Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 (5 page)

“Go talk to Joe. He’s the one you should be apologizing to.”

I watched her dart away from me itching to grab her, pull her close to me, tell her I was desperate for her forgiveness. But I stayed rooted to my spot, sighing with a weight of something fierce and thick that felt like shame bubbling in my chest.

Her friends won’t speak to me either. It seems Layla’s intrusion in our fight has ripped quite the wedge between those girls. Mollie and Sayo are speaking to Layla, but Autumn is still not quite as chummy.

I only know this because Donovan has finally decided that he might fancy Layla and began to chat her up. She’s given my best mate small morsels of information, but little else.

My chest still hurts. My breathing is constricted and I quickly realized none of these ailments are physical. I miss Autumn. There, I said it. I miss her smile and her hair and the way she makes soft little moans in the back of her throat when she’s dead asleep.

She is killing me, but then, that has always been the case.

She will be the death of me.

McShane with her long, ginger hair that smelled like cotton candy one day and some weird flowery scent I can’t place the next.

McShane who kissed me back like she meant it, like she wanted more of me that day in the basement.

McShane who walked away hacked off when Morrison and I started throwing fists at each other after the match, when he got a bit too caveman for my liking. Pouncy bollocks. He deserved it. Telling me that McShane was his, that I needed to stay away from her.

And now, fecking now, she was blowing me off at this loud, obnoxious club.

I didn’t know what she was fussed about. Really, she should have thanked me. I was only looking after her. But try convincing that stubborn woman of anything.

“I haven’t needed a man since my dad skipped out on us,” she said. “And I got over the domineering caveman shit after Tucker. Now it only pisses me off.”

As though I needed telling. I saw who she is, how she is. I saw that she’s strong, that she’s capable. But fuck me if I couldn’t seem to quell the need to look after her anyway, to protect her. What was it about this girl? Why couldn’t I stay away?

And why the hell did she have to look so damn gorgeous?

I watched her dancing with her friends across the club. She kept downing drinks, Scotch of all things, as though it was water. Her hips moving in that tight dress called to me, had my eyes swaying from her face and lingering there far longer than seemed decent.

But to hell with her if she thought I’d chase after her. I did have some pride, you see.

She moved to the beat, swaying here and there, against her pissed friends, hammered to shite. They danced together with liquid ease, their bodies touching, bouncing, grazing against each other and it was all I could do to keep from running across the club and pulling McShane to me; to have her nestled against my chest, her hot breath moistening my neck.

Shite.

I shouldn’t have been thinking of that. Not just then. Not there, not when I’d had too much drink. Not when I could still smell her on my shirt. Not an hour before, I’d stood behind her, her round, perfect arse fitting like a glove against me, her hair brushing against my nose.

But then, she got hacked off, walked away. Just a bit ago, I caught her gaze, but didn’t smile at her. The air became thick and I swore I could feel a heavy pulse travel between our glances. I loved the way she frowned, how she tried so completely to seem annoyed, fearsome. The look was vicious, as though she could kill me with the slightest lower of her eyelids. Her raspy voice from moments before came back to me.
“I am most certainly not a girl.”

Fuck me, didn’t I know it.

The way she moved, the smooth sway of her hips, that voice ringing over and over in my head, I was utterly spent by her. Just watching her frown, those bright gray eyes boring across the crowd…it all made me impossibly hard.

I moved to the railing, leaned over it hoping no one caught how tight my trousers had gotten. I couldn’t make my eyes leave her, couldn’t help but love her scowl, the heat coming from her. She turned, ignored me and yet I did nothing but watch her, like some sort of barmy creeper. She traded partners with her drunk blonde friend; moved her hips against one pouncy wanker after another and finally I had to move away, to get a breath, stop watching her.

I was nearly to the loo and out of Autumn’s sight when a thin blonde from my Chemistry class grabbed onto my arm, tripped into me, likely pie-eyed, and I caught her in my arms.

“Easy there,” I said, eager to push her groping hands off of me.

She giggled and damn, I couldn’t make my eyes jump away from her chest. It was impossible to miss; likely very fake, but huge; and over the booze, this girl smelled good. Not nearly as good as Autumn, mind, but still quite nice.

“Declan, right?” she said, brushing against me.

I looked up, over her head and watched Autumn grind against some thick cretin. Fuck her. She didn’t want me, didn’t need me. I might as well have a bit of fun.

“Yeah,” I said looking down at the too thin girl in my arms. Nothing much there, aside from the inflated tits; no curves, nothing much to hold on to, but her face was nice, pretty, and her lips were full.

“I’m Heather. We take Miller’s CHEM 101 together.”

I nodded, flippant, not very interested. But when the lights in the club lowered, and smoke wafted thick around the crowd, I caught this girl’s eyes, and knew instantly that she didn’t want me to release her. And I thought,
okay, McShane, two can play at this game.

“Dance with me, love.”

Heather giggled, nodded quick and I had to keep myself from rolling my eyes. Calling American girls ‘love,’ does something to their libidos. Seems to have them panting and wet like you’ve just recited a fecking sonnet.

She moved against me easily and I was surprised at how strong she was, how determined. Her hands were all over me, grabbing, pulling and I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Heather’s lips smooched up my neck, her long fingers gripped the hair at the back of my neck, but I held her off. I felt how eager she was when her tongue flicked out to taste my skin. It was laughable how obvious she was.

But then I lifted my eyes up, straight to that gorgeous ginger across the floor, and noticed the way she watched me, knew she and her drunk friend were talking about me; both sets of eyes raking over my face, at how I held Heather close to my chest.

I exchanged a look with Autumn. There was something angry in her eyes, maybe jealousy, and I laughed to myself at the mad, dithering moods this woman had. One minute she hated me, the next she’d snog me rotten—or so I wanted to believe.

When Heather moaned, moving her thick lips up my jaw, I pushed her back, offered her a quick, placating smile. “Excuse me, love. I’ve got something to do.”

I lied. I had zero bleeding pride.

Autumn stumbled, clearly drunk, but I was there and just as her feet twisted again, I caught her around the waist, moved her to my chest.

I hoped she wouldn’t refuse me, or try to bark at me again. I didn’t really feel like hearing the same shite over and over. I wondered if I felt as good to her as she did to me. That glorious, tight body against mine, her round, beautiful tits rubbing against me, had me staggering and made me harder and harder.

“Be nice, now,” I said. I took in a whiff of her scent, moving my nose against her neck, pressing her closer as we moved together in some drunken, likely inappropriate dance.

Autumn gave me this look, as though she was arguing with herself, with the sense in all of this; she and I together, coming back and forth, yelling and snogging, fussing and being unable to stay away from each other. It was fecking ridiculous, really, but we were drawn to each other, though I doubted her stubborn arse would ever admit to that.

When I kept my eyes trained on her; on the soft contours of her face, the smooth slope of her cheeks, the cascade of endless freckles, I watched her swallow and turn, nestling her back against me and I could only grab her waist, fit my fingers against her as though that’s where they were always meant to be.

She fit me so well and yet I wasn’t sure I liked the sensation she worked in me. I’m not sure I could stand how strongly I wanted to possess her, how I wanted her to own me completely; how I couldn’t have stomached kissing Heather, kissing anyone but Autumn.

This was fecking unreal.

I ignored those thoughts and the desperate, impractical need to claim her, by moving my fingers all over her body, but then she arched her neck, though I doubt it was an invitation, and my mouth came down instinctively, moved on her skin in a soft kiss. It was all I could do not to lick her, just there in the space where her long neck and shoulder connected. My touch had her rearing around, staring at me. She wasn’t angry, that much I could tell. Autumn moved up her eyebrow, a question, an unspoken curiosity.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“This is more of that too much friendliness behavior we talked about.”

I’d had enough of this. I didn’t know how fecking clearer I could be. Didn’t she feel me, hard against her? Didn’t she notice how every touch I made against her was purposeful? Didn’t she see the heat in my eyes, hear the low moans from my throat that I couldn’t always hold back?

Friendliness? Bugger that.

I turned her, made sure to press my hips against her and held her face in my hands.

“I’m not your fecking friend, McShane.”

And I took her mouth. I made sure she knew this wasn’t a flirty, friendly kiss. I didn’t mean it to be. I was determined. I moved my mouth against hers, slipped my tongue in without waiting for permission. Right then, I owned Autumn McShane’s mouth. And she owned mine.

I put thought into the kiss. I told her with the long slide of my tongue against hers that I wanted her, that I was desperate for her. I wanted her to claim me. I wanted us naked, working our bodies together in frenzied plunges, in desperate, needy movements.

I wanted to feel her skin against my hands, my mouth.

I wanted her wrapped around me, clenching the life out of me; possessing me with those nimble fingers, with those sure arms.

I felt her hesitation and broke away, giving her the chance to breathe; curled my arms around her, told her without a word how much I needed her. And then, finally, she kissed me back and I didn’t care that there were people everywhere watching us. I didn’t care that her friends could see how I touched her, how my mouth worked over her lips when Autumn’s tongue pushed deeper into my mouth.

God, what was she doing to me?

I needed her to myself, to be away from eyes I knew were watching, invading. I moved my mouth down her neck, so that I could whisper against her ear.

“Come with me.”

There were places we could go here away from the dancing crowd, towards chairs and sofas already occupied. But I wanted a dark corner; I needed seclusion so I could be blinded by her body, by her touch.

She didn’t protest when I pushed her against the wall, just near the exit. Her pale skin and gray eyes reflected the red sign above us, but I didn’t take time to linger on it. I only wanted to devour her, taste her again and again.

For a moment I watched her expression, made certain she wouldn’t refuse me. I couldn’t have her thinking anytime I get a little pie-eyed that I was incapable of controlling myself. But she did kiss me back. I knew she wanted me. I tried for composure, for some small semblance that she didn’t unhinge me completely, but then she bit her full bottom lip and it was all I could do not to take her, right there against the wall. Instead, I grabbed her face again and moved my mouth over hers.

She tasted so fecking sweet.

I took my time, savoring the taste of her lips, the slight brush of our tongues mingling together. I wanted to touch her everywhere, to have her touch me right back and mean it when I pulled her against me and cupped her full, lovely arse in my hand.

I thought she might protest. The last time I touched her like this, she had put me on the ground and I ended up cupping my freshly injured dick. “Not going to knee me again, are you?”

But Autumn gave as good as she got and my body shuddered when she smiled and said, “Do it again.”

Fecking hell.

God how I wanted her. Right then. Right there, but, wait. No. Not like that. Not there around all those nosey gits. Not when both of us were pie-eyed to hell. I took a breath, slow, easy and prayed she wouldn’t slap me. “My God, I’m dying here.” Another breath against her neck to calm the thundering of my heart. “I want to be inside you,” I whispered, closing my eyes at the image of just that thing playing vividly in my imagination. Why the hell was I being fecking rational? “But I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”

I didn’t like the way she pushed back from me. I especially didn’t like the wonky little wobble of her legs or how pale her face became.

She was going to knee me. I knew it. Instinctively, I covered myself, backed away from her.

“Shite, don’t get mad, McShane—”