One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

10

No one stops us.

The man at reception barely gives Declan a passing glance as he leads me into a staff corridor. I thought he might ask someone to open the lounge area or maybe we’d leave the hotel altogether, but instead we head to the back of the building, through the gleaming, vast kitchens and into the darkness of the restaurant.

“Have a seat,” he says, his voice too loud for the quiet space and I watch, baffled, as he goes to the bar.

“Are you breaking in?”

He gives me a look as if to say duh and starts to sort through the shelves.

“What if we get caught?”

“I worked here for years, Sarah. I know what I’m doing.”

I turn back to the empty room, feeling like I’m in The Shining. I ignore the foreboding armchairs and white-clothed tables and go instead to the French doors that lead out to the patio.

I try the handle without thinking and immediately freeze; convinced I’ve set off some alarm. But there’s nothing. The door opens easily under my hand.

Outside the air is nice, if a little cool. There isn’t a hint of a breeze. I navigate my way carefully around the patio furniture, choosing two garden chairs that are hidden enough that no one will see us if they come looking. Although judging by Declan’s attitude, I don’t think they’ll care even if they do.

“Over here,” I whisper as he comes out. He doesn’t question my seating choice when he spots me. His movements are slow and I soon see why, as he carries an assortment of bottles in his arms. He sets them out carefully on the small table between us, looking pleased with himself.

“When you said a nightcap…” I begin.

“I didn’t know what you like so I got a little bit of everything.” He sits in the other chair and holds up a bottle of whiskey. “A local delicacy.” He sets out two glasses and pours a small measure into each.

“Sláinte,” he says, handing me one.

I peer into the liquid as he settles back into the chair.

“Not thirsty?” he asks when I only look at it. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for everything. I know Tommy at the desk.”

“Whiskey and I have never really gotten along.”

“You just need to spend more time together. Do you know what we call it in Irish? Uisce beatha. Water of life.”

“Of course you do.” I give it a hesitant sniff but, aware that Declan is watching my every move, decide to risk it.

I take a decent sip and immediately cough it back up as it burns my entire mouth. Declan laughs.

“I got you something else just in case,” he says and passes me a bottle of beer.

I take a swig to wash out the taste. “I’m pretty sure I spit into that,” I say as he tips the rest of my glass into his.

“I don’t mind a little spit.” He pauses. “That came out wrong.”

I snort and try to get comfortable. The staff put cushions out during the day but at night it’s just the tough wicker backs of the chairs. I close my eyes and lean back. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can forget he’s even here.

It’s impossible of course.

In the darkness, I’m even more aware of him. Every creak of the chair, every time he sets the glass on the table. My imagination wanders as I picture him sweeping Annie into his arms and then I picture him doing the same to me. And this time he doesn’t complain about his bad back and this time Annie isn’t there at all. It’s just us and the very large bed and the ridiculous bathtub that maybe isn’t so ridiculous after all.

“You cold?”

My eyes snap open. “Nope,” I say and take a swig of my beer.

“You don’t want to sit inside?”

“It kind of freaked me out in there.”

“Yeah, the haunted forest we’re staring at is much less scary.”

I tilt my head to see him smiling at me.

“That was really nice,” I blurt. “All that stuff you said to Annie?”

He looks surprised. “It was nothing.”

“Calming the bride before the wedding night is supposed to be my job.”

“You didn’t seem too calm either.” He hesitates. “You didn’t know, did you? About them moving here?”

“No. She didn’t tell me.”

“She was probably terrified to.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.” But I know it’s true. Of course, she was terrified. I wince when I think about all the emails I sent her, all my plans for what we’d do when she moved back. How wonderful it would be. She knew she’d be breaking my heart.

“She was supposed to make everything better,” I finally admit. “Though I suppose that’s too much pressure to put on one person.”

“Better?” Declan asks curiously.

I hesitate, scraping the label off the bottle. I didn’t intend to go down this route with him. But I’m tired and the darkness hides me in an almost confessional way. Like none of this is real.

“It’s just…” I trail off, but Declan says nothing, waiting patiently. “I’ve been a bit stuck recently. I lost out on a promotion at work and it’s kind of thrown me off kilter.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“I really thought I was going to get it.” In fact, I was certain I was going to. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life. I’d done my time, ticked all the boxes. Harvey had more or less confirmed as much when he gave me the Grayson Group project. And then…

“They gave it to the boy wonder of the office,” I say. “And I can’t even be mad at him because he’s a nice guy but it’s like I was on a solid track before it happened and ever since then I can’t seem to get anything right.” I take a breath, realizing how tense I am. “I’m sorry about the past few days,” I say. “I’m not usually so—”

“Grouchy?”

I glance at him, offended. “I’m not grouchy.”

“Ah, you’re a little grouchy.”

“Maybe a little,” I mumble. “But only when things make me grouchy.”

“Me, you mean?”

I sip my beer, not answering. He doesn’t sound annoyed, but he doesn’t say anything further. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” I ask.

“For…”

“For telling Annie and Paul and your mother about us even when I asked you not to?”

“Oh,” he says. “That. To be fair, you did shut the door in my face.”

“Only because you didn’t leave like you were supposed to. And don’t look at me like I’m crazy,” I add. “That is a known thing.”

“Not to me.”

I scoff. “Like you’ve never had a one-night stand before.”

“Nope.”

“You… seriously?”

“Well, obviously now I have but before you…” He shakes his head. “So you’ll forgive me for not knowing the rules. Look at it from my point of view,” he continues when I start to respond. “You kicked me out after what I thought was a pretty spectacular night. You make it clear you don’t want to see me again only to flirt with me a few hours later—”

“I wasn’t flirting, you left your watch behind.”

“And then you follow me across an ocean.”

“You arrived after me!”

He grins as my voice gets louder and I sink lower into the chair, scowling at his teasing. It’s like his favorite game is trying to rile me up. Probably because he finds it so easy.

“Would you believe me if I said it was me and not you?” I ask. “I didn’t mean anything personal by it. I’m just not looking for anything serious at the moment.”

Or ever.

I frown as the thought echoes in my mind.

It’s not that I planned for my life to turn out this way. But Annie’s right. I don’t do second dates. And therefore, I don’t do relationships. I haven’t since Josh.

Josh.

God, talk about a mess. It’s been two years and it still hurts to think about him. We met via an app and had our first date on a very cold, disgusting November day. I’d been insanely attracted to him. As in electric sparks, lose-my-mind, take-me-now attracted. While I’d had a few casual boyfriends before, I’d never felt anything like what I had with him. And I thought that meant something. Meant something to him. You’d think watching my dad go through mom’s affair would have taught me something about boundaries, about protection. Instead, I let my guard down.

I swore to myself it would never happen again.

After Josh, my approach to my love life became to stop it before it could start.

Just sex. Nothing more.

It’s the safest route for everyone.

“It’s not like we can ignore each other forever.”

I take another sip as Declan’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Can’t we?” I ask.

“We have a mutual friend group now. And I’m going need to get my watch back.”

“I’ll drop it in the mail. Or no doubt my roommate will hand-deliver it. I’m pretty sure she has the hots for you.”

“Well, she has excellent taste.”

“Then I’ll be sure to send her your way.” The words come out a little sharper than I intended. The mere thought of the two of them together makes me uneasy.

Declan doesn’t respond and again, I have a horrible feeling he can see right through me.

Spectacular.

I shift in my chair, feeling a different sort of uncomfortable as the word echoes through my mind.

“Are you cold now?” Declan asks.

“No.”

“You look cold.”

“Are you trying to get me to go inside with you?”

“Maybe.”

I breathe deeply, trying to regain control of whatever this is. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“About what this time?”

“About you.”

“Moi?”

“You are an attractive man, Declan Murphy.”

“Keep talking.”

“And I find it very hard to believe that not once have you slept with a stranger purely to feel something.”

“Is that why you do it?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Sometimes you just want to fool around and feel good. Have an orgasm if you’re lucky.”

“You must have been very lucky with me.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I lie. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you want me to remind you?”

I don’t answer him. It’s so quiet in the darkness I swear he’s able to hear my heartbeat. I know I can hear it; the rapid double-time thumping in my ears.

“Sorry,” Declan says after a while. The word is so soft I almost don’t hear it. I swallow, closing my eyes. Why does this keep happening? What is it about him that makes my emotions swing so wildly? One minute we’re joking like old friends and the next I want him so bad you’d swear this was all just foreplay.

“Where is everyone anyway?” I ask, even as the tension between us doesn’t fade.

“They’ll be back in a while. But they won’t bother us.”

And I know he doesn’t mean what I want him to mean. I know he means that we can stay out here for as long as we want, drink to our heart’s content and not get caught. But that’s not what I want.

It’s not what I want at all.

And I try to communicate this to him. Telepathically pleading with him to make a move but all he does is continue to drink. Drink and ignore me. As if he doesn’t feel the energy between us. The heat in my body.

It’s not like I have to see him again after this week.

Mutual friend group. Unlikely. Annie and Paul will be here and New York is big enough that we can avoid each other if we wanted. But I don’t want to avoid him now. That’s the last thing I want to do. Because I’m sad and horny and I can’t stop thinking about him. I haven’t stopped thinking about him for days. And as far as I can see, there’s only one solution for that. An itch that I can finally scratch. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.

I take a final gulp of beer and swing my legs to the ground. Screw it.

Declan watches me moodily, probably expecting me to say good night. Instead, I step toward him, until my bare legs brush the metal bars of his chair.

He doesn’t move, he doesn’t so much as breathe, and slowly, very slowly, I ease myself onto his lap so I straddle him. One of his hands goes automatically around my waist to steady me. The other, still holding the whiskey tumbler, does the same, the cool condensation of the glass making me shiver through my dress.

Neither of us does anything for a long moment as if waiting for the other to put a stop to it.

“Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a next step or is this as far as you planned?”

I sit, settling my weight fully on him. A muscle flutters across his jaw.

“Declan?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” I kiss him.

Our first night together was pretty spectacular, I’ll give him that. I remember laughing with him in the bar, laughing with him in my bed. I remember the feel of his hands and the shape of his lips as they whispered words that made my toes curl. I remember everything.

He was the one who took control that night but now he seems content to let me take the lead, barely holding me other than that light pressure on my hips as I move over him, unhurried despite the tightening coil inside me. I’m teasing him, I know I am. But it’s all I let myself do even as my fingers itch to run through his hair, to slip under his shirt and feel hard muscle under soft, warm skin. I wait for him to make the next move, to take control. I want his hands lower, his lips harder. I want more touching, more tasting of him.

Only he doesn’t seem to get the hint.

I nip his lower lip and feel him smile beneath me. I grind against him, hoping for a telling sound but he just laughs, a breathy chuckle that only makes me want to try harder. His thumbs make a firm, circular motion against my hips that has me shuddering as I imagine the same pressure on others part of me.

I won’t see him again. This I tell myself as I slowly grasp his shirt in my fingers. This I chant as one of his hands finally travels a heated path upward, stopping on the sensitive skin just beneath my breast.

One more night. One more night and I promise myself he’ll be out of my system.

I don’t know how long we’re at it when I hear faint voices somewhere from inside the hotel. Only then do I pull back. But just enough to break contact with him, our faces inches apart.

Declan’s grip tightens around me, the glass has vanished somewhere in the last few minutes. I didn’t even notice him putting it down.

My breathing is heavy, his annoyingly calm, though I can feel enough of him beneath me to know he isn’t wholly unaffected. And again, I know what I need to do. I know I need to go back upstairs, back to my room, alone, before anyone can see. Before we can take this any further.

But I don’t move.

He scowls suddenly as if hearing my thoughts and then, without breaking eye contact, pushes me smoothly off his lap and takes my hand, guiding me back inside.