by A. L. Woods
Out in the bar, the crowd erupted into an off-key rendition of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” to the musical accompaniment of the cover band, the chorus kicking off just as rejection etched itself in her small features. It wasn’t a look that belonged to her. I hated the ginger-looking touch of the tips of her fingers sweeping over her bottom lip.
“Hey—”
“It’s okay, Sean.” Her voice shook, eyes seeming apprehensive to meet mine. Why did she look so small, so innocent with that brown doe-eyed stare that looked like she was used to this happening? “Don’t feel bad, okay?”
That’s what she thought this was?
“I don’t feel bad for anything,” I ground out, pegging her with another drunken look.
Her honey irises appeared dubious, as if she was grappling with what I wasn’t communicating, because I couldn’t get the words out. I rubbed the edges of my mouth, the taste of her whiskey breath still dancing on my tongue. Whatever she thought she saw, she’d clearly misinterpreted again. She pushed out a tight exhale, her lips rolling together as if drinking in my unwillingness to speak.
She pushed off the wall, not sparing me a glance as her footsteps shuffled down the hall back toward the buzzing bar.
Raquel didn’t make it two feet away before I was pulling her gently back by the wrist. She let out a gasp when I pivoted her around, walking her backward until her ass hit that wall again. My hips found her rib cage, my arms caging around her.
I held her stare, her eyes studying mine. “What?” she whispered. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
I pressed my forehead against hers, my breaths raking out of me in a piss-poor effort to slow down my palpitating heart. “Twenty minutes ago you were complaining I talked too much.”
“Well, that was twenty minutes before you kissed me. The circumstances have changed.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she pouted, and didn’t she look fucking adorable with her brows furrowed and lips drawn together.
“Do you remember what you told me when we met a few weeks ago?” I tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, feeling the shudder roll out of her at the contact of my fingers brushing against her earlobe, my thumb dragging along the length of her smooth jawline.
Her breathing hitched under my contact, brows coming together as if she was trying to formulate a coherent response. “Not really,” she finally managed, “but it was probably something nasty.”
“So, you admit you have a penchant for being difficult?” My chest shook with a languorous laugh, the pad of my thumb tugging her fat bottom lip downward. She looked up at me with a gaze that made me want to bite my clenched fist.
I hated my morals, despised myself for even considering reneging on my former opinion about having sex in dodgy basement bathrooms.
“Sometimes,” she said, tilting her head to the right, her hair spilling with it, exposing a small patch of creamy flesh beneath her ear from under her turtleneck. “Remind me what I said.”
“You told me I wouldn’t know what to do with you if I had an instruction manual.”
Truthfully, I did suspect she would be more complicated to assemble than a piece of IKEA furniture that came with a detailed instruction manual the size of a tome. Dougie had warned me. Penelope had as well in so few words, yet still…I wanted Raquel like my next breath. With all of her mismatched pieces, without all the screws, nuts, and bolts that would have helped me figure out how to put her back together again, I wanted her. I wanted this erratic, short-tempered woman with her attitude, obstinance, and beauty in whatever way I could have her.
“You wouldn’t,” she confirmed with a soft laugh. “But I’ll give you points for trying.”
“Oh, yeah?” I murmured, my nose grazing hers, her whiskey breath fanning my face. “What do I get to do with these points?”
“Kiss me again and find out.”
So I did. I kissed her as if my life depended on it. As if kissing was a full-time job and I was the only person who could handle it. I kissed her until her lips were swollen, until her breaths came out of her in short spurts of air.
I kissed her until I was interrupted.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Well, well.”
At the sound of the male voice I begrudgingly left Raquel’s mouth, preparing to tell off whoever the fuck was observing us: Find a different hallway. Take a leak outside. Take the keys to my car and go fuck off somewhere.
Still, the voice continued, missing my telepathic message by a long shot. “Who do we have here?”
Someone who’s about to have their ass beat, that’s who. I lifted my head, my eyes tracking the timbre of the voice.
Beady, nearly black eyes met mine, the low lighting from the drop lights overhead making the features of the man who looked no older than me appear as harsh as the timbre of his voice. He leaned against the wall at the end of the hallway. The relaxed set of his shoulders left me with a sick feeling that he had been standing there a lot longer than he’d let on. Delight that erred on the side of danger pulled his mouth into a lopsided smile, his leather jacket cracking as he folded his arms across his chest.
Fucking drunk voyeur.
“Beat it.” I raised my bicep to shield Raquel’s face. She rose on the tips of her toes to steal a look at the interloper, a curse ripping out from the back of her throat. She stiffened against me, the warmth from her body leaving her, a ghost of something flitting over her face, as if she had just met the eyes of someone she hadn’t wanted to see.
Her hand found my bicep, pushing it out of her way. The guy snorted out a laugh, appraising her in a way that made my skin crawl. Her arms hung limply at her side, her back turned to me.
“Found her,” he called to someone. Another guy entered the hall, shorter than the one in the leather jacket. The newcomer had his ash blond hair pulled into a bun at the base of his neck. His eyes bounced from me to Raquel and back to me again.
“We’ve been calling you for an hour, Cherry.” Man Bun spoke, his expression hard.
“She was preoccupied,” Douchebag-in-leather replied, and for a second, I thought I heard disappointment in his pitch. “We were just a few minutes too early from catching the late-night show.”
“Still a prick, I see, Dominic,” Raquel drawled, her head lolling to the right. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I watched her spine straighten like she had to keep her wits to her now. Her whole stance and demeanor changed, shoulders squared and chin kicked forward.
I fought the urge to drag her back by the arm and use my body as the separation between her and these fucks who I was certain I’d seen on a late-night rerun of a Cops episode.
“Still looking like a fine piece of ass, Cherry Pie.” Douchebag-in-leather, who I now knew as Dominic, snapped his jaws at her like an unmuzzled rabid dog, the sound of his molars cracking together like nails on a chalkboard to my eardrums.
I didn’t like it.
“Don’t talk to her that way,” I snarled, stepping toward him. I wanted to break this fucker’s nose. I had at least three inches on him, I could take him. My eyes flitted to the Man Bun behind him, who reminded me of a DMV clerk—bored as hell, waiting for five o’clock to arrive.
He rubbed his forehead, his expression unreadable. “Let’s just go, Dom.”
“Go?” Dominic crooned. “I’m just getting started.” His tongue protruded from between his teeth, the tip stroking his upper lip.
“Where’s Cash?” she asked, her voice so even it was unnerving. I hated the sense of familiarity when she spoke to them. It was clear to me that she had a history with these guys, the extent of which I didn’t know. My mind kept wandering back to what Penelope had said: Raquel didn’t have a boyfriend.
So who the fuck were these two?
“Outside,” Man Bun replied, pointing his eyes toward the bar like he was telling her to wrap this up so they could get going. I had news for him: She wasn’t going anywhere; not with these guys.
“You know Ronan won
’t let him in here,” Man Bun added.
“That’s his fault.” She shrugged, tucking a lock of hair that had dislodged itself from behind her ear. The one that I’d tucked back only minutes ago.
“You know how he gets,” Dom continued, stepping toward her, looking more like a hunter with a gun trained on an animal that didn’t stand a chance. “He’s never been very good about sharing.”
He smirked at me, and I didn’t miss the implication in his eyes, the sinister look that sent my hackles on edge.
Raquel crossed her arms over her chest. “His sister isn’t a piece of property.”
“That fucker had no business doing what he did to her,” Dom spat out.
“Meredith was capable of taking care of herself.”
Jesus Christ, there was so much going on between these three that I didn’t know what they were talking about. I had become an awkward bystander in a situation that I had owned when it had simply been about her and me.
“Raquel,” I cut in, drawing the attention of the two men who faced her like she was an expensive piece of artwork. She looked at me over her shoulder, the passion she had shown me for the briefest of moments gone without a trace.
“I gotta go,” she said, eyes glazing over. I hated the permanence in those three words that left her pretty mouth, like we were done before we had ever really even begun.
“We don’t get an introduction?” Dom complained with a sneer, moving toward me like a snake, menace twisting that mug of his into something sociopathic.
“Dom,” Man Bun said with a sigh, “let’s go.”
“C’mon, Terry. Don’t you want to know who he is?” He slithered forward, hands sliding up the sleeves of his leather jacket, revealing a fat golden band Rolex I was confident he hadn’t earned by hard work and forearms marred by an intricate span of tattoos. Dom sneered at me, his glower bubbling with something I didn’t trust. My brain ticked with warning, an alarm bell resounding somewhere deep in my cranium telling me I was an idiot if I pushed this, that if I did, one of us would end up in a body bag…but if this fucker wanted a fight, I was here for it.
I edged toward him until I was shoulder to shoulder with Raquel. Her eyes narrowed on my twitching fists, her eyes pleading that I didn’t do what I was contemplating.
“I don’t give a shit.” Terry, who I decided in that moment was the more level-headed of the two if it were a competition, grabbed Dom by the shoulder, jerking him away from me. “I’ve got a fucking teething baby at home. Morgan’s been blowing up my phone for three hours. We’ve got what we came for. Let’s go.”
Dom, his stare fixed on mine, replied, “Told you to always strap up. Now you’re stuck for eighteen more years.”
“I’m not interested in fucking everything that moves, so that suits me just fine.” Terry pulled Dom back with enough force that the guy almost tripped over his own two feet, arms windmilling, body soaring backward. Terry set him straight toward the bar, and then with another well-placed shove, he was gone from our sight. Dom’s laugh was manic-like as it faded, getting absorbed by the music and the crooning crowd.
With a curled fist and a jutted thumb, Terry indicated toward the bar while giving Raquel a domineering stare that demanded her compliance. “Move it. He’s getting antsy.”
“I need a minute.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds.”
“Fuck you, Terry,” she hissed. He stepped toward her, a movement she mirrored, their positions reminiscent of two dogs in a fighting ring ready to tear each other to shreds.
“One minute. Don’t piss me off,” he conceded with a growl, as though deciding she wasn’t worth the vet visit. He stepped out through the door arch, but something told me he wasn’t far.
When he was gone, she turned to face me, her posture askew, like one more wrong thing would send her whole body toward the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said, running her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp. “I guess I lost track of time. I was hoping to be outside before he started calling, but…” her words died in her mouth.
I worked at the lump in my throat, trying to dissect what the fuck she had just dropped in my lap. “Who—”
She shook her head, her forehead creasing with deep set lines before I could get the question out. Her reticence was back from wherever it had gone, pissing me off further.
“I’m going to go.”
“Who are they?” She owed me that much. “Where are you going? Better yet, why?”
Her weight shifted from foot to foot, hands awkwardly clenched at her sides, eyes looking down, avoiding my stare. My scoff cut through the music from the bar.
She wasn’t going to fucking tell me.
“Goodnight,” she paused, lifting her chin before adding, “Sean.”
Under any circumstances, I could have given my right ball to hear her say my name, her inflection grouping the vowels together in a way that sounded more like the diminuendo of a song in her mouth. She was actually going to leave me standing here like an idiot, after she had pursued me, and now she was blowing me off? And worse, for some fucker named Cash who sounded more like a convict?
To say I was rightfully pissed would be an epic understatement. I felt my pulse behind my eyelids, my jaw tightening.
“So,” I spat, “That’s it? You kiss me and you fuck off?”
She looked slighted, brows crashing down hard over those honey browns. “You kissed me,” she corrected, mouth staying agape.
I blew out a laugh; denial wasn’t a good look on her.
“You kissed me,” I repeated, “And now you’re leaving…with two other guys?” Saying it out loud made it sound worse, my mind hastening to draw new conclusions that twisted my insides.
As if hearing my thoughts, she frowned. “It’s not like that.”
I wanted to believe her, but I was struggling. “Well, I’m trying to figure out what it’s like, but you’re not helping, so my brain is filling in the blanks here.”
“Raquel,” Terry called from the hallway, knocking on the door frame. I decided he was next on my kill list after Dom.
“I gotta go; I’m sorry.”
I moved after her, but she spun on her heel, steeling me with an outstretched palm. Her eyes burned with something I couldn’t read. “For once, just listen to me when I ask you to do something,” she said, her breathing hitched, features growing ashen. “Don’t follow me. It’s for your own good,” she paused, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it and adding, “and mine.”
My insides were hollow, eyes tracking her as she disappeared from my view. My legs damned me to pursue her, but my pride kept me entrenched where I was. This was the brick wall again, the one I would only take a sledgehammer to if she let me, but I drew the line at self-harm…at running for that mortar-laden wall when everything she did told me not to, suspecting that the risk of injury to either my senses or heart were too great of a risk.
A group of drunken girls shrieked with laughter as they breezed by me, their crowd nearly cramming the breadth of my body against the wall as I edged out of their way, their voices carrying as they descended down the basement stairs.
Scrubbing an open palm over my face, my fingers lingered at my dropped lids, needing a moment to just catch my breath and rub my thoughts out of my mind. My head was heavy, spinning even though I’d had all of two beers. I considered for the briefest of moments how much simpler my life had been before she appeared at the door of the colonial with her smart mouth. I had been guided by simple virtues: sleep, fuck, piss, shit, eat, work, repeat. And now all of that felt terribly inconsequential, and truthfully? A little lonely, because even though I was constantly surrounded by people, they saw only what I wanted them to see. That bridled, put-together version of myself who worked twelve-hour shifts six days out of the week. The guy who took care of his ma and his sisters, who had abdicated on his own wants to provide others with theirs.
I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. I didn�
�t want to watch another thing slip through my fingers, something I had wanted just for myself. I didn’t care how complicated it was. How messy it was going to be; because if the taste of Raquel alone was enough to leave me reeling; if it was enough to stoke the coals that burned the fire inside of me that now demanded I follow her outside—then I wanted to follow that inconvenient instinct.
If Raquel was inconvenient, then I didn’t want simple.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
What was that expression again?
You reap what you sow.
What goes around comes around.
And my personal favorite: Payback’s a bitch.
I breezed through the doors of O’Malley’s, the frigid air a welcome respite against my flushed and prickly skin, the traces of sweat turning the damp strands of hair on the back of my neck into cold droplets.
My rage hastened me down the sidewalk, brick pavers absorbing my footsteps. After everything I had said to Penelope tonight, I deserved this. My chest ached from the moment I had been robbed of—I had been riding a wave, a high so unlike anything I had ever experienced, only to watch that undertow claim me again and drag me under. I wasn’t allowed to swim, I was only permitted to flounder.
Cash hadn’t mentioned he was with Dom and Terry when I’d called, he’d just asked me where I was and said he would be there within the hour.
I’d gotten distracted, wrapped up in Sean, and now…
How could I be so careless? I’d let things go too far; I’d been caught. All it would take is for Dom to say one word about what he had seen to Cash about Sean and I and…
No, I didn’t want to think about it. I’d done the right thing by telling Sean not to follow me. This was my fault, and I needed to own it. Even if being in Dominic’s presence made me murderous. I tracked his yips of mirth, my breath blowing out of me in hot plumes of air. How dare he be happy, that piece of shit. My body was practically vibrating when I spotted the headlights of the car, the obtrusive light illuminating my path, my legs practically kicking up at a dead run. I felt as if someone had aborted my neural pathways, driving me further from that fine line of sanity toward the boundary of the point of no return.
