with a smile…but I knew she didn’t understand.
“Yeah, it’s when you get the ball into the hole using one shot less than par. Par to me is average, and you’re way better than average. You really are an eagle—a hole in one or perfection—but Birdie is cuter, like you.” I touched my finger to her nose before moving it to my phone and hitting send. “And now you have my number,” I said as her phone started buzzing on the floor. “Let’s go,” I finally eked out. “I’m not going to behave for much longer, and you don’t seem like the type to not speak your mind when it comes to my transgressions.”
She followed, but I sensed it was begrudgingly. At least, I hoped. Although I was stopping short, it was against my will. I never wanted this evening to end, and I hoped to see Wren real soon.