18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
VIVIAN
T uesday night’s class comes quickly, and I find I’m not looking forward to it like I had been last week. I get off the bus and am begrudgingly making my way up the walk to the building when I find Declan waiting there.
“Hello, Vivian,” he says in his deep voice, and I feel warmth in my belly at the sound. His voice is something my body really likes and something my mind tries to tell me to ignore and not be stupid. My mind is losing.
“Hi,” I say softly as we walk beside each other, Declan reaching out and opening the door for me. We’re silent the rest of the walk in, and as we move our chairs into the circle, Declan seats himself next to me.
He had emailed me and apologized for running off from our coffee shop meet-up the other night. It was actually a really long, nicely worded email explaining how his father had fallen and his younger brother needed his help. He said he would have called but he didn’t have my phone number. He also told me not to do any work on the project until we divided it up.
I may have become giddy after reading it.
I am becoming infatuated with Declan. I mean, he is definitely attractive—that part I gleaned within seconds of catching him staring at me. But he is also intelligent and easy to have a conversation with, at least about the topics within class. And he’d tried to engage when we were getting hot chocolate on Sunday about other topics, but of course they were my off-limit topics.
He is kind too, something that is totally unexpected based on the vibe he tries to give off. I am still surprised by the way he took care of me when I was sick. What I know about Declan seems pretty great.
It is what I don’t know that scares me.
There is always more to people than what they show in the surface interactions you have with them. And I am leery to take what I am getting in my interactions with Declan as all that he is. There is usually something more, and I am afraid to find it and have it ruin everything.
The class goes by quickly, and once it ends I gather my things. Declan is true to his word and doesn’t stare at me throughout class anymore . You’d think it would help me focus in class better, but stupidly it makes me now wonder why he stared at me in the first place.
Being a woman is a giant pain in the ass.
I put my heavy coat on and find Declan looking at me. I gave him a quick smile. “Well, goodbye,” I say as I reach for my backpack.
But Declan grabs it first. “Another hot chocolate?” he asks, holding my bag hostage.
I just stare at him, and he stares back at me. I emailed him back after his apology email and gave a structure of what we could each do for the project. He’d written back and tweaked a couple of things, actually dividing the work up more equally. I feel like I should say no to the invitation on principle for him just leaving me and not saying anything. But he apologized, right? And he really hadn’t owed me any explanation. We are only classmates; it’s not like we are more than that.
And, though I hate to admit it even to myself, the truth is I want to be with him. I like being around him. There is a peace, a calmness that he brings to me. So instead of refusing like my brain says I should, I say, “Sure.”
My heart actually wants me to say, “Oh my God, yes!” So I am proud of myself for keeping my emotions in check, but then Lord knows I have had years of practice. Something about Declan, though, makes me want to bare my soul and show him everything. But I know better. I know I have to figure out his angle— his intentions—and the real him before I do any of those things.
Immediately following my agreement, Declan crosses to the door, my backpack on his shoulder. And I follow, like a lovesick puppy. I appease my brain, telling it that I just really want hot chocolate.
She doesn’t believe me.
We trek to the coffee shop, which is a much quicker walk from the class than it was from the library, in silence. Declan sets my bag down at the same table we’d been at before and holds out a chair for me. I have to physically restrain myself from a smile. “Thank you,” I say quietly, and he nods in return and goes to place our order.
My restraint in emotions would probably seem crazy to any other person, but to me it is a safety mechanism. In my experience, people can use your emotions against you. If they see that something brings you joy, or makes you happy, they could take it away as punishment or for their own sick pleasure. Alternately, if you show that something scares you, they could use that against you for the same reasons. In my life I have learned that not showing any emotion is the best way to keep myself safe and lessen any repercussions. It is a habit I’m not willing to fix.
Declan returns with our drinks and a slice of the death by chocolate cake that was in the bakery case. He drops the cake right in front of me. I furrow my brow and look at him in silent question.
He returns my look with a minuscule shrug. “I saw you eyeing it the last time we were here.”
I feel a blush creep up my neck, and I drop my gaze to the table.
“If you don’t like it—”
“No, sorry, thank you. I love chocolate cake,” I say, giving him a small polite smile.
Declan nods and sips his drink, his eyes still intent on me. “You ever gonna tell me about that backpack? It’s really heavy.”
I take a sip of my own drink, stalling, and find it the perfect temperature. “I told you, it’s books.”
He gives me a small, humorless smirk. “Still don’t trust me, huh?”
“I don’t know you,” I remind him, picking up a fork and breaking off a bite of cake. As the rich chocolate flavor melts onto my tongue, I close my eyes and groan with pleasure. It is just as good as it looks, so rich and just the right amount of everything. It makes my tongue quiver with enjoyment. I open my eyes and find Declan staring at me, and I realize I just moaned out loud, porn-star style, because of cake.
I set my fork down and take a sip of hot chocolate to wash down my amazing bite of cake, keeping my eyes averted from his. I am so embarrassed by what I’ve just done. “Uh, so do you want to talk about the project?” I ask. The project is the reason we are here, to pick up where we left off the other night, right?
“No,” he says flatly. His response causes me to look up in surprise, and when I do I find a fork full of chocolate cake hovering in front of me, millimeters from my mouth. It comes forward and touches my lips and I automatically open. “What do you want to know?” Declan ask as my lips slip around the fork.
“Huh?” I ask around the mouthful of chocolate deliciousness. It comes out all garbled and I don’t even know if he understood what I said, but that just makes us even because I am completely confused about what is happening and what he is asking me.
He smirks at my chocolate-filled question, a rare treasure that I memorize for later. “You say you don’t know me, implying that’s why you don’t trust me. So what do you want to know?”
I blink at him, momentarily stunned. Is he opening up to me? I want to speak but remember I have food in my mouth. So I swallow and gulp down some hot chocolate and look at him, my nerve now nearly lost, but I decide to just pull the trigger at the last minute.
“What do you do?” I finally ask. This question could answer a lot of the follow-up questions that I have.
Without missing a beat, Declan answers, “I work for my family business.”
So vague, I roll my eyes. “And what is the business?”
“We own six bars and about a dozen tenement houses in the area.”
“And what do you do specifically ?”
“My brothers and I have it divided up between us which ones we take care of. I manage the places I manage the properties I'm responsible for, make sure the employees are doing their jobs, contract out what I need to, collect rent, do the banking, complete payroll.”
He answers each of my questions without hesitation, no eye rolls or irritation, but still I’m nervous to ask the next one.
Declan reads my hesitation like a book. “Just ask, Vivian,” he says quietly, the rumble of his voice louder than the actual volume of his words. The sound of his voice has me rubbing my thighs together to try and ease the heat and desire he is creating within me.
“Why do you carry a gun?” I ask softly, afraid to be overheard.
“For personal protection. Some of my bars and houses are not in the best areas. Some of the tenants and clientele also aren’t of the finest caliber. I go to check them out at all hours of the day and night. I want to be able to protect myself. I have all the proper licenses to carry.”
That makes sense, at least I feel like it does. But is that because it actually makes sense or because I want it to? This is why emotions are bad. Because even a small crush like I have for Declan can cloud my better judgment. Wanting to see him the way my heart wants could make me believe he is who I want him to be. And I do not want him to be a bad guy.
“Are you from here then?” I ask him to try and distract myself from spiraling on the what-ifs of things.
“Yes, I grew up in Fall River. My parents grew up here too.”
I nod, taking a bite of my cake to give me a little time to process.
“What about you?” he asks as he trains his gaze on my mouth.
I nearly choke on my bite of cake at his question. I thought we were talking about him. “What about me?” I ask sharply.
“Are you from here?”
This is a pretty innocent question, and he has answered my questions. “I grew up in this area, yeah,” I answer him quickly. “Are your parents still in the area?” I ask hastily, trying to divert his attention away from me and back to him.
“You met my dad, and yes, his house is next door to mine. My mom died about three years ago.”
“Sorry,” I reply automatically, but it comes out weird, lacking the pity the condolence should have. Declan seems to have noticed it too.
“What about your parents?” he asks.
“What about them?” I deflect quickly.
Declan’s stare narrows for a second, but he is undeterred by my harsh response. “Do they still live around here?”
“I don’t know,” I answer as dispassionately as I had offered my condolences.
Quiet stretches between us for several seconds, but it feels like years. It highlights some awkwardness, at least for me, surrounding this experience. Declan looks completely cool and unfazed.
“Why are you doing this?” I finally ask, the silence becoming too much, causing me to panic.
Declan just tilts his head in question. I bet he does that a lot, I muse. Just makes a move and people do whatever. It works; I get his unspoken query. “Why are you letting me ask you these questions?”
“You said you don’t know me,” he replies, using the same answer from earlier, as if this answers everything.
“So?” My tone is salty, and Declan looks at me with a look I would best call pompous amusement.
“ So,” he mockingly matches my tone. “If you ask me questions, you will get to know me.”
“And if you answer mine, am I supposed to answer yours?” I accuse, suddenly feeling wound up.
“Have I offended you somehow?” he asks in his monotonous voice, his gaze hardening.
Had he? I’m not sure now. What had he even asked me? Had I overreacted? I try to rein my emotions in, calm myself down, and replay what just happened.
“Vivian?” Declan asks, his look softening.
I swallow. “I, uh, I don’t like talking about myself,” I tell him. I realize that he hit a nerve with the innocent question about my parents, and it panicked me, sending me into self-defense mode.
“Then how can I get to know you?”
My breath caught. “Y-you want to get to know me?” I ask, looking down at my hands. “Why?”
A small, quick laugh gets my attention and I realize it is from Declan. His face has remained stone-still, but I can now see humor in his eyes.
“I am drawn to you, Vivian,” he admits, and once again the rumble of his deep voice gives me goose bumps on my arms and has me squeezing my thighs together. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to know everything I can about you.”
I stare at him in stunned silence for a few seconds, analyzing what he has just said to me before I speak again. “I’m not that interesting.”
Declan studies me. “Says you, but you know all there is to know about you. And I’d like to know some things about you.”
“So why are you letting me ask you questions if you want to know about me?” I say hotly, going back on the defensive.
“Because I want you to get to know me too.”
“But you said you wanted to get to know me,” I remind him, “so why are you letting me ask you so many questions?”
“You don’t like to talk about yourself. You say it’s because you don’t know me. And I figured maybe if I opened up more, you would feel more comfortable about opening up more.”
Wow. I feel like I’ve been bitch-slapped, and I earned it. “That is nice,” I tell him. It just slips out—it was just a thought running through my head that I had planned to keep there.
He huffs out, “I’m not generally called nice.”
“Well, you do sort of give off a vibe, but I agree it’s not nice,” I say and mentally slap myself. His niceties have given me a horrible case of verbal diarrhea.
Declan raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
I take a large sip of hot chocolate and swallow. “Like, you seem unapproachable,” I say once my mouth is empty, the words just flying out. I take another forkful of cake to keep the words inside, but can’t even taste its chocolatey goodness as I try to ignore Declan’s heavy stare.
“I think that’s a nice way to say asshole,” he says.
I feel my eyes widen as I meet his gaze. I shrug and drop my eyes back down to school my face as I choke down my cake.
Declan shrugs. “It’s the vibe I go for, but you’re the first to tell me it’s working.”
I laugh as I look at the table and bite my bottom lip to stop myself. A calloused finger slides under my chin and tips my face up. I feel my bottom lip spring free from my teeth and I am trapped by Declan’s stare.
“I like when you tell me what you think because it’s like you let a little bit of who you are out,” he says, his blue-gray eyes looking into mine. “You seem to need to keep a lot of you hidden away from the world. So when you tell me what you think about me or class or anything, you let me peek in for just a minute. And it makes me want more of you, Vivian.”
My name coming out of Declan’s mouth should be listed on the tablets Moses brought down from the mountain. It makes me want to spill my soul and beg him to let me be his. It makes my pussy clench and feel empty and long to be filled.
Declan lets go of my chin and sits back. I close my mouth and swallow, looking around the coffee shop for a moment to gather myself. His words make something spark inside of me. Something that has me wanting something I never have before. I want Declan to understand me.
Finally, I look up into his beautiful eyes, but the scrutiny is too intense and I have to look away before I speak. “Did you have a good life?” I ask him, then realize that isn’t very clear. “Like when you were growing up? Were your parents good to you?”
“I had a good childhood, yeah,” Declan replies hesitantly.
“See, I didn’t,” I say, meeting his gaze to try and drill my point home. “I spent my life mostly in foster care. So to talk about it is hard for me, because it brings back stuff I don’t want to think about or remember. Because my past was hard, and it was pretty bad most of the time.”
Declan studies me with his hard stare, captivating me in it. It’s hard and concerned and questioning. I get all of those emotions from his eyes. I feel like I am trapped in another dimension just staring into them. Then he looks down and his gaze is gone, and I feel disoriented without my connection to him.
Until a fork is pressed to my lips. “So you like chocolate cake?” Declan asks, his eyebrows arched.
I feel my lips part and I nod.
He gets me.
Once we finish the cake and the drinks, we leave the coffee shop and start walking to the parking area near our class. We’re almost there when I see the bus coming. “Well, there is my ride,” I say to Declan, turning to the bus stop area, but I stop when Declan grabs my hand.
“Let me take you home,” he says, angling his head to the parking lot.
I open my mouth to say, “you don’t have to,” or “that’s okay,” but I realize that I want him to. And so instead I say, “Sure,” and smile at him.
Declan holds the door open for me, and I slide inside his car, really taking it in. The last time I was here I was sick, so I hadn’t gotten a chance to fully appreciate it.
Declan slides in and we take off toward my apartment. I make small talk with him about his car, and before we know it we are at my place. My heart sinks at saying goodbye.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say to him, grabbing my bag and opening the door.
“Good night, Vivian,” Declan says, his eyes glued to me as I get out, and I can feel them still on me as I head out the door of my building.
I wave before heading in, and wait until I’m in my apartment to release the stupid smile I’d been holding back the entire way home.