Easy Melody
Page 8
“Me too. Who is your favorite team?”
“The Seahawks.” I grin and steal a bite of Declan’s hotdog, then hold a cheesy chip up to his lips, which he takes and licks my thumb at the same time.
My nipples are rock hard at a football game. That’s a first.
“I thought you always cheer for the underdog.”
“They’ve done well the past few years,” I concede, “but they were the underdogs for a long time.”
“Have you seen them play?”
“In Denver, but never in Seattle. I’ve never been to Seattle, now that I think of it.”
We sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the game, eating our food. Suddenly, Declan leans down and kisses me, hard and deep, right here in the middle of the stadium.
“What was that for?”
“Kiss cam,” he replies simply and steals my last chip. I glance up, but there is no kiss cam being displayed. “There’s no kiss cam.”
“I could have sworn there was. My mistake.” He grins, in that way he has that says that he knows he’s sexy and charming and doesn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.
God, I love that look.
“I really do love what you’ve done with the bar,” Declan says, serious now.
“Thank you. It took all of my savings, and what I couldn’t afford to hire out, I did myself.”
“Really?” He turns to me, very interested now.
“Yep. I had a good side business in Denver of buying and flipping houses. You make more money if you’re able to do some of the work yourself.” The Lions make a touchdown and I turn to Dec for a high five, but he just leans in and kisses me again. “What was that for?”
“We’re having a good time, and I enjoy the fact that you know football, but you’re not my buddy, Callie. You’re my date.”
I blink twice, then lean in and kiss him back. “Point made.”
“Good.” He rubs his nose over mine, then pulls back and dives back into the conversation. “You should see the house I’m renovating.”
“Wait, what?” I shake my head to clear the kissing cobwebs out of the way. “You’re renovating?”
“Yes, ma’am. I bought a big ol’ house in the Garden District last year, and I’ve been slowly fixin’ it up.”
“How old?”
“Built in 1884,” he replies easily. “Hasn’t had much work done in the past fifty years to speak of, so it’s been quite the project.”
“I want to see it.” Did I just blurt that out? Jesus, Callie, show a little bit of decorum for Godsake.
But Declan just smiles and leans back in to me. I love the way this man leans. He can lean all damn day. “I’d like to show it to you.”
The buzzer pierces the air, signaling the end of the game. The mass of people around us stands and moves toward the exits, but Declan and I just stay where we are, pressed against each other.
Because of all the people. We’re pressed together because of all of the people around us.
Yeah, right, and New Orleans is in the desert.
I drag my fingers down his cheek and watch his eyes go almost gold with heat. He isn’t the first man I’ve dated since moving back to New Orleans, but he’s the first that I’ve felt any kind of chemistry with. He’s the first who’s actually turned my head, made me smile.
Made my body come to life.
“Will you please show me your house tonight?”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he murmurs.
***
“I’m warning you now, some of it’s done, but most of it has a long way to go,” Declan says as he unlocks the door and leads me inside the enormous plantation-style home in the heart of the Garden District. I love this old neighborhood. When I was a teenager, I’d walk up and down the streets here, admiring the homes.
“Perfect,” I reply honestly. “I can’t wait to see it.”
We walk into a wide foyer with a double staircase on either side. The floors are dark walnut and polished.
He’s already redone the floors down here, and he’s done them perfectly.
“I sanded and varnished the floors myself,” he says proudly.
“Original?” I ask as I follow him through to a beautiful living area with a fireplace almost as tall as I am.
“Yes, or most of it. Some boards here and there had to be replaced, but I had them matched to the original.”
“This mantle is gorgeous,” I breathe, running my hand over the smooth marble.
“It’s original. I was shocked that it wasn’t cracked or broken.”
I nod and follow behind as he leads me into a library, turning on lights as we go. As with the other rooms, the ceilings are high and bookcases rise from floor to ceiling, all covered with white sheets.
“I haven’t done anything in here yet,” he admits.
“Are there books on those shelves?”
“Yes.” He turns to me and grins. “Also original.”
I gasp. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, the bookcases were full when I bought the place. It had stood empty for about ten years, the former owners had died, and no one wanted them, so they were left here.”
God, I want to get my hands on this place. I can picture the furniture, the molding, the rugs I’d place in here.
Next, he leads me through an empty formal living room with horrid, peeling wallpaper, to a brand new state of the art kitchen.
“The Seahawks.” I grin and steal a bite of Declan’s hotdog, then hold a cheesy chip up to his lips, which he takes and licks my thumb at the same time.
My nipples are rock hard at a football game. That’s a first.
“I thought you always cheer for the underdog.”
“They’ve done well the past few years,” I concede, “but they were the underdogs for a long time.”
“Have you seen them play?”
“In Denver, but never in Seattle. I’ve never been to Seattle, now that I think of it.”
We sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the game, eating our food. Suddenly, Declan leans down and kisses me, hard and deep, right here in the middle of the stadium.
“What was that for?”
“Kiss cam,” he replies simply and steals my last chip. I glance up, but there is no kiss cam being displayed. “There’s no kiss cam.”
“I could have sworn there was. My mistake.” He grins, in that way he has that says that he knows he’s sexy and charming and doesn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.
God, I love that look.
“I really do love what you’ve done with the bar,” Declan says, serious now.
“Thank you. It took all of my savings, and what I couldn’t afford to hire out, I did myself.”
“Really?” He turns to me, very interested now.
“Yep. I had a good side business in Denver of buying and flipping houses. You make more money if you’re able to do some of the work yourself.” The Lions make a touchdown and I turn to Dec for a high five, but he just leans in and kisses me again. “What was that for?”
“We’re having a good time, and I enjoy the fact that you know football, but you’re not my buddy, Callie. You’re my date.”
I blink twice, then lean in and kiss him back. “Point made.”
“Good.” He rubs his nose over mine, then pulls back and dives back into the conversation. “You should see the house I’m renovating.”
“Wait, what?” I shake my head to clear the kissing cobwebs out of the way. “You’re renovating?”
“Yes, ma’am. I bought a big ol’ house in the Garden District last year, and I’ve been slowly fixin’ it up.”
“How old?”
“Built in 1884,” he replies easily. “Hasn’t had much work done in the past fifty years to speak of, so it’s been quite the project.”
“I want to see it.” Did I just blurt that out? Jesus, Callie, show a little bit of decorum for Godsake.
But Declan just smiles and leans back in to me. I love the way this man leans. He can lean all damn day. “I’d like to show it to you.”
The buzzer pierces the air, signaling the end of the game. The mass of people around us stands and moves toward the exits, but Declan and I just stay where we are, pressed against each other.
Because of all the people. We’re pressed together because of all of the people around us.
Yeah, right, and New Orleans is in the desert.
I drag my fingers down his cheek and watch his eyes go almost gold with heat. He isn’t the first man I’ve dated since moving back to New Orleans, but he’s the first that I’ve felt any kind of chemistry with. He’s the first who’s actually turned my head, made me smile.
Made my body come to life.
“Will you please show me your house tonight?”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he murmurs.
***
“I’m warning you now, some of it’s done, but most of it has a long way to go,” Declan says as he unlocks the door and leads me inside the enormous plantation-style home in the heart of the Garden District. I love this old neighborhood. When I was a teenager, I’d walk up and down the streets here, admiring the homes.
“Perfect,” I reply honestly. “I can’t wait to see it.”
We walk into a wide foyer with a double staircase on either side. The floors are dark walnut and polished.
He’s already redone the floors down here, and he’s done them perfectly.
“I sanded and varnished the floors myself,” he says proudly.
“Original?” I ask as I follow him through to a beautiful living area with a fireplace almost as tall as I am.
“Yes, or most of it. Some boards here and there had to be replaced, but I had them matched to the original.”
“This mantle is gorgeous,” I breathe, running my hand over the smooth marble.
“It’s original. I was shocked that it wasn’t cracked or broken.”
I nod and follow behind as he leads me into a library, turning on lights as we go. As with the other rooms, the ceilings are high and bookcases rise from floor to ceiling, all covered with white sheets.
“I haven’t done anything in here yet,” he admits.
“Are there books on those shelves?”
“Yes.” He turns to me and grins. “Also original.”
I gasp. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, the bookcases were full when I bought the place. It had stood empty for about ten years, the former owners had died, and no one wanted them, so they were left here.”
God, I want to get my hands on this place. I can picture the furniture, the molding, the rugs I’d place in here.
Next, he leads me through an empty formal living room with horrid, peeling wallpaper, to a brand new state of the art kitchen.
