I take a deep breath and try to control my nerves when I hear my cell ring. Call it sixth sense, but I immediately know it’s him. As excitement runs through me, I get off the bed, my feet hitting the carpeted floor almost at running speed, and reach for my phone sitting on top of my dresser.
Motionless, I watch his name light up the screen and a smile so big it hurts my cheeks spreads across my face. I feel something akin to joy and delight running through my veins. My heart hammers inside my chest. About to reach for the phone, a thought crosses my mind.
I like him.
I really, really like him.
The phone keeps ringing and I keep staring at his name on the screen. Hesitation holds me hostage. Fear of the unknown cripples me. It’s also fear that allows his phone call to go to voicemail, forbidding me to pick up. But there’s a spark inside me, one that shines brighter with every second that passes by, its light breaking through the darkness in my heart.
Would it be so unforgivable if I stole a few more forbidden and happy moments with Ronan before he realizes how unworthy of anything remotely close to love I am? I’ve tasted heaven in Ronan’s arms and I don’t want to leave just yet.
Is it selfish of me? Maybe.
Is it reckless of me? Definitely.
But Ronan makes me want to let my hair down and dance naked in the rain. He makes me want to put Taylor Swift on and sing at the top of my lungs about how everything has changed because of a man with freckles and what I see in his eyes. And as long as I don’t let my guard down, as long as I keep my eyes open and my heart tightly shut, I should be okay. I should be able to get lost in Ronan and his beauty for a little while without getting hurt.
Dear paralyzing doubts,
You can kiss my Chanel-clad ass (at least for now) and go to hell.
Love, Blaire.
I grab my phone and call him back.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly.
“Hi, beautiful,” he says, and I get the feeling that he’s smiling.
“Sorry about missing your call. I—”
“It’s okay. You called back.”
Yes, I called back … I called back!
And just like that I know that I’ve never stood a chance against this man.
Ronan.
Official Date #1:
WE MAKE OUT IN THE MOVIE THEATER like teenagers ’til our lips are sore and puffy. Note to self: Must watch the movie again when I’m not with him. Couldn’t even tell you what it was about, other than it had people in it.
Date #2:
He takes me to his favorite restaurant in China Town and attempts to teach me how to use chopsticks. It’s a complete failure, but he gets extra points for not laughing at me in my misery. Like, how the hell are you supposed to grab peanuts with those things without losing them halfway to your mouth?
Date #3:
He pulls me into his arms in the middle of a busy street, and there’s a moment before his mouth lands on mine in which we stare at each other silently. No words are needed. No grand gesture. It’s just him and me. A woman and a man finally finding each other in a world full of noise and distractions.
It’s our beginning.
Date #4:
We dance close together in an almost deserted Central Park under the moonlight while he alternates between humming a Jeff Buckley song in my ear and kissing my neck, leaving me breathless.
Dates #5, 6, 7 …
It doesn’t matter what we do as long as I’m with him. His face is all I see and his touch all I need. Being with him is simple. It’s magic. He’s summertime and his kisses warm sunlight. He makes me think of popsicles and laughter. He makes me feel free.
Whenever we’re together, I can hear the fast beating of my heart, feel the blood rushing to my head, his nearness setting my body ablaze. Fear, delight, and thrill spin inside me, tangling with one another until I don’t know where one begins and the other ends. But there’s no time to think, or unravel my emotions.
I know I’m living some kind of borrowed dream and that when I wake up, I’ll crash and burn, but I won’t let reality intrude just yet. I can’t.
So I finish getting ready to spend another stolen moment with Ronan. I run my fingers through the curls in my hair as I watch my reflection in the mirror above my bathroom sink. The girl staring back at me is a stranger. Her blue eyes shine brightly with a light that wasn’t there before, and fire colors her cheeks. She looks happy … hopeful. A part of me wants to call her a fool, but I quiet that voice before it has a chance to make me see reason and ruin everything.
I close my eyes and let go of those thoughts with the shake of my head when I hear the doorbell ring. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, making sure that my cut-off denim shorts look good with my flowy Chanel white tee. Satisfied with my appearance, I fluff my hair one last time, smile, and make my way to open the door for him.
With his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, his brown hair perfectly messy, he looks scrumptious in a white linen shirt with its sleeves rolled all the way to the elbows. “Hel—”
Before Ronan even gets a chance to finish his sentence, I grab him by the forearm and pull him urgently toward me. Our chests flush against each other, I kiss him hungrily. Suddenly afraid, a necessity to make sure that he’s real and that he’s here, standing in front of me, takes over, and only his lips, his smell, and the feel of his body so close to mine will dissuade such need.
When we pull apart, our breathing is heavy, desire an invisible thread connecting us. In an unspoken agreement, we both take our time, savoring each other and not rushing things. But with each heated kiss and caress that we exchange, we test the limits of our sanity further and further, until control is almost nonexistent.
“Someone is happy to see me,” he says huskily, a slow smile appearing on his achingly beautiful face.
I stand on my tiptoes, wrap my arms around his neck, and rub my left cheek on his chest. “You have no idea. I’m in so much trouble it’s not even funny.” And I am. I’m in so much trouble because this man is making me doubt myself and my goals.
“Here, Blaire.” He places a finger under my chin and pushes it up until I get lost in his eyes. Lifting his hands, he buries them in my hair and pulls my face closer to his, our lips almost touching. Ronan traces the crests of my burning cheeks with his thumbs. “Babe, listen to me and listen carefully. If you’re in trouble, I’m fucked. I was a goner the moment you smiled at me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as much as I want you.”
Lost in his eyes, eyes that own me, I can feel my pulse shoot up to the stars. “You’re going to make me drown, you know?”
“I know … but I’m right there with you.”
I giggle. “We’re really fucked, huh?”
“Utterly fucked.”
I smile. He smiles. And the world disappears.
Oh, Ronan, how you make my heart glow.
Before we head out, I go to my bedroom to get my leather bag. As I’m about to grab it, I happen to look at my dresser where my perfume bottles are, and something I’ve forgotten all about since I met Ronan catches my eye. Lawrence. His business card beckons me like the light at the end of a dark tunnel. I pick it up and trace its sharp edges as vestiges of our last conversation flood my memory.
“I’ll be here when and if you’re ready. And I hope that you will be, Blaire. I truly do.”