Man of My Dreams(6)

“Mind if I pull up a chair, Mia?”

“I would love that…” I trail off, hoping he’ll put a name to his flawless face.

“Declan. Sorry, my name’s Declan.”

Mmmm. Even his name is delicious. I’ve never heard of a Declan before, but it’s so different. So intriguing. So sexy.

He sits next to me at our hidden table in the library, and my roommate, Whitney, eyes me knowingly. “I’m pretty much done here. I’m heading back to the dorms. Catch you later?”

“Sure thing, Whitney.” I discreetly wink over my shoulder, promising to fill her in on all the details later.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your studying, but when I saw you here I just couldn’t ignore you.” He’s leaning against his chair, one arm hung nonchalantly over the back. But there is nothing nonchalant about the way his eyes are roaming me.

“You’re not interrupting, Declan.” Wow, I really like saying his name! “And I wasn’t really studying, more like wasting time.” I’d rather be wasting time with you than with Introduction to Ethics.

“Well then I’m glad I got up the nerve to finally come talk to you.”

“Finally?”

He looks down at his hands; they’re mangled together in knots. Oh my goodness, he’s nervous. How cute. “Yeah, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’ve wanted to talk to you since I spotted you at orientation.”

I can’t hide my surprise at his admission. My voice goes an octave too high, “Since orientation? Last year? It took you a whole year to build up the nerve to talk to me?” I feel bad for sounding so amused, but really, a year? I’m nothing special. I can’t believe he’s been pining over me that long.

“No,” he flashes a smile.

I melt.

“Not since last year. Since last month. I’m a freshman. I take it you’re not?”

Hello stupid mouth, how do you like the taste of my foot? I should’ve known a guy as hot as this one wouldn’t have waited around a whole year to talk to someone like me! For the first time since the start of this conversation I’m the one who’s nervous. “Oh…I…I just assumed you were a sophomore too. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, tilting his head back and brushing back a piece of his dark, wavy hair with his large hands. “Nothing to be sorry about. I get that a lot. I guess I won’t have a problem getting into the local bars then.”

How could he have a problem getting in anywhere? “No, no…probably not.” I am practically stammering, and decide to change the subject to gain back some control. “So, Declan the freshman, what made today different than the last thirty?”

He leans closer to me, and any prayer of being in control in such close proximity to this beautiful boy is out the damn window. “I decided I was tired of not knowing you anymore. There was this voice in my head telling me I have to get to know you.”

Okay, either that’s his pick up line or he’s just the sweetest thing alive. And the voices in his head—kudos to them. “Oh really? Well, what is the voice in your head telling you now?” I arch an eyebrow, hoping this voice is on the same page I’m on.

He leans back in his chair, devouring me with his eyes again. “It’s telling me to ask you out.”

I force myself to take a mental step back. I’ve spent the last year messing around with random nobodies in the hopes of sowing my oats and enjoying my freedom. But Declan and his delicious offer have me uncharacteristically hoping for all the things I never thought I wanted at my age. A steady boyfriend to cuddle during movies with, to lounge around and study with, to hold hands with…to fall in love with.

“Well? Are you going to leave me hanging all day? Or maybe make me wait another month?” Declan interrupts my silent fairytale imaginings with a coy grin, one corner of his delectable mouth turned upward.

“Declan, I don’t know you from Adam, but I can’t bring myself to say no.”

“So is that a yes?” His ice-blue eyes are wide, sparkling with excitement.





On our first date, five days later, Declan takes me to The Alibi, an off-campus lounge-type place that hosts open mic nights and live bands. Luckily for us, they also accommodate the underage crowd. He couldn’t have known it, but this is exactly my type of scene. Tonight there’s a cover band playing their own interpretations of everything ranging from the hits of the ‘80s to Pearl Jam and Matchbox Twenty.

Declan ushers me to a booth with a clear shot of the stage. We order drinks and fries, and I tap my foot, singing along to Rick Springfields’s Jesse’s Girl. Declan excuses himself from the table and my guess is he’s headed to the men’s room. But when I see him over at the stage, talking to one of the band members, I can’t help but wonder what he’s up to. He looks over at me with a devilish grin and a raised index finger, signaling that he’ll be a minute.