Fanning The Fire Marshal's Flame

Need to Run

She could feel Diarmid watching her intently as she scanned her messages. “What?”

“If you don’t like him, just tell him,” Diarmid scowled down at her.

“Okay, dad, thanks for the pep talk,” she mocked him and sat up. “I need to go for a run.”

“You run?” Diarmid asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she looked around the room for a pair of running shorts. She ignored him being in the room and kicked off her jeans.

“Jesus, Lita,” he turned his back to her. “A little warning.”

“You’re in my room Diarmid, uninvited I might add.”

“I brought your phone.”

“I didn’t need it.”

“Well, I thought you did. It was ringing nonstop.”

“He’s crazy.”

“What did you do to this guy he’s calling so much? Did you steal something?” he had a laugh to his voice.

She shrugged into her shorts and then reached for a sports b*a and tank top. She knew he couldn’t see anything. His back was to her, and she was facing the only mirror in the room. She got changed. The girls would be proud of how bold she was being. They were rubbing off. It felt good to feel take charge.

“His dignity maybe? He’s used to women falling at his feet and begging for his attention. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“I heard you say to the girl you were talking to you hooked up with him five times. Five times isn’t enough to go on a real date with him?”

She turned around and made a face at his back, “Diarmid, I don’t date. Dating means I have to talk and explain why I’m a closed-off, emotionally crippled human being with the incapacity for love. f*****g however,” she saw him turn at her word, “well, this I can do in spades.”

Diarmid frowned at her, “you are not the same shy little girl I once knew, Miss Lita O’Malley.”

“No s**t,” she frowned back making wide eyes at him. She looked around for her sneakers and noted them just past him. She brushed past him and picked them up off the floor.

“You really believe you’re emotionally crippled?” he asked as he watched her sit on the edge of her bed to put sneakers on.

She flicked him a glance, “the only man I’ve let kiss me on the mouth since the night of the ball is the one blowing up my phone and it happened after I think it was my eighth o****m so I might have had my guard down. If I can’t kiss the guy I’m f*****g, it’s a problem for a committed relationship.”

She watched him from her peripheral vision process her words.

“I don’t know if I’m more weirded out by you having eight orgasms or you admitting you had s*x with a man you can’t kiss.”

She noted the disgusted twist to his lips. He really did still think of her as a kid. How weird. “I didn’t have eight orgasms,” at his confused expression, “I said I let my guard down after eight. Easily twelve. I’m younger than him. He thinks he has to keep me entertained. It works for me. He just happened to get sappy and put his lips to mine and I let him.”

“Twelve?”

“Turns out I’m one of those girls built for multiples,” she frowned suddenly, “why the f**k am I having this conversation with you?”

He appeared to agree and changed topic “Where are you running? Like short run or long run?”

“Long. Very long.” She considered the messages where Stavros commented he had just taken a shower and had gotten hard there thinking of her and he wanted her to come back. “Long enough to avoid the next two hours of calls, considering the last text message is asking me to come blow him while he feasts on me,” she read it aloud and grimaced. “I’m half inclined to go. I just might. My head is saying I really don’t want to but now I’ve had breakfast and rested my body is wide awake and my libido is being a b***h. I need an outlet and I don’t want it to be him otherwise I’ll be shacked up with him getting multiples until I die. He’s very persuasive.” She bounced on her toes and tossed her phone aside after sending him a message she would be out for the afternoon. She couldn’t get attached to this one.

“Can I run with you?” At her pause he held up his hands. “I didn’t get my run in yesterday. I promise no more questions on your ability to have multiple orgasms,” he made a face. “I can’t believe I had this conversation with Conor’s kid. I’m officially weirded out.”

“You and me both. Go get changed. I’ll wait but if you slow me down, I’m leaving you behind.” She had no clue of the reason she had agreed to letting him run with her. She dug around on her vanity as she searched for what she suspected was her brain because evidently it was lost. Why had she agreed? She needed to work her issues out, not bring them with her.

“Kid, your father used to bring you to the track with us and you would bail after the first lap. Are you sure you can do a long run?” he teased her as he walked to the door. “I don’t want to have to come back for you if you’ve passed out after the first mile. You sure you can run?”

“I started running after the ball. I don’t think I’ve stopped since.” She admitted wondering what the hell was wrong with her as anticipation with the little bit of challenge he was offering raced up her spine. “If you’re coming with, get a move on. I’m not waiting for you. I’ll leave you in my dust.”

He left her room with a loud laugh and bounded down the stairs. She found a hair tie amidst her things on her vanity and pulled her hair off her face. It was a good thing Stavros had insisted they shower though, if she were honest, she had let him carry her to the shower, clean her up, and if her vague memories were correct, he’d washed and dried her hair while she was half-passed out. He had definitely gotten sappy. She wondered how many women he took care of like this. She glared at herself in the mirror and slapped her own cheeks. “Quit it, Lita. He’s a means to an end. The minute you agree to dating him, he’ll drop you.” She groaned loudly and ignored the phone suddenly ringing on her bed as if the man himself had heard her.

She was closing her bedroom door when her father’s door opened. She lifted an eyebrow at his expression, “what happened to you?” His red hair was spiked in every direction and there a big sleep crease line down his cheek. One of his eyes was bloodshot and both were rimmed with dark circles. She shoved her fist to her mouth to try to stop the laugh.

“Tried to drink as much as a kid seventeen years my junior,” he croaked. “I’m pretty sure he carried my a*s home and put me to bed.”

“You look like death.” She couldn’t help but laugh loudly at him. “We’re going for a run. You want to come?” She laughed harder when he looked like he was going to vomit at the thought. “Okay then. Well, there’s hash downstairs. I did fry you an egg thinking you’d make an appearance, but you didn’t and clearly, it’s because you tried to play with the big boys and got hurt. Your egg is probably rubbery now. If you choose to make another one, don’t burn the house down.”

“Ha, ha,” he frowned at her and tugged her ponytail. “I get no respect around here.”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek sweetly and then recoiled, “dad, you stink. Go shower before you eat.”

“It’s the plan,” the call of Diarmid saying he was ready made him groan, “how the hell is he awake and ready to run? We didn’t get in until after two.”

She patted his toned tummy, “you turned fifty and got soft, Pops.”

He tweaked her nose. “When are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she made a face of disgust at him.

“You need to stop just casually having flings. Find a good man and settle down.”

“Nah, not interested. Nobody wants to settle down with a woman like me dad. I’m frigid. I just lay on my back and stare at the ceiling.”

“I didn’t need to know” he grumbled and went into the bathroom slamming the door behind him.

“But it ended the conversation, didn’t it,” she quipped with a laugh as she bounded down the stairs. She didn’t even wait for Diarmid and walked outside and began to stretch. She refused to look as he stretched out too. If her memory were correct, her teeny, tiny, shrivelled heart had first noticed him when he’d done stretches on her front lawn when she had been sixteen and he and her dad had been training for a marathon. It was nothing she needed to repeat. She set off in a slow jog in the direction of the park giving a wave to Mrs. McCutcheon who was openly ogling the eye candy to her left.

“She’s still alive?” Diarmid asked as he waved to the woman awkwardly.

“She’s a witch. Pretty sure she’s been around since the birth of Christ.” She commented dryly. “She’s called the cops three times on dad’s sculpting. Threatened to file a complaint with the city so he had to build a higher fence so she can’t see directly in our yard unless she gets a ladder.” She shot him a look, “did he show you?”

“He did,” Diarmid gave a low chuckle as he easily kept her slow starting pace. “It was not what I was expecting him to show me when he said he had a job. It’s interesting, to say the least.”

“He was embarrassed at first,” she gave a giggle as the easy topic of her father kept her emotions surrounding the man with her at bay. “He would start carving a rock and every damn time it came out erotic. Watching him come to grips with his own sexuality as a man helped me heal too.”

“Is he gay or bi?” Diarmid asked suddenly at her words. “Some of his sculptures are –” his words trailed.

“No!” she gave a laugh. “I believe when my mom died, he thought was never supposed to feel l**t for anyone ever again. He focused so much on being a dad and being part of the fire brigade, he squashed his needs. I think it took a long time for him to accept he was allowed to move on with his life and take a lover and be happy.” She shook her head with a memory, “the first carving I found he’d hidden under his bed, and I’d been looking for laundry. His socks always roll there. I hadn’t realized he’d carved it. It was gorgeous. It was of a woman and a man joined at the hips if you catch my drift and he hadn’t left a single detail out. Down to the leg hair on the man’s legs. It wasn’t eight inches in length, but the detail was exquisite. He came home from picking up things at the supermarket and I’d left it on the kitchen table. He was furious with me. I told him I thought it was beautiful and suggested he get better material to work with. I told him he had nothing to be ashamed of. At the time, I think he felt guilt or dirty for carving an image considered sensual or s****l a year after I’d been hurt. We talked it through. Now he has a website and he’ll post images of works in progress, and they’re sold before he can blink. He has a bunch of sold items in the yard right now he’s holding onto until after his show.”

“His show?” The surprise in his voice was evident even with his now uneven breath.

“He didn’t tell you. He has a gallery show coming up. He’s keeping his pieces until they are displayed and then the buyers will collect them when the show is over.”

“I wondered why he had a bunch of sold pieces hanging around.”

She was starting to pick up the pace once they reached the park and talking was getting a bit harder. “He’s good and he’s making a name for himself. I’m proud of him.”

“He’s very talented.”

“But not your cup of tea?”

“I can’t say I would like to have a display of a man with lip hands holding onto his d**k on my living room mantle.”

She gave a giggle, “ooh, it was a weird one. I don’t want to know who inspired it or what the story is.”

“Hey beautiful,” a voice called out to her from across the field. The man started to approach but then paused when he noted Diarmid.

She gave a benign smile and a half wave and kept running.

“The guy is watching you and glaring at me. Ex?” Diarmid was rubbernecking as he glared back at the guy now behind them.

“Not really. One night of s*x six months ago. Went into it with the agreement it was one night. He lost the memo. Started going to my favorite coffee spot, my favorite gym and now he waves at me in the park. Last time he tried to run with me, and I had to turn my jog into a sprint, and he couldn’t keep up. I think he’s miffed you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here if he’s stalking you.” Diarmid shot a glance over his shoulder. “Jogging alone might be dangerous if he’s following you around.”

“Nothing to worry about,” she wasn’t worried about the guy. One step over the line and he’d disappear forever.

“Does it happen a lot? You set clear boundaries and guys forget them?”

“From time to time. Most times, guys are glad to have a girl who doesn’t want the morning after s**t or doesn’t want to sleep over.” She made a face, “stupid me sleeping at Stavros’ place. He’s the first guy I stayed all night with. He said no pressure and to just sleep it off. Now there’s pressure.”

Diarmid was quiet at her words, and she shrugged it off. They jogged along for about ten minutes before he spoke again.

“What is it exactly you do to make them turn stalker?” he asked as he kept her pace. “Do you have a kind of fairy dust you sprinkle on them?”

“And spoken like a man. Automatically my fault,” she grunted. What was it with men always assuming it was the woman at fault.