Man of My Dreams Page 3

  “Wow!” He says to me, wiping away the remains of my lipstick from my mouth with his thumb.

  “Wow is an understatement. Incredibly, breathtakingly awesome is more like it.”

  Back in my dorm room, we can’t keep our hands off each other. So much for that movie. It never even made it into the DVD player. But it looks like my plan to have my way with Declan is working. I’m so glad Whitney is spending the night at her boyfriend’s apartment. No room for interruptions tonight.

  “Mia. Wait. Stop.”

  Declan’s hands are in my hair, his lips still trailing kisses on my neck. No, don’t stop that.

  “What? What’s the matter?” I say, panting, trying to unbutton his jeans.

  “It’s our first date. There’s plenty of time for…for our first time.”

  I’m starting to wonder if his choice of song was the right one.

  “Declan, I thought we made it clear back at the bar that we wanted each other. This is me wanting you.” My eager hands find their way back to his pants, but are stopped by Declan’s firm grip on my wrists.

  He places my arms at my side, and we sit up on the bed, regaining normal breaths. He lifts his hands up to my face and cups my chin with one, pushing my bangs out of my eyes with the other. “Mia, I want you. I’ve never wanted someone so badly…ever. But…”

  “But what, Declan? It seems simple to me. I want you, you want me. What more is there to know?”

  He pauses, looking down at his fidgeting legs. “I’m a virgin, Mia.”

  Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. How could a man who just serenaded me with one of the sexiest songs I’ve ever heard and who kisses the way he does be a virgin? Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe—

  “I’m sorry I just blurted it out like that, and you have no idea how embarrassing this is to admit to you. I definitely want this...and you. Just not tonight. I want to get to know you better.”

  If this isn’t the role reversal of the century, I don’t know what is. It’s not that I think it’s weird—I was a virgin as a freshman too. But Declan? He’s gorgeous, he exudes sex. How the hell has he not had sex before?

  I realize I still haven’t said anything and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. So instead of acting the way a horny guy would, I think with my head instead of the throbbing sensation aching between my legs. “Okay. We’ll wait. But can we still make out? I don’t think I can wait to have those lips on mine again.”

  He cups my face with his hands and pulls my mouth toward his. “Oh, God. I thought you’d never ask.”

  My face is pressed up against a pillow, strands of long golden hair splayed out across the smooth, silken sheets. His hands reach underneath me to grope my breasts, his fingers bringing my nipples to beaded peaks.

  “Please, baby. I can’t wait any longer,” I beg.

  His tight erection skims the cheeks of my ass and then, with one quick tilt on my behalf, the long hardness nestles between my silky moist folds. My body instinctively opens for him, allowing his entrance and I moan with gratitude as he guides his way inside.

  I clutch fistfuls of sateen sheets, stifling moans with the pillow. I know I need to be quiet, so I whisper his name. “Noah…it’s so good, baby.”

  Unexpectedly, the sensation is gone and I lift my head to look over my shoulder, bewildered, before I let out a satisfying gasp. His mouth has taken over and the wetness of his tongue on my equally wet flesh is pure ecstasy. His slick movements are erratic, alternating between sweet, gentle suction and rampant, greedy licking. His expert-like ministrations cause an earth-shattering ripple to shudder throughout my body. I revert back to grabbing the sheets as the intense tremors build even more, coiling deep within.

  His tongue teases and then stiffens, breaching into me, unraveling the last of me. I pant into the pillow, replete, satisfied, on cloud nine and then I hear the laughter.

  “Good morning, babe.”

  It takes a second to register that the voice coming from between my legs isn’t Noah’s, but my husband’s. Oh my God, not again. Thank God, I never screamed out his name.

  Or did I?

  “Declan, what the hell are you doing?” I spin around, landing on my back and pull the covers over me.

  “Giving you the wake-up call you deserve,” he replies, licking his lips.

  “Are you nuts? What time is it? The girls could have….”

  “Don’t worry about the girls. They’re both still sound asleep. Me on the other hand, I’m wide awake.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down and points to the massive erection that’s created a tent in his flannel pajama bottoms.

  I pull him up to me and he collapses on his pillow, next to mine. “I can’t believe you did that while I was still sleeping. What the hell gave you that –wait, have you been snooping through my romance novels again?”

  Declan can’t contain his laughter. I slap a hand across his mouth, shushing him. “Shh! Let them sleep.” I nibble his ear, inching my hand into his PJs. “You started it, now let me finish it.”

  An hour later downstairs in the kitchen, Declan turns to the girls, stirring his pancake concoction of bananas and chocolate chips. “So what do you ladies want to do today?”

  “Can we go see Santa?” Cara looks up from cartoons first to tell us of her Saturday afternoon idea.

  Charlie immediately disagrees, “No! Mommy, I scared. I don’t want to see Santa!”

  “Charlie, if we don’t see him he won’t know whatta bring us for Christmas. You wanna get another baby doll? Come on!”

  Declan and I laugh at Cara’s unrepressed honesty. The kid wants her chance to plead with the big guy. I think this year it’s Barbie’s Dream House she has her heart set on.

  “Charlie, if we go to the mall to see Santa you don’t have to sit on his lap. Cara can tell him what you want. Is that okay?” Declan flips another pancake, trying to reason with the ever-unreasonable two-year-old.

  Charlie plays with the idea in her head, her little mouth crunched up in a tight pout, her teeny nose crinkled up. “Okay, Daddy.”

  I guess we’re off to the mall today—should be fun fighting the holiday crowd with a double stroller. I can hardly hide my excitement. Just another day in the not-so-glamorous life of a housewife. But maybe if I sacrifice what could have been a peaceful Saturday afternoon and suck it up, I can be rewarded later. I immediately scoot over to Declan, my enthusiastic hands around his waist.

  “Babe, want to see if your parents will sit later tonight? I’ll call Grace and see if someone can watch Brandon, too. The four of us haven’t been out for a non-Applebee’s meal in way too long.” I don’t even give Declan a chance to answer, my fingers already mid-text.

  “I don’t know, Mia. I’ve been so beat lately. My eyes start to shut by nine o’clock. I guess we’re getting old.”

  Shot down, just like that? “Speak for yourself, buddy. I still feel like a teenager. And what happened to the benefits of marrying a younger man? I should be the one passed out by nine.” In the good old days, we wouldn’t even head out to our first destination until ten, eleven o’clock. Now, and especially lately, I’m lucky if Declan isn’t snoring before the kids are even down for the night.

  He places the first batch of pancakes at the center of the table, the steam spiraling up out of the scrumptious looking pile. The girls reach over, licking their little lips, and I place one pancake on each of their plates. As I start cutting them into bite-size bits, I try to think of a way to coerce Declan to wine and dine his wife tonight.

  “Babe, I really want to get out. Look at me...” I flip my flat, hanging hair and pull at a piece of the threadbare cotton drooping off my legs, “I’ve resorted to ponytails and sweatpants, Dec. It’s become my flipping uniform. If we go, I can pick up something new to wear while we’re at the mall. Something sexy,” I wink. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  Now if I were a guy, and I saw the desperate I-need-a-night-out-look I’m giving my husband, I would race over to my wife, tell her how beautiful
she is and promise her the date night she so desires. But Declan is a guy—he doesn’t think like a woman and that’s not what he’s about to do.

  He rubs his face, paying close attention to his temples, and lets out a long sigh, “Fine. But you make the arrangements and I can’t promise I won’t be yawning by the time the appetizers come. And don’t you and Grace get any after party ideas. Dinner and home. It’s been a crazy week.”

  Oh thank you, Mr. Take-All-the-Fun-Out-of-Everything! Even though I want to kid him about his lack of enthusiasm, the idea of eating in peace, in a restaurant that’s not a chain, with adult conversation—I cannot suppress the deafening squeal that comes next.

  “Thanks, babe. I’ll go make the calls now. Give them some syrup. I’ll be right back.”

  After phone calls to my generous in-laws and Grace, I’ve set the plans in motion. I make reservations at our favorite Mexican restaurant and hop into the kitchen, dreaming of frozen sangrias and fresh enchiladas.

  Okay, so the mall wasn’t a total flop like I’d expected it to be. The girls took adorable pictures with Santa; Charlie actually sat on his lap. Declan got a book he’s been wanting, and I got this super sexy mini dress that I can’t believe I fit in. Stretch marks and muffin top concealed, I’m rocking it.

  “You look so good, Mia. Trying to get lucky tonight, huh?” Grace jokes with me while the guys are at the bar ordering drinks.

  “Trying, not necessarily happening though. Declan already warned me that he would be tired tonight. I thought the ‘I’m tired’ thing was an excuse uninterested housewives made. I’m totally off my game these days.” I glance down at the basket of tortilla chips begging to be plunged in salsa.

  “Oh shut it. You’re insane and you’re not off your game. This is what happens after kids, chicky. I can’t remember the last time Eric and I did it. Come to think of it, I should tell him to get me two sangrias—up his chances for a roll in the hay.”

  Our shoulders shake with silent laughter, but I can’t help feeling disappointed, though I’m not even sure why. “Well our last time was this morning. Declan woke me up with a rather dexterous surprise. I really can’t complain.” I wink at Grace and give in to the chip that’s calling my name.

  “So why are you then?”

  “I don’t know, Grace. He’s been weird lately. I know life isn’t a fairytale, but Declan once was my prince. He’s been distant. I know the kids are a lot to handle, and I know he’s stressed being the sole provider for our family, but…”

  Grace leans over to squeeze my hand. I take that as my cue to gear up for the pep talk she’s always been so good at dishing out. “But nothing, Mia. Everything’s fine, you’re just reading too much into it. You’re stuck in the monotony of motherhood, that’s all it is. Maybe you two should go on a mini vacation. Just the two of you.”

  Dalai Lama strikes again. I want her to be right. I want to suggest this to Declan. The thought of a weekend of talking and cuddling and making love whenever and wherever we please has me mulling over names of nearby cities and hotels, but I just can’t shake this feeling that something’s bugging him. He’s distant and I don’t like it. But I can’t dwell on it or solicit advice from Grace much longer because the guys are heading back to us with our very large drinks.

  As the men approach and extend our frosty cocktails to us, Grace blurts out, “Dec, your wife looks hot tonight. Don’t ya think?”

  I kick Grace under the table, causing her to wince. Subtle, Grace, real subtle. Declan sits down next to me, adjusts his seat and places his arm around my bare shoulders. Even this little bit of familiar contact relaxes me. That’s where his arm belongs—forever around his girl.

  “Yes, Grace, but she always looks hot.” He bows down to kiss the top of my head, then nuzzles his nose in my hair. “Even when she’s in uniform.”

  I giggle at the private joke and the way his breath tickles my ear. I flashback to the way his breath tickled my thigh this morning and a sudden throbbing invades my panties. Okay, so maybe I was imagining things. The effect this man has on me—no amount of time or number of kids can take that away.

  “Oh, God. You two make me sick.” Grace winks at me, and I know with the mere blink of her smoky eye she is reiterating the wise words she spoke moments ago.

  Over our meals we talk a little about the kids and their latest antics. Charlie recently shocked us by pouring a whole glass of apple juice over Cara’s head because her sister took her favorite crayon while they were coloring. Instead of reprimanding her the way a normal mother would, I busted out in laughter at the sight of a stunned Cara with drops of juice trickling off of her curly blond hair. Every set of sisters aren’t necessarily meant to be best friends. Sometimes mine are, but most days they fight like WWE wrestlers.

  Grace’s son Brandon, on the other hand, is an angel. He was born right in between Cara and Charlie, and when the three of them are together, we can’t separate them without prying their tiny grips off each other. I don’t know what’s making Grace wait to have another. Then again, she hears me complaining about being outnumbered all day so it’s probably my fault.

  I want to change the direction of the conversation. We came out to get away from the kids, not talk about them all night, but before I have the chance Eric steals Declan’s attention with an ear full of questions about Eric’s recent guitar lesson. It seems Eric has all the time in the world for new hobbies, but, by the looks of Grace’s ragged nails and frayed cuticles, she can’t get away from her son long enough for a quick manicure once in a while. But, if I know Grace, and I do, it’s okay. She would say that these are the things we forgo as doting wives and privileged, stay-at-home moms. There is no ‘me time’ anymore. It’s a sad price to pay, but so worth it.

  “Well, looks like we’ve lost them to their rock star fantasies.” I say, nudging Grace. It’s just a matter of time before Declan and Eric are doing their best air-guitar impressions.

  It’s cute though. I’m happy that my best friend’s husband and my husband are friends. Grace gave me her blessing the second she heard about how Declan sang to me on our first date. We lucked out, all around, when we found out that Declan grew up not far from the town Grace and I called home. It meant everyone would stay intact, parents, siblings and best friends wouldn’t have to trek it ‘cross country for holidays and special events. I’d hoped then that Grace would meet and marry a local guy too. So, when she met Eric, who happened to have grown up four blocks away from us, I was ecstatic, only worried that our happy tricycle of a friendship would be headed for an uncomfortable overhaul. But Eric fit right in and the rest is history.

  “You know, there’s a karaoke bar right up the street. We can head over there after dinner.”

  I’m so glad Grace makes the suggestion—maybe Declan won’t dismiss her the way he did me earlier with his threat of ‘just dinner and home.’ I peer at him with expectant anticipation, and for a second I think he’s about to agree, but he purses his lips and the hopefulness vanishes, just like that.

  “Nah, Grace. Not tonight.”

  Not tonight. I wonder how many more times I’ll have to hear that irksome phrase before my suspicions that something’s not kosher eats away at me.

  “You’re such a loser, Mia. Every other college sophomore is spending their spring break in Mexico or in some other hedonistic, drunken foam party. Why, for the love of Zack Morris, are you home with your parents?”

  Grace nagged over Christmas break to no avail to get me to book a trip to Cancun in hopes that if I went, her parents would cave in and let her go too. But even though my parents had no problem with it, Declan and I chose this week to drive back and forth to our hometowns to meet each other’s friends and family. I can’t help but stare past Grace, at the clock, mentally counting the hours until he arrives here tomorrow.

  “You’re just mad you don’t get to flaunt around in a bikini while MTV films you making a fool of yourself. That’s not my scene and now that Declan and I are serious, it’s not
something he’d want me to do.”

  Grace transforms from a rag doll slumped on the side of my bed to one of those Grenadier guards outside Buckingham Palace. “Oh, so now you do what he tells you to do?”

  “No, crazy. It’s not like that at all. I think I love him, Grace. He very well might be THE ONE. And I know it seems fast, and sudden, and we’re still so young, but I’m not messing this up. This is what I want.” And it is what I want. I never thought I’d be saying these words at twenty years old. I wanted to ‘see the world,’ study abroad, even kiss a lot of frogs, but Declan changed all of that and I’m fine with it. I’m more than fine with it—I’m sure that he walked into that library because destiny picked him to be the man of my dreams.

  “Like I said, loser… loo-sa-er.”

  I snort at her Dumb and Dumber reference and hope that she’ll stop bugging me now. “That’s a lovely accent you have there. New Jersey?” It’s her turn to laugh at my quote from the same movie. When she does, I know the spring break issue is dropped.

  “So, Mr. Wonderful doesn’t get here until tomorrow. Are you free to be my best friend tonight?” Grace mindlessly helps me unpack my suitcase, sorting out the dirty from the clean.

  “Yes. Tonight I’m all yours. What do you want to do?”

  Uh, oh. I know that look. I’m not sure I’m ready for her suggestion. “Think Friday night, two years ago.”

  I know she can’t be talking about laser tag, so she can only mean The Room, the place where every high school junior or senior went on a Friday night. The Room looked like an old comfortable basement. Cushy couches, ping pong and pool tables, and even a bunch of televisions set up with different gaming consoles. Back then we all thought it was an ingenious idea, but now it seems kind of…childish. Truth is we’re stuck right in the middle of too old and too young. Too old for Nintendo and Sega, but too young for alcohol and clubbing.