pretty girl on each arm. They’re dressed in skintight black latex, and he’s taking them down the hall to the private rooms. A part of me is jealous of him, of his ability to dive right into something pleasurable and satisfying, to not take anything too fucking seriously.
And didn’t a part of that used to be me? Tully used to say “Lach’s your man, the first with a joke or to light up your smoke.”
But the days leading up to Fiona’s birthday fell like petals from a flower, one by one, and with each passing day, a part of me sobered.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Fiona.
I feel like a damn boy, the way my heart pumps harder and my palms get all sweaty. I swallow hard. I’ve learned to master damn near everything in my life. Why is my infatuation with her the one thing I can’t?
Thanks so much for the locket. It’s lovely. xxx
I stare at those little x’s lined up in a row for far too bloody long.
“Oh my God.” A decidedly feminine voice comes from my left. I look over to see who spoke, but I don’t recognize the tall brunette. She wears a violet sheath dress so tight it looks like a second skin, her full breasts nearly spilling out over the top, and thick platform heels. I suppose one could say she’s lovely. But to me, not in the least.
“Hello there,” Tully says, and she gives him a pleasant enough smile, but it’s me she’s eyeing. She walks over to me, a drink in hand, her eyes promising wicked things.
“Hello,” she says. “I know you.”
I eye her curiously. I don’t recognize her at all, but to be honest, to me most women are forgettable.
Once you’ve seen perfection, it’s hard to see anything else.
“Hello.” I shouldn’t be here. I have no interest in any of these women, and the thought of a one-night stand or even a blow job feels somehow empty. Even though I haven’t had a really, really good fuck in ages, my appetite isn’t easily sated. I know this. I feel this. And yet…
I look away from her, and even think she goes away because I don’t hear anything for a moment. I chuckle to myself Boner opens a door and sidles in with his little harem.
I jump when I feel a hand on my arm. “This is mob ink.” I pull away from the woman’s touch. The brunette with the violet dress stands right beside me, her eyes widening in surprise at the way I flinched.
“Sorry to scare you,” she says. “It is, isn’t it?”
My body tenses, and I clench my jaw. “It’s what?”
“Mob ink.”
I barely contain my scorn. There’s McCarthy Clan ink, O’Gregor ink, Martin ink and the like, but I’ll not be lumped into the mob as easily as all that. The McCarthy Clan is respectable and powerful, and worthy of the recognition of that title. The others are not.
“There’s no such thing as fucking mob ink.”
She furrows her brow and takes a sip of amber liquid. “I thought you were one of them.” She reaches out a finger again to my arm, and I turn abruptly away, anger rising in me so harshly I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. I don’t want her to touch me. I don’t want her to talk to me. I never should’ve let Tully bring me back here.
When I was a lad, I had a vicious temper that landed me in so much trouble, I damn near got expelled from St. Albert’s. Malachy took me under his wing, under his firm discipline, and eventually Keenan did the same. I respected both of them, and hated earning their disapproval even more so than I did the punishment they meted out when I lost my temper. Over time, I learned to master myself, especially under Keenan’s tutelage. He was firm and unyielding, but he believed in me, and I learned to school my temper. I still remember his admonition when I was still a lad.
“Any man can rail in anger or fury. It takes a much stronger man to know how or when to act.”
“Easy, now,” she says with a laugh that grates on my nerves. “You seem awfully uptight, don’t you?”
She reaches a hand out to my shoulder and begins to massage it. I school my fury with difficulty, and probably don’t do a very good job. She winces a bit when I remove her hand.