Man of My Dreams (28 page)

She tucks some of the shiny golden hairs behind her ear, peering up at me through thick, long lashes.

I drop a hand on the back of her chair. “You’re Mia, right?” There’re those big baby browns again. The ones that took my breath away that first day I saw her. I can tell she’s surprised that I know her name. If she only knew the lengths I’d gone to find out. But it was all worth it for the smile she’s gifting me with right now. I want to be the reason she smiles like that all the time.

When I ask if I can pull up a chair, she doesn’t even hesitate. I sit then swivel around, looking in the direction of Carl a few tables over. Stupid SOB is about to eat his words and hand over that ridiculous fake ID. I’ll be doing him a favor, actually; he won’t be fooling anyone with it.

Mia’s roommate gets up from the table, leaving us alone. The conversation, in all its flirty brilliance, goes so smooth I feel like freaking Johnny Depp. Her sweet laughter warms my insides in a way that reminds me of home cooked meals. In ten minutes of speaking to this girl, I’m ready to throw the idea of freshman-year bachelordom in front of a train. Carl had talked me into trying to hook up with as many random chicks as possible in our first year here, but Mia makes me hungry for something else. Something way more serious than a dumb notch on a belt.

I hooked up a lot in high school, nothing significant. But I ended up dating one girl for the majority of senior year. I might have even loved Megan Briggs. She was popular, beautiful and the life of the party. Unfortunately, she planned on carrying on that tradition throughout her college years and decided she wanted to do it without a boyfriend to drag her down. For the first time in my life, I felt heartbroken. It’s not like I’d expected to carry on a long distance relationship and marry the girl, but I did think we’d have the summer to say our goodbyes.

In a way, Megan did me a favor. She prepared me for the next girl to come along. The next girl that would undoubtedly steal my heart. And right now I hate thinking about Megan Briggs while staring at that girl. Thank you very much, but screw you too Megan Briggs.

Without sounding schizo, I tell Mia something about voices in my head urging me to talk to her. She giggles, sending my heart into funny samba-like moves inside my rib cage. When she registers the contentment on my face she asks, “What is the voice in your head telling you now?”

Here’s your chance, Declan. Say it now or risk dropping the ball, fumbling the pass, dodging the...
Yeah, yeah—the voice is getting fucking annoying now. I lean back in my chair, praying to baby Jesus that I look calm and cool, instead of all worked up and nervous as hell of rejection. “It’s telling me to ask you out.”

Her eyes brighten again, but she’s silent. She takes a long pause. The library becomes painfully quiet. My mouth itches to say, “You’re killing me, Smalls.” But instead I come up with something a little more charming than a quote from
The
Sandlot.

When her mouth forms the prettiest damn smile I’ve ever seen and she speaks the spectacular three-letter word, “Yes!” I resist the urge to jump up off the chair and pump my fist in the air, like fucking Rudy did at the end of the big Notre Dame game. What the fuck’s with my head and all these movie references right now? This is real life! And in real life the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on has just agreed to go out with me.

“Favorite color.”

“Purple.” I’d pegged her for a pink girl. “My turn. Favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Mint chocolate chip.” We’d covered birthdays, colors, and subjects in school, but I still wanted to know more because I had a plan for a first date that would knock her socks off. “Enough with the girly crap, important stuff now. Favorite band.” If Carl were here listening to this shit he would have hurled, or hired a stripper to fuck the man back into me. I never pictured myself as one of those guys talking to a girl for hours over the phone, lying on the bed, staring up the ceiling, but that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. I’m one step away from doodling little squiggly hearts in a goddamned notebook.
Shit!
I’m fucking doomed.

“Oh, that’s easy. Third Eye Blind. Stephen Jenkins is hot!”

I know she’s talking about a celebrity, but I don’t like her thinking another guy is hot. “Oh, really? Can’t be that hot, I haven’t even heard of them.”

“Are you serious?
Jumper, How’s It Going to Be, Semi-Charmed Life
? You’ve had to have heard at least
one
of those.”

Of course I had, but I liked hearing her this worked up—so passionate about something. “Nope.”

“Wow, Declan. Are you living under a rock? You’d love them, they’re very alternative/grunge-inspired, so…sexy. Ohmygod, me and Grace went to their concert over the summer and it was like, life-changing. When he sang
The Background
we both cried like babies.”

“Over a song?”

“Oh shut up! I take it you’re not a music lover then, huh?”

That’s where she’s wrong. I fucking love music—listening to it, singing it, playing it. I could sit there and fiddle with riffs and chords on a guitar all day long and be content. But she didn’t need to know that yet. It was all part of the master plan. “No, I like music, but usually when a girl talks about how
hot
the lead singer is that really means they’re some bubble-gum boy-band with a one hit wonder.”

And that’s where I was wrong.

After that phone conversation and hearing her talk about how those songs made her feel something, I ran out and bought the CD. To my surprise, aside from the popular radio hits I’d known, the band started to grow on me. Especially one track in particular. The track that brought it all into play.

My plan all along was to take Mia to The Alibi for our first date. My buddy Travis’ band headlines on Saturday nights. For the layman, that translates as: my roommate’s older brother—who has the most kick-ass band on College Row—has agreed to let me sing a song for my date. Before I knew about her favorite band, I’d asked Travis’ advice for a song that would make a good impression but also send her a clear message. His suggestion was predictable, way too karaoke-ish. After nearly giving in and settling on the Bon Jovi ballad, I’d come across track number eleven,
I Want You.

“Dude, you sure you can learn this by Saturday?”

Travis looks up at me from tuning his guitar with the look of death. “Yes, lover boy, it’s not that hard. Even if it is a pansy ass song.”

“Pansy ass? The guy’s singing about how much he wants this girl, all sultry and shit, how is that pansy ass?” Now
I’m
defending the band? Mia just has that effect on me—I want to like what she likes.

“Come on. Let’s try it out. Grab the mic and do your best…
sultry
.” Burn! Travis is never gonna let me live this one down.

Doesn’t matter, because after memorizing the lyrics and ingraining them into my soul, I am dead set on singing these words to my new girl.

I dig deep, really letting the lyrics take over. This is what Mia meant by life-changing, and I know it all too well—allowing words and emotions to flood your consciousness and pump through your veins, make you feel goddamn invincible. Bottle this shit up, it’s like a drug!

When I’m done with the first rehearsal, Travis looks at me with an eyebrow cocked and his mouth slightly agape. “Damn, Dec. You’re so gonna get laid.”

So, yeah, I know it seems outlandish—serenading a girl I’ve only known a week in front of most of the school, on our very first date. But it doesn’t take a genius, or more than a week, to see that Mia is not just some girl. She’s
the
girl. I might have known this that day in the library, but our phone conversations and minor run-ins this week have solidified it. She’s take-home-to-mom, put-a-ring-on-her-finger, mother-of-my-children material.

And I haven’t even kissed her yet.

I excuse myself from our booth at The Alibi and Mia is none-the-wiser as I bee-line it for the stage. When I hop up and join the band, I focus my spotlight-blinded gaze on my date. I expect her to be nervous, maybe even a slight bit mortified, but she looks...ready.
Score for me!
I think it’s safe to assume this date will go down in history as her most impressive one yet. Unless having a guy sing to you, in public, is the kind of thing she’s used to happening on a first date.

I clear my throat and say a silent prayer that I can do her favorite band some fucking justice. The bass guitarist, Josh, starts the intro and the adrenaline pumping through my veins fuels me. By the time I get to the chorus of the song, the words “I want you” roll off my tongue like silk. Regardless of the hoots and hollers from the approving crowd, it’s like it’s only me and Mia in this room. My eyes never leave hers. Her big brown eyes practically have stars in them.

It’s working.

When the song is over and I’ve slapped just about every dude’s hand in the bar, and been squeezed on the ass by a few too many of the ladies, I make my way back to my beautiful date. I imagine that this is what a rock star feels like after a performance. Only instead of wooing a shit-load of panty-throwing groupies, I’m only interested in what this one girl thinks of me.

I act as if I haven’t just poured my soul out for her, as if I just got back from going to the bathroom like she had originally thought. I sit back in the booth pretending not to notice how awed she seems. I take a sip of my soda and lean back.

“Seriously, dude? Are you kidding?” She pinches my arm. The first physical contact of the night. It’s not enough.

“What?” I say, displaying my most wicked grin.

I try to pay attention to what’s coming out of those delicious lips, but all I can focus on his how much I
do
want her. I catch the tail end. “... amazing, Declan. No one has ever done something like that for me before.”

I arch an eyebrow, playing with her. “Who said I was doing it for you?”

She slaps my arm this time, allowing her hand to linger. The lingering sensation is a little better, but I still want more.

When she motions to the waitress for the check, I worry that I’ve done something wrong. Did I come on too strong? Why is our date suddenly over? I thought it was just getting good.

But she opens her mouth to explain and her response blows me away. Mia wants to get out of here because she wants me too.
Holy Fuck!

After the most amazing kiss of my entire life, we catch the shuttle back to campus. We hold hands and share a few publically acceptable kisses the whole way back. She’s invited me back to her room to watch a movie. I agree, but I can tell by her body language that watching some movie has nothing to do with what she really wants.

Fuck, watching a movie has nothing to do with what
I
really want. But what I really want, I’ve never done and I don’t exactly know how the hell to explain that to a woman who walks, talks and breathes sex. Megan was the closest I’d ever come to doing it, but neither of us was ever really ready. Call me old fashioned or a total dweeb if you must, but I don’t believe that you should have sex just to have sex. Sure, my hormone-flooded body strongly disagrees with my honorable intentions at times, but I want my first time to be with someone special. And as special as Megan seemed in some extremely heated instances, I knew she wasn’t the one.