Blow - Kim Karr Page 0,15
head.
If someone spotted me with her, we were both fucked.
Paranoid?
Nope.
I knew something wasn’t right as soon as I saw her tire. Someone had slashed it. And there was no way it was a coincidence. Patrick must have already found out about her and I was pretty sure that mechanic’s shop was on his payroll. “This way.” I directed her to the right, veering down the closest alleyway.
Her big green eyes weren’t just looking at me; they were watching me, much in the same way I had been watching her since she first turned around at O’Shea’s office.
“What?” I asked.
“Where are we going?”
“To an authentic Irish pub.”
Elle eyed me suspiciously.
“What?” I found myself asking again.
“You mean that wasn’t one?”
“Ha, once upon it time it was, until Frank let his daughter take over. Molly rented the abandoned space next to the original structure and ever since has been slowly converting the place into a dance club.”
She whipped her head toward me with an excitement in her eyes that I could have eaten up. “I knew it. I could tell the moment I walked in.”
“Yep, it’s obvious, but Frank refuses to give up the pub even if the club is encroaching on his space.”
She was still facing me, and there was another glimmer in her eye.
“What?” I asked yet again, this time raising a brow.
She bit her lip. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
Surprised, I almost choked. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, I’m not.” She wasn’t about pretense. It was a welcome change. And it was such a turn-on.
Amused, I asked, “Just how old do you think I am?” I walked ahead and turned to face her. I wanted to see her expression when she answered.
She hesitated a moment before answering, “Not quite twenty-one.”
“Ahhh . . . you’re killing me.”
She smiled. “I’m totally serious.”
I kept walking backwards. “You’re a few years off. I’m twenty-seven.”
Her eyes swept over me again and then narrowed in doubt.
The alleys were empty. No one was around, and I felt myself start to loosen up. No one was going to see us. I put my hand on my heart. “I’m wounded. You don’t believe me?”
With a hint of smile she said, “No, I don’t.”
Now I found myself reaching into my back pocket and pulling out my wallet. Opening it, I handed her my driver’s license. “Here you go—definitive proof.”
She bit her lip as she studied it.
I wanted to bite it for her. I wanted to taste her lips on mine. I wanted to feel her skin and touch her hair. It wasn’t only one thing that attracted me to her; it was everything about her. The way she smelled, the sound of her voice, the way she walked, the way she made me laugh. I shouldn’t be admitting it, not even to myself.
Her grin widened. “Yes. It appears you are older than twenty-one.”
“Phew. Now I can sleep tonight knowing you believe me.”
She tried to contain a giggle with a hand over her mouth.
I stopped and she almost ran into me. “And you?” I countered, leaning inches from her lips.
She handed me my wallet and stepped back. “How old do you think I am?” she teased.
I took my time. I knew we should hurry off the street. I knew I was being stupid. But I didn’t want to rush this moment. I was enjoying it too much. “I don’t know. Come here.”
She easily followed my lead.
I dragged her under the streetlight and let my eyes sweep over her. I didn’t have to, though. I’d already memorized her features. She had a small nose, heart-shaped lips, smooth porcelain skin with a smattering of freckles on her nose, hair the color of cinnamon, and a body that would make any hot-blooded male look twice. I scratched my chin. “Hmmm . . . I’m not sure. My age. Maybe a year or two younger.”
She threw her head back. “Just a few minutes ago you thought I was old and married.”
Practically mesmerized, I watched her carefree style. She wasn’t like most women. Or most of the women I came in contract with—the ones from the New York City upper echelon who prided themselves on packed social calendars and their looks. She seemed tough. Able to take care of herself. She seemed to be a fighter, like me. “First of all, I only thought you were married. You’re the one putting the word old with married,” I playfully countered.
She pulled her lip between her teeth in contemplation. “You might be right,” she conceded.
Our eyes locked