Irish Kiss

by Sienna Blake

  I knew all about the trouble that he’d gotten into as a teen. The drugs, the alcohol. The street fights.

  I kept a casual face on like I didn’t care. Even as every cell in my body was waiting to hear more.

  As if he knew it would annoy me, he stopped talking.

  Damn him. Well, I wasn’t about to ask him any questions. It wasn’t like I was desperately curious to know. Every. Little. Thing. About. Him.

  Diarmuid locked the back door and led me to the tiny parking lot out back. There was a single old maroon truck parked near the door.

  I frowned. Was that…? No way.

  “Is that the same truck as you used to have?” I blurted out before I could remind myself that I didn’t care.

  “The very one.” He strode ahead and opened the passenger door for me.

  I scowled.

  He smirked.

  “You don’t have to help me up into the truck anymore, you know?” I grumbled as I got into the passenger’s seat, ignoring his outstretched hand, the hand that used to lift me up every time I fell.

  He laughed as he leaned against the top of my open door. The sound plucked several memories inside of me, like a haunting melody, loaded with sweetness and layered with my sorrow.

  I remembered the first time I’d ridden in this very truck with him, the first time I’d made him laugh. The pleasant, rich sound had seemed so foreign coming out of such a broody brute. But it only made it more beautiful. Because I came to learn that I was one of the few who could pluck laughter from him.

  “Your legs are a lot longer than they used to be,” he said.

  I’m sure he meant it to be casual, but his eyes flicked down for a moment before coming up to meet my gaze. That single movement drew a trace of wildfire across me.

  “Some things change,” I said, my voice squeezing out of my throat, which had gone tight.

  “Some things haven’t,” he said quietly, his eyes latching onto mine.

  Damn him.

  Damn him for not changing. Damn us for not changing.

  Damn him for looking at me the way he did when I was a kid. Like I meant the world to him. Like he’d do anything to protect me.

  He shut the door and walked round to his side.

  I swallowed back the knot in my throat as I glanced around the cab. It still smelled like him, leather and Diarmuid’s woodsy cologne.

  “I can’t believe you still have this truck,” I blurted out as he slid into the driver’s seat. So many memories, just him and me, inside this truck.

  “She’s a classic, I told you.” He petted the dashboard. “She hasn’t let me down yet.”

  He turned on the engine, the familiar rumble travelling through my body. The radio turned on automatically. The radio blared and it took a second for me to place the familiar tune.

  The Dubliners.

  I swallowed.

  “Since when do you listen to The Dubliners?”

  He shrugged. He pulled out of the parking lot into the street.

  “I thought you said this music was shite,” I pushed.

  The lower half of his face shifted as he worked his jaw around unspoken words. “I guess it grew on me. It reminds me of…you.”

  “Oh,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

  Oh.

  We were silent all the way home. I tried to relax in the truck, but I was too aware of him next to me. Too aware of every movement he made, of every breath he took, every sound he made.

  We pulled up in front of my house. I shifted in my seat, knowing I should get out but stupidly not wanting to. My cheeks flamed when the silence had gone on too long.

  “Well, thanks,” I blurted out and hopped out the truck.

  “Saoirse,” Diarmuid called out before I could shut the door.

  My heart skipped a beat when my eyes met his.

  “Whatever happens between us, I want you to know you can always call me if you get stuck without a ride. No matter what time. Even if I’m not your JLO anymore.”

  I nodded because I couldn’t speak, my heart having crawled up into my throat.

  28

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  I slammed my fists into the boxing bag, my arm and shoulder muscles screaming for relief. I kept pounding, ignoring the cry of my muscles. I deserved the pain. Every single ounce of it.

  Finally my arms gave up, dropping to my sides, as my muscles shut off in order to protect themselves from too much damage.

  I bent over, chest heaving, trying to suck in air.

  Images of Saoirse Quinn as a thirteen-year-old girl and her now—body like a wet dream, ass in the air, bent over as she pushed her sweats down her long, shapely legs—flickered like strobe lights in my mind.

  I winced. My head ached. I rubbed my forehead as if I could wipe the images from my mind and staunch the rush of heat that shot through my veins.

  But I couldn’t.

  It was burned into my brain.

  I had to stop this. I couldn’t be thinking about Saoirse this way. She was only seventeen, for Christ’s sake. And I was supposed to be her Juvenile Liaison Officer, her protector, her mentor.

  Not thinking of her in such a salacious way. Not imagining her as a woman, naked, writhing under me as I—

  I hissed, recoiling from my own thoughts.

  I had to stop this.

  Before I was tempted to do something stupid.

  What was I talking about? I was already tempted.

  No, dammit, I wasn’t tempted. It was just a momentary lapse in judgement.

  Maybe Declan was right. This was because I’d been almost three years without being laid. I needed to go out on a date. With an overaged woman. Someone who wasn’t her.

  I tugged the wraps off my fists and flexed my aching fingers before I grabbed my phone and texted Declan.

  Me: Can you still spare two tickets to your fight?

  My phone beeped back almost instantly.

  Declan: Only if you’re bringing someone you’re looking to fuck.

  I let out a snort. Crude as always.

  Me: Yeah, I’ll bring a date.

  Declan: About fucking time. Your dick has cobwebs.

  I made a mental note to ask Marla, the sweet girl from the coffee shop, if she’d go with me. Yes, this was what I needed to keep my mind off…things that I shouldn’t be thinking about. I should be focusing on getting to know a woman my age. A woman who wouldn’t land me in jail if I touched her.

  A woman who looked nothing like the curvaceous, effortlessly sexy blonde angel from my past who had stolen a piece of my heart a long time ago.

  Thinking this way about Saoirse should feel wrong.

  It was wrong.

  Right?

  I was so fucked.

  29

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  Then—Dublin, Ireland

  “Are you cheating on me, you son of a bitch?” Ava demanded as soon as I walked in the door.

  I’d only stopped home to drop off a bag before I had to pick up Saoirse. Now I regretted this decision.

  I halted, halfway in the living room, halfway in the entry way. “What are you talking about, woman?”

  Ava grabbed something from the living room table and swung to face me, accusation on her face. She strode up to me and shoved an item of clothing into my chest. “You think I don’t know if another woman has been wearing my fucking clothes?”

  It was the shorts I’d loaned Saoirse over the weekend.

  The ones I’d pushed down to the bottom of the washing basket, figuring Ava wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t like I was hiding anything. I just knew Ava would make a bigger deal out of Saoirse staying over than she should. I’d just wanted to avoid an argument. Like the one we were having now.

  I let out a tired sigh. “Jesus Christ, Ava.”

  “Who is she? Who the fuck is she?” Her voice shook with anger.

  “I’m not cheating on you, o
kay? One of my kids got into a bad situation at home over the weekend and needed to stay the night. I gave her your shorts to wear.”

  “Her? You let another woman stay over?” Ava yelled. “Where did she sleep, Diarmuid?”

  “The couch.”

  I wasn’t lying. Saoirse had fallen asleep in my arms on the couch that night. I hadn’t wanted to wake her so I stayed watching over her until I, too, had fallen asleep.

  Ava’s eyes narrowed. “And where did you sleep?”

  I let out a growl. “Don’t turn something innocent into something sordid.”

  “Me? Me?”

  “I don’t have time for this right now, Ava. I’m late to pick up…” Saoirse, “one of my kids.”

  “It’s her again, isn’t it?” Ava’s face screwed up. “You spend more time with that fucking girl than me.”

  I turned and strode towards the front door, patting my keys which were still in my pocket. “You can yell at me later. I have to go.”

  “Diarmuid, if you walk out of here, I swear to God—”

  I closed the front door in her face, knowing I was in deep shit when I returned home. I didn’t care, though. I was not going to let Saoirse down.

  30

  ____________

  Saoirse

  Kian and I were both standing on the sidewalk in front of school.

  “Come on, Saoirse. Come over,” Kian whined, giving me his puppy-dog eyes, the ones that every girl seemed to be affected by, except me.

  Funny how I used to think he was hot. I used to care what he thought of me. It used to make me happy when he’d speak to me.

  Then I met Diarmuid. Strong, handsome, rugged Diarmuid.

  Now Kian didn’t seem so special.

  I shook my head. “Can’t. I’m getting picked up.”

  I glanced at the street, eyes peeled for the familiar truck. What if he wasn’t coming this time?

  Diarmuid had been picking me up from school for months, and still, a part of me deep down was waiting for the day he didn’t show up. It was better to expect the worst. Then when it happened, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Later tonight, then,” Kian said, pulling my attention back on him. “My parents are never home till late. It’d just be you and me.”

  There was a glint in his eye. I was not so juvenile to not understand what that meant. I suppose losing my virginity to someone like Kian wouldn’t be the worst decision I’d ever made.

  For some reason, Diarmuid’s face flashed before my eyes.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Maybe,” I confirmed.

  He stepped in closer. “What can I do to turn that maybe into a yes?”

  I shrugged. Maybe I should say yes. He was a good-looking boy. And popular. And he seemed to like me…

  “Not sure if I’ve told you yet, but you look real sweet today.” He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

  Sweet? Diarmuid never called me sweet. He called me beautiful. That’s what he said and that’s how I felt around him.

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “Saoirse.” A familiar gruff voice barked out my name, sending a rush down my spine.

  Kian jumped back from me. I spun towards the voice, a smile spreading across my face. He was here.

  Diarmuid slammed the door to his truck, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, and stormed towards us.

  “Holy shit,” Kian muttered, “is that your brother?”

  I almost rolled my eyes. Diarmuid and I looked nothing alike. I was fresh-faced and pale and blonde while he was tall, dark and made up of hard planes and sharp lines.

  “No. He’s my best friend.”

  My best friend.

  He was my best friend, I realised. I’d never had a best friend before.

  Diarmuid halted before us. His face looked murderous but his eyes softened when he glanced at me. I grinned up at him. Somehow the world was better when he was here. I could almost believe that it could be good.

  “Hello, sir,” Kian mumbled as Diarmuid towered over him.

  Kian didn’t look half as good-looking or half as tall and strong standing next to Diarmuid. Diarmuid gave Kian a glaring once-over in which I swear, Kian shrank even further into himself.

  Diarmuid grunted. Grunted. Then turned to me. “You ready to go?”

  I nodded, beaming at him. The fading sunset flared behind his messy hair, let loose from his usual ponytail, making him look like he had a halo.

  I waved back at Kian, who looked about ready to piss himself, and Diarmuid helped me into the truck as always.

  “Who was that boy?” Diarmuid demanded as soon as he was inside the truck. He was still glaring at Kian, who was still standing shell-shocked on the grass.

  I sat up in my seat. Was Diarmuid…jealous?

  “He’s a friend from school,” I said slowly, watching Diarmuid’s face.

  Diarmuid still didn’t start the engine. He was still staring at Kian, his jaw twitching. “I don’t like him.”

  My heart did a flip. He was jealous.

  “He’s popular,” I said casually. “Lots of girl at school think he’s good-looking.”

  Diarmuid narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you think he’s good-looking?”

  I hid a smile and gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “He’s alright.”

  He’s not as beautiful as you. No one is as beautiful as you.

  “He was standing too close to you.”

  “He’s just a boy. Harmless, really.”

  Diarmuid snorted. “He might just be a boy but you’re too young for him.” He started up the engine with a rumble as if to emphasize his point, then pulled out onto the road.

  You’re too young for him.

  Diarmuid’s words stabbed my gut. Kian was younger than Diarmuid. Did Diarmuid think I was too young for him?

  “That’s stupid.” I crossed my arms over my chest, the familiar streets flashing by my window.

  “What’s stupid?”

  “That I’m too young for him.”

  “Saoirse, you’re only fourteen. You’ve got the rest of your life to grow up and like boys.”

  “But say if I did. Say…” I said, testing the waters, “if I wanted to date someone older. So what?”

  Diarmuid slammed on the brakes, holding his arm out to keep me back in the seat.

  “What the hell?” I asked, sucking in a breath.

  His turned his entire torso towards me, eyes like slits. “You want to date him?”

  “I was just asking theor—”

  “And I’m asking you,” he leaned in close, so close I could smell the mint on his breath, “do you want to date him?”

  I was pinned to the seat by his stare. So intense. So full of fire.

  I shook my head because I didn’t trust myself to speak.

  “Good,” he said simply.

  Good? Why was that good?

  A horn blared from behind us and I jumped. We were still stationary in the truck in the middle of the road.

  Diarmuid straightened in his seat as another blare sounded long and harder this time.

  “You can fucking wait,” he yelled out of his open truck window. He looked back at me, his eyes like hardened onyx. “Promise me you’ll wait.”

  “Wait? For what?”

  “Wait to date. Wait to be with someone. Wait…for someone special. You deserve to be with someone special, selkie.”

  You. I’ll wait for you.

  “Selkie?”

  “I promise,” I said.

  31

  ____________

  Diarmuid

  I expected World War III when I got home. But Ava wasn’t there.

  I let out a sigh of relief. She must have gone over to one of her friends’ place to bitch about me, no doubt. Hopefully she’d be gone all evening. I had no fucking energy for her bullshit right now.

  I was still fuming over that fucking kid who’d been standing so close to Saoirse when I’d picked her up. That boy was tro
uble. I could see it a mile away.

  The front door opened behind me. I spun to see Ava walking in the front door, murder written all over her face.

  My shoulders dropped. Luck wasn’t on my side this evening.

  “Asshole,” she hissed, her voice as bitter as poison.

  “Ava—”

  “I jumped in a cab and followed you.”

  “You what?”

  Ava strode towards me, her long legs cutting across the carpet, her arms flying out wildly, stabbing me in the chest. “I saw your precious Saoirse. I saw the way you glared at that boy she was with at school. You were jealous. Jealous!”

  “You are fucking delusional,” I ground out.

  “No, you are delusional. I saw the way she looked at you.”

  “Because I’m the only one who cares about her, Ava,” I exploded. “She sees me as a big brother.”

  “That is not the way she looks at you. And the way you looked at her—”

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Anger boiled inside me. “How dare you try to make something innocent and precious into something sick and twisted.”

  “Is it all just innocent?”

  “Of course it fucking is. She’s four-fucking-teen,” I bellowed.

  Ava shook her head, her hair falling around her face. I used to love her long, thick, dark hair extensions. Her long wing-like eyelashes. Her glossy acrylic nails. Now she just looked…fake. The words we spoke to each other sounded…hollow.

  I rubbed my face. I knew couples went through rough patches. I couldn’t remember when this one had started. I wasn’t sure I could see the end in sight.

  “Sometimes I think you want to fight,” I said, my voice sounding worn out.

  “Sometimes I think you’d rather be with someone else.” Her accusing look fisted into my chest, pulling back the layers, getting too close to uncovering the truth I didn’t want to see.