Wallflower (Whittaker Floral #2)

12. Declan

12

DECLAN

W e walked along the concourse, just strolling. It was evident the organization had made an effort to make the concourse feel like something other than an oversized cement hallway, but, like most of the ballparks I’d visited, the effort had been in vain. Weaving in and out around us were hundreds of people, nearly all in Cubby blue, and I was tempted to reach out for Hannah’s hand just to keep her close. “Thank you again for this,” she said. “It’s beyond amazing. Is the suite part of your job? Like, you can just use it?”

I looked down as I walked. I'd dreaded this question because I didn’t want to lie to her, and yet, even barely knowing Hannah, I was positive she would hate the truth. “No,” I replied, honestly. “I rented it. They’re surprisingly affordable.”

Her eyebrows arced high in the air, telling me without a single word she wasn’t buying my bullshit. “I have a feeling we have different definitions of affordable.” Her brow came down, her eyes narrowing but a smile tilting her lips. I had an irrational desire to run my thumb along her rounded lower lip. “For example,” she continued, her voice light and humorous, “was this “affordable” suite more than I pay in rent each month?”

“How much is your rent?” I asked .

“Fifteen hundred.”

In an instant I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth. In my entire dating history I’d never had to keep my wealth a secret because I thought my date would dislike it—more often, I feared my date might like my money too much—but I was sure down to my bones Hannah disliked wealth, opulence, and everything that went along with it. “That’s a pretty reasonable price for rent, you have to admit,” I responded cautiously, not wanting to acknowledge I’d paid more than five times that for the suite. She laughed, adequately distracted from her initial question.

I turned, guiding us closer to the field and taking a seat along the first-base line near the dugouts. I motioned for her to sit next to me. “Is this okay?” she whispered, glancing about furtively as if the police may descend at any moment.

“Sure. These are my seats. These are a perk of the job.” I winked and she smiled. She looked beautiful today in tight clothes that showed off a body that was more lush and sensuous than I’d imagined. Her hair was flying in every direction in the wind, and her eyes, which never failed to draw me in, were particularly stunning and bright in the sun.

“This is some job you have, Deck.”

I turned towards her, excited she thought so. “I know, right? My parents were so unhappy I left my advertising job to take this, but I love it.”

“I still don’t understand. If you love it, why are they upset? It’s a pretty amazing job, I think,” she murmured. The Yankees’ first baseman was up to bat with two strikes and a ball, but I doubted Hannah noticed. Even as she began to look around, she seemed to be taking in the field but not focusing on the game. Oddly, knowing she had so much to learn made me smile privately. I would enjoy teaching her.

I shrugged. “My parents weren’t born into their money, they made it, so they want me to make my own money too. They hated Ethan’s tech job at first, but now he’s probably worth more than they are, so they’re happy.” I paused in my explanation to watch the at bat, and Hannah’s eyes followed mine. “I was with a New York City firm,” I continued after the batter struck out, marking the end of this half of the inning, “making good money. Not like my parents’ money, but I could live in the city comfortably. The job with MLB was a financial step down. A big financial step down.”

I didn’t mention I’d come into my trust a couple of years ago—a trust my parents likely regretted, now that I actually dipped into it. But I’d told Hannah enough about my parents and what little respect they had for the work I did, and I didn’t need to talk about it every time I saw her. After all, the woman seemed to be doing very well for herself under much more familial strain. “Now, since you’re not my therapist, I should probably stop whining to you and start showing you this game. Let’s see what you know. Which team is up to bat?”

She laughed, looking between me and the flood of Yankees who now filled the field. “I’m not that bad. The Cubs are batting.”

“It’s the eighth inning. Is it the top of the eighth or the bottom?” Hannah looked at me, perplexed, and I smiled. Perplexed was cute on her. “The visiting team always bats first, so when the home team is up you know it’s the bottom of the inning,” I explained and she nodded. “Want to spend the night with me?”

Hannah’s eyes widened in either shock or horror, I wasn’t sure, but I hastened to rephrase my suggestion. I didn’t mean sex, but it was mildly disappointing to get either shock or horror as a reply to the faux pas. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean spend the night with me, I meant spend the evening with me, then safely return to your own home.”

Her shoulders dipped, and her smile was one of relief. “Sure. I’d love to,” she replied. I took an extra few seconds to soak in the way her brown eyes caught the sun as she looked at me. She didn’t look away.

“Great,” I said finally, not able to tear my gaze from hers, even as I heard the song announcing one of the Cubs strongest hitters. “Do you need to text your friends so they don’t think I murdered you?” She laughed and pulled out her phone, her eyes finally falling from mine to type a text I couldn’t see from my angle, badly as I wished I could.

Our easy conversation continued through the last inning. I’d hit it off with women before, but chatting with Hannah felt remarkably natural. There wasn’t much game left, though, since the Cubs were ahead and there would be no bottom of the ninth. “Can you give me ten minutes?” I asked. I did a quick update with the final score to Twitter and Instagram and jotted some notes for the work I would do tomorrow, then I turned back to Hannah and held out a hand. She took it and I wove our fingers together, liking the feel of being wrapped up in her.

“So, is that it? Are you done with work?”

“No, not exactly.I’ve been hanging around a bit, getting a feel for how they’re using their new park space and hotel. The hotel is gorgeous. You should see it.” I winced as I felt her fingers flex instinctively. I turned to smile at her. “I’m sorry every sentence I say seems to come out as a cheap come-on. I’m not inviting you to my room, per se, I just meant the hotel is cool and you should see it sometime.” She smiled, but the easy interactions we’d shared during the game seemed to have been replaced with a layer of tension I wasn’t sure how to cut. Unfortunately, I’d also failed to secure plans for after the game. Lacking a better option, I began what was basically a stroll around the block, all the while cursing myself for not having the foresight to invite her to a night game. Going to a bar afterwards was an easy transition, but it only worked at night. If I took her to the bar now, she’d be shitfaced by 8 pm . I looked at my watch, dragging her hand into the air rather than letting her go. “It’s almost five, are you up for dinner?”

“Absolutely.I ate a hotdog, but I’m starving,” she said.

I walked us into a very busy Starbucks to get coffee as I mulled over dinner. “The bad news is, I don’t know Chicago well. My brother rented out an amazing sushi restaurant for the rehearsal dinner.I couldn’t tell you where it was or what it was called, but I could text him.” I looked to Hannah, but she was distracted looking around the Starbucks we stood in .

“Declan,” she said, turning back to me, her voice serious, “this Starbucks is insanely huge. I’ve never seen such a giant Starbucks.”

I shrugged. “It’s busy, so they must need to be this big for game days. I read online there’s a four-story Starbucks somewhere in Chicago. It’s the biggest in the world. I take it you haven’t been there?”

She shook her head. “To the Starbucks Reserve? No. It’s four stories tall and you still have to stand in a line outside just to get in. Hard pass.”

“They roast the beans there,” I said, unable to suppress a grin. I was willing to bet a kidney she would not be impressed by this.

She blinked up at me. “I’m perfectly happy with my neighborhood Starbucks, thank you. I don’t need on-site roasting.” I let her hand go, pulling out my phone so I’d be prepared to pay, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. "And, as for dinner, I’m honestly not big on sushi, but it’s my best friend, Matty’s, favorite, so we have it all the time. I’d be fine finding something on the menu if that’s what you want. I always figure out something to eat with her.”

I clutched at my heart and crumpled a little, smiling at her. “Hannah Jackson, you don’t like baseball or sushi? These may possibly be my two favorite things. I should probably take you home right now and give up.” Her smile faded as she tried to decide if I was serious, and I leaned closer to her ear, lowering my voice considerably. “I’m not going to. Considering you’ve been on my mind all week, I kinda’ want to see where tonight goes.” She blushed deeply enough that it was visible even under the dim light of the Edison bulbs surrounding us.I didn’t break eye contact as I stood back to my full height, but Hannah did, looking down and smoothing her sweater needlessly. The words had been entirely honest, but they were still a line, and I hoped she didn’t think I was a jerk.

“So, Hannah,” I said, looking to bring the conversation back to neutral territory she’d feel comfortable with, “what do you love to eat? If you could go anywhere tonight—with or without me—where would it be?”

I expected her to be like most of the women I’d dated, to show a level of uncertainty or indecision, but she didn’t hesitate to reply. “I love Ethiopian food. It’s my favorite.” I didn’t have a chance to respond, because we’d finally reached the front of the mile-long Starbucks line. “I’ll take a grande coffee,” I told the barista. “And you?” I looked in Hannah’s direction.

“I’ll have the same,” she replied.

Hannah had said nothing since her meal suggestion, clearly waiting for my response, and my brow was furrowed as we stepped away from the counter and I thought through my restaurant history. “I know there’s a lot of Ethiopian food in both San Francisco and New York, but I’m embarrassed to say I’ve never tried it,” I admitted.

She smiled and wove her fingers back through mine. The tiny act made my heart thunder in my chest as certainly as if she’d begun unbuttoning my pants. I tightened my grip on her slender fingers. “Do you want to try it?” she asked.

I would’ve said yes to anything right then. I couldn’t begin to guess how this woman had put a spell on me, but there was no doubt she had. “I’m down to try anything.” I flinched at the unintended sexual sound of that, but if Hannah noticed, she made no comment.

“You’re going to love it,” she proclaimed excitedly, then bit her bottom lip, cringing. “Or you’ll hate it, if you don’t like the injera bread. I’ll feel badly if you don’t like it, but it’s so delicious I probably won’t feel too badly.”

Maintaining a hold on her hand, I turned so we were face to face. We were divided by mere centimeters, but only our interlaced fingers connected us. Even so, I swore I could feel a buzzing electricity leaping off her skin, electricity that sent the blood rushing through my veins. I felt alive, and I wanted to kiss this beautiful girl, right here in the oversized Starbucks.

She looked up at me, her mouth parted slightly. I couldn’t drag my eyes away from hers—mesmerized this time by the dark flecks that shot away from her pupil in lines and swirls—but the ragged rise and fall of her breasts were evident in my periphery. I picked up one wild curl and ran my fingers down it for a moment, enjoying the feel of the soft hair against my skin as I placed it delicately behind her ear. The backs of my knuckles brushed along her jawline, and my voice was low and husky as I said, “I would love to try Ethiopian food with you, and you won’t have to feel badly, because if it’s terrible I’m going to pick up some sushi afterwards.”

“Declan!” The booming voice of the barista made me jump a little, as if I were a schoolboy again, caught doing something I should not. Hannah’s hand released mine with an abrupt flexing motion, and I stepped up to retrieve our coffees.

We took a cab north to Hannah’s favorite Ethiopian restaurant, where we were seated on either side of a tall basket. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs, not sure where to put my arms. When I’d agreed to try something new, I hadn’t anticipated anything like this.

I got an Ethiopian beer but thought it would fall over if I set it on the basket, so I held onto it awkwardly. “You know, they had open tables,” I offered, still not sure why we were sitting at the basket, but trying my best to be agreeable. Perhaps she thought I wanted this experience?

She cocked her head at me and, while a smile played at her lips, there was growing impatience in her eyes.“Declan, do things ever not go your way?” I didn’t know how to answer her, so I took a swig of beer. She continued, “I keep thinking you’re trying to prove you’re not a rich, privileged douche, but it seems to me when you want something—or don’t—it’s hard to change your mind.” I opened my mouth to reply, but she wasn’t wrong. “There’s a little end table next to you for your beer, unless you’re enjoying holding onto it,” she suggested.

“Thank you,” I said, setting down my beer and running a hand through my hair anxiously. Things were going south quickly. This was the moment in a date to turn up the charm—to smile and compliment the girl and feign undivided interest in their thoughts—but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to start something so disingenuous with Hannah, and I was sure she’d see right through such an act anyway. “Can I tell you the truth, Hannah?” I asked .

“I’d prefer you did, yes,” she said, and though her voice remained utterly calm, I saw a ripple of tension tighten her shoulders and jaw.

“You’re a hard woman to date.” I was thinking out loud, trying to be the kind of open and honest man I thought Hannah would like, but I could tell those words hit a mark I hadn’t intended. Her face fell, and she gathered her purse tightly in front of her. “Wait, Hannah, that came out wrong. I’m sorry. Hear me out.”

Hannah was still, but I thought that might have less to do with her giving me a second chance and more to do with being uncomfortable storming out of the restaurant. She said nothing.

I rubbed the back of my neck and said, “I like you. A lot. You seem smart and funny, and you’re beautiful—you know that. But you’re also incredibly easy to talk to.” I picked up my beer and took a fortifying swig. “The stuff I’ve told you about my family and my mom—” I laughed dryly. “Who does that on a first date?”

“You prefer to keep everything fake?” Hannah asked, accusation evident in her tone.

I snorted. “Fuck yes, usually.”

She frowned, but the grip on her purse loosened, as if she might be more likely to argue than bolt. I wasn’t sure it was progress, but I was relieved she wasn’t leaving just yet. “Well, you and I are very different people.”

“Are we?”

“Obviously.”

I tipped my head, catching her gaze and holding it. “Then why do I enjoy being with you so much?”

She inhaled sharply as if she was going to say something, but the breath came out of her in a huff, her shoulders sagging. “We should just leave,” she said.

I shook my head, wishing I could come up with a way to make her understand how different being with her was, and why I wanted more. “That’s not what I want at all,” I replied with a rueful grin. “It’s just…the things women usually like about me, you…dislike.” I cocked my head slightly, considering her for the umpteenth time tonight, trying to see myself through her eyes. I shrugged helplessly. “You probably thin k I ooze privilege. I was born into money and I’ve always had every opportunity to set my sights on something and make it happen.”I paused. “I saw you a week ago and I wanted to know you, but it’s not like I set my sights on you and chose to pursue you. In fact, I actively tried to think of other things, but you’ve been in my thoughts constantly.And now this quiet desire to see you and know you is meeting up with my make-it-happen personality, and those ideas are really at odds, because to charm women it helps to not really care about them.”

She didn’t speak for probably a minute, and all sixty of those seconds were torture. When she finally spoke she said, “I really wanted to hate you when I first met you.” Her face was thoughtful.“You’re too handsome, too self-assured, too damn flirtatious, and when you made us open the shop to make flowers for your mom I was really angry.” She looked like she might be getting angry now, rehashing it. “But it gave me a chance to get to know you, and you are all those things, I think, but you seem to be really honest and surprisingly open, and I like that about you.”

I let out a heavy sigh of relief at her words, aware we’d unloaded a hell of a lot of feelings and the food wasn’t even out yet. The truth was supposed to bring people closer, but these truths sat between the two of us as awkwardly as the little basket I kept bumping my feet into.

Silence fell over us, and I was infinitely grateful when a giant tray of food was set down a couple of minutes later. The setup had seemed unwieldy before, but with the tray on top, the basket became a perfectly natural way to serve the food. “This actually works really nicely with the tray,” I acknowledged.

I’d let Hannah choose our foods, explaining that I tended towards a pescatarian diet.Now, she pointed to various piles and described what each was. “Yemisir Wat and Kik Alicha, two of my favorites. Both lentils, I think, although maybe one is split pea—they’re really similar except the Alicha is mild and the Wat is hot. This is Gomen, which is the collard greens, and this is Duba Wat, which is spicy pumpkin.” She pointed to the pile of meat in front of her. “And this is my absolute favorite, but it’s certainly not pescatarian.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called Kitfo.It’s Ethiopian steak tartare.” She grinned, and I felt the ease fall between us again. “This is injera.” She held up a sheet of something that looked like a slimy sponge. Or maybe skin. “You rip it and scoop up the food with it.” She demonstrated, making a luscious face as she took her first bite, which had me staring at her lips. “If you like injera, you’ll like Ethiopian food. If not…” She cringed a little.

“And we just share whatever?”

“Yep, Ethiopian food’s about shared experience.”

I tried a bite of injera, which had a texture similar to what you’d expect—a thin wet sponge—but it was unusual and delicious and seemed to melt in my mouth.“It’s good.” I ripped some more off and started with the mild peas she suggested, finding the entire mouthful really pleasant together.

She beamed at me, and I stopped for a moment, thinking of how beautiful she was. “You look beautiful. I’m not sure I got a chance to say that.” The words made her blush, and she looked down at her injera.

Stepping out of the restaurant an hour later, Hannah was in good spirits. She was holding a bag full of leftovers that weighed a ton—Ethiopian food was certainly not light. I’d not yet ridden the train but Hannah insisted the L was the most logical way to get home. We walked, hand-in-hand, and she told me about some of her stranger encounters on the L. I laughed, but I doubted we’d run into anything crazier than I’d encountered in my years riding the New York City subway.

About a block from the restaurant, I stopped abruptly, and her forward momentum continued, stretching my arm to its limit before I pulled back. The sudden change of direction sent her tumbling towards me, and I caught her with my arms around her waist. She was frowning, searching my face for a sign of something wrong, but she wasn’t going to find anything. Hannah felt unexpectedly perfect clutched against my body, and I wasn’t prepared to let her go anytime soon.

My eyes moved between her beautiful brown eyes and her mouth, which parted slightly as her breath hitched. I licked my lips unconsciously and she mirrored me, pulling the bottom one in to bite it. I watched intently—the pink of her tongue and the flash of white teeth on her plump flesh—and I had an intense urge to lean in and nip at that lip as well. I inhaled deeply as the thought of biting her—tasting her—sent my blood rushing into an aching hard-on, and I dipped my head closer to her mouth, pressing my lips to hers in a single, gentle kiss.

Or, at least, I’d intended it to be a single kiss, but the second our lips parted she leaned in for another, and another—neither of us willing to end this moment. She arched into my grasp, tangling her free hand into my hair, and my hands roamed her back, keeping her close and enjoying each new sensation. The heat of her mouth, the dip of her lower back under my palm, the sting as she tugged my hair—each was its own perfect moment, and I didn’t want to rush by any of them. Kissing Hannah was desperate and needy, but I felt utterly at peace, and I slipped a hand into her hair to slow us down. Her eyes remained shut as she slid her hands down my chest and sunk from her tiptoes back to her regular height. Then she opened her eyes, blinking up at me brightly. I smiled in reply, quickly adjusting myself. She glanced down at the movement, then back up with a smile tilting one side of her lips, and I shrugged with a grin.