Man of My Dreams(86)
“I’m fine, Mia. We don’t need to go…”
“Oh, just shut up. When are you going to learn to trust that I know best?”
“If I trusted you to make all the decisions, you might be getting in that pick-up truck with your boyfriend right now.”
I slap his shoulder, miffed that he’s brought it up when it’s still so fresh.
“I’m kidding, Mia. I shouldn’t have said that and we’ll go to the hospital, but not because you said so, because it fucking hurts. That dude has a nasty right hook. You don’t just break another guy’s nose for anyone…you were special to him. I’m sure of it.”
This is so awkward. I don’t want to confide in Declan about Noah. That’s crossing a line. That’s what I have Grace for. I hope I still have Grace after all I’ve put her through these last few months.
On cue, she pulls up to the curb, unlocking the doors. “Hop in, you two.”
Declan opens the back door to Grace’s Volvo and ushers me in. I expect the door to close and for Declan to get in the front seat, beside Grace. Instead, he scoots me over and sits next to me in the back seat. Grace turns around smiling, “You’re going to make me your goddamn chauffeur? Some best friend.” She turns back to face the road, putting the car in drive.
I reach over the seat and squeeze Grace’s shoulder. “Thank you, Grace. You’re the bestest best friend in the entire world. The Thelma to my Louise.”
“The Kimmy to my DJ.”
“The Kelly to my Donna.”
Declan chimes in, breaking up the banter. “And I’m the Corey to your Topanga, now enough with the ‘90s trivia shit. Get me to the hospital so they can set this back in place. I don’t want a constant reminder of this night every time I look in the mirror.”
I do my best annoying baby talk impression. “Oh, my poor baby’s vain. You afraid you’ll lose those boyish good looks and the charm that goes with it?”
He loops his strong arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him. He nuzzles his face in my neck carefully, avoiding any direct contact with his nose. “I don’t give a shit what I look like as long as you don’t mind.”
I give in to the comfort of being back in my husband’s arms. This is where I belong. “Declan, you’re gorgeous, every woman’s dream. You stole my heart the minute you said my name in that library and it’s belonged to you, and only you, ever since. I think I need a matching tattoo…all those ones around your name. It’s always been you, my one and only.”
“Oh, you two make me sick.” Grace complains, as I flash a ridiculous smile at her through the rear view mirror.
“Shut up and drive.” I joke before hearing the faint beat of a familiar song coming from the radio. “Turn that up, Grace!”
Her hand hovers over the knob of the stereo as a huge smile stretches across her face.
“Is this your CD, Grace? What did you plan a soundtrack for our evening?” It’s too perfect for it to be coincidence.
“No, but if I could’ve this would have been it.”
Declan looks at me and laughs, understanding the connection Grace and I have to the song. The connection he and I have to the song.
Grace and I start belting out the words, channeling our best impersonations of Pat Benatar. By the time we get to the chorus, Declan’s joined in, with his own soulful, raspy twist on the meaningful words. Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better we belong, we belong, we belong together.
How could I have ever doubted us? Declan and I belonged together from that second he said my name in the library, maybe even before then. I listen to my husband singing the sweet words, his arms tangled around me—this is right where I belong.
My greedy hands roam his sweat-glistening body. I wrap my legs around his waist, and let him fill me up, slowly at first, inch by inch. I love when he teases me, when we have the time to play like this. I smile as it all comes into focus. I was a fun girl in my twenties, but I’m a confident woman in my thirties. A wicked grin splays across my heated face as I grip a fistful of his hair and whisper into his ear, “Harder.”
With a harsh thrust he answers my request, pounding into me and making me moan with the pleasure of deep penetration. He rocks into me, watching me, telling me with his eyes how much he loves me. He lifts my arm to his mouth to kiss my wrist, the place where I’ve branded myself with his name. It may have taken a while to make the right decision, but my body felt incomplete without it. “This thing is so fucking hot, Mia. You’re so fucking hot.”
How he can see me like this after so many years just floors me. I’m so goddamn lucky. I bring my hand up to his heart, loving the feel of the galloping underneath. I trace the tattooed shape around my name, in awe of how far we’ve come.