I'd never craved a woman after she left my bed like I did with Leah. Days, weeks and now months after that night, I still remembered everything —her smell, the touch of her skin and the way she had trembled when she broke apart beneath me. It had to stop. I couldn't go on like this, obsessing about a woman I didn't want anything permanent with. I figured after one more night, maybe two, with her...and I'd be cured. I could move on with my life —without the beautiful blonde ghost following my every step. It was a good plan. It was goddamn brilliant. Soon, I'd be back to my normal self again, and I could put this crazy Leah business behind me.
I took a deep breath of air as the plane landed and made its way to the gate. We all filed out of the plane, and while I walked into the terminal, I swore I could hear laughter in my head. It was as if my conscience were saying, you think you're going to get off that easy?
Yeah, buddy I do.
I was so f**king wrong.
~Leah~
Looking into the bathroom mirror, I finished securing my blonde hair into a messy bun on the top my head and then I removed my makeup. I took a quick glance at my reflection, seeing the spitting image of my mother staring back at me and I sighed before shutting off the light and walking into my bedroom. My father always said I'd grow up to look just like her. Guess the bastard was right. The few pictures I had tucked away that I'd managed to steal from home were like staring into my own reflection. It was one giant reminder of what was left behind.
After slipping into my favorite robe and fuzzy slippers, I made a beeline for my modern small kitchen decorated shades of my favorite color —teal. I opened the freezer and pulled out the pint of rocky road that was currently calling my name.
It had been a long, emotional night. Watching social services walk in and eventually escort Connor out of the hospital was heartbreaking. They'd promised me they would take good care of him, and they really had been gentle and loving with him. They were going to follow through with trying to contact the family friends Connor mentioned. He told them their name and said they were the only other family he had. He wasn't even from here. He was visiting from out of state. I couldn't imagine how scared he must have been.
He had eventually agreed to be my friend. We'd sat quietly in that exam room for probably thirty minutes as I listened to him try to hide his tears.
Then he'd asked, "Do you have a Mommy?"
I'd answered, "No."
I'd told him I had lost my mommy when I was seven also. He'd asked if she died in a car crash, too. I'd just shook my head. He'd looked up at me with those big mesmerizing eyes so full of hurt and he leaped into my arms. He'd cried and cried, and I'd just let him, knowing he needed it. I'd held him for an hour as he'd let every last drop of moisture leak from his body. I knew the feeling. I remembered doing the same thing at the very same age. The only difference? I hadn't had anyone to hold me. I was so grateful that I could be that person for him. I just hoped there was someone else willing to take up where I'd left off.
He had shown me the picture he'd held so tightly to his body. The EMT had recovered it from the car before it had been towed away. It was a photo of him and his mother that had been attached to the sun visor. She stood behind him at what appeared to be a state fair of some sort. Carnival rides and food stands dotted the canvas behind them, and Connor held a giant cotton candy in his tiny hands. He was covered in blue sugar and his mom just smiled, not seeming to care that he was a giant mess. She was beautiful, a lot like him, but she had lighter hair and different colored eyes. They looked happy and so full of love.
I'd bitten my lip to keep the tears from falling down my cheek. He'd told me about the fair and the day his mom had taken him. He’d talked about the fun things they did and the trip they were supposed to take to Virginia to see his Mom's friend. I didn't know much about children, but being there with him had felt right. Giving him that chance to cry and talk about his mother with me had been all l I could give him in that short amount of time. I just hoped it had helped.
When I'd gotten home from my twelve-hour shift and my emotional evening, the only thing I'd wanted was ice cream, pajamas and a sappy romance movie. I loved chick flicks. They were my dirty little secret. I didn't even think Clare knew of my obsession. Yes, I'd given up on men...but in films, they were perfect. They always came through in the end, kept their promises and loved with every fiber of their being.
I loved seeing that moment when the man would hover, right before he leaned in to kiss a woman, and I found myself screaming, "Kiss her!! Kiss her!!"
Then he would, and it was just so toe curling, heart melting and good. I knew it was a movie magic lie, but the girl in me loved seeing it even if it weren't true. Although, I guessed a few men like this did exist. Logan loved Clare to the moon and back, but I think he was a special breed, and I didn't have the energy to comb through the male species looking for an anomaly anymore.
After walking from the kitchen to my living room, I snuggled down onto my comfy brown suede sofa, grabbed my favorite furry red fleece blanket and sighed in happiness. Who needed to date? This was perfect —Ice cream, fuzzy slippers and perfect men on film who didn't expect anything in return. Perfect.
Just as I hit Play on the Blu-ray player to watch Dirty Dancing for the four hundredth time, my doorbell rang. Confusion hit me as I looked at the clock. It was ten at night.
Who was ringing my doorbell at such a late hour? And since when did ten at night become so late? Damn, I was boring.
Who the hell could that be? I briefly hoped it was my hot new neighbor from three doors down needing to borrow a cup of sugar, but knowing my luck, it would probably be a punk-ass kid playing Ding-Dong ditch.
I threw off the blanket, and with the ice cream still in hand, I stormed to the door, slightly annoyed that I wasn't beginning my cha-cha lessons with Patrick Swayze at that moment.
I opened the front door, and froze.
Holy f**king hell.
Declan James. On my porch. Looking sexy as hell.
And I was...in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. Shit!
His hazel green eyes ran down my body, scanning my attire, lingering on my legs peeking through the parting of my robe, before stopping at my hand.
"Do you always eat ice cream in a coffee mug?" He leisurely leaned against my door frame.
He was sporting a cocky smile that had my hormones going haywire.
"What? Yes, the handle keeps my hand from getting cold," I blurted out.
Oh my God, why was he here? At my house. And holy hell, why did he have to smell so good?
"What the hell are you doing here?" I finally asked.