Page 7 of Craving Chaos

Some of Donati’s cologne or aftershave rubbed off on me when I put him in that headlock. The scent is fucking incredible, which drove me crazy after we left, and I couldn’t escape him. My senses must have adjusted. I don’t smell it anymore and forgot all about it.

I shrug. “You know my work involves a lot of physical contact.”

“Yeah,” she gives me a thin smile. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”

Her gaze drops to the pendant necklace I wear every day. She doesn’t know anything about it, which makes me wonder why she’s staring at it now after asking me about cologne. It seems odd, but then again, I could be paranoid. My job lends me to that sort of thinking.

“Well, today was a little unusual, too. That’s why Conner called me. He heard that I got a little overzealous today and upset a student when I put him in a headlock. Conner wants to make sure the guy isn’t going to sue me.” The lies roll off my tongue with such ease that sometimes I scare myself.

“You put a student in a headlock?” She gapes at me.

“He ‘accidentally’ grazed my tits one too many times. Needed a lesson.”

“You’re a little crazy, you know that?” She bites her lower lip and peers up at me through a forest of long black lashes. I pull her body against mine and appreciate the way she softens against me.

“I wish I knew how to be a badass like you,” she whispers.

No, she doesn’t.

Mari is flowy dresses and daisies and picnics under sunny skies. She isn’t remotely the type of person who could handle treading the same path as me. We are so incredibly different. And when I think about it too closely, I know that we’re too different. That more than anything may be why I’ve never considered a real relationship with her.

I pull away and smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be badass enough for us both.”

We have a nice dinner together. I always enjoy spending time with her, but I can’t seem to focus on our conversation. My mind is elsewhere, more specifically, imagining endless alternative scenarios of how my afternoon at the docks could have gone down. I can’t seem to escape those searing blue eyes.

As the evening draws on, I admit defeat and claim a headache. I tell myself I just need a little time alone when that is the last thing I need because I know all I’m going to do is think of him.

I send Mari home. I can tell she’s a little disappointed. I am, too. I had hoped having her over would be a perfect distraction. Now I’m starting to wonder if anything but time will effectively drown out thoughts of Renzo Donati. God help me.

“You hear that Oran’s engaged?” Conner leans against the welcome desk, where I spend most nights managing security at the Bastion social club. At nine in the evening, our night is only getting started.

“For real this time?” I ask teasingly, knowing he and Lina have resolved their drama.

“For real. Sounds like the wedding will be soon.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I mutter. “You people keep getting married, and I’m never going to have a free weekend.”

“Maybe you’ll be next,” he jabs.

“Nope. Not happening. I don’t care how fast you Byrne men fall. I’m not like that.”

The smug glint in his eyes makes the leather corset top I wore suddenly feel suffocatingly oppressive. “I’m not saying it would be a bad thing to settle down. I just don’t see how it would happen when I’ve never met anyone I’ve remotely entertained wanting to keep around forever.”

“Interesting,” he muses. “I had an entirely different take on the situation.”

My hand lifts to my necklace without my permission. “What situation?” Playing dumb is always a great defense.

Conner smirks. “It wasn’t but a handful of months ago. I doubt you’ve forgotten.”

I shrug. “Considering you know nothing about said situation, that’s quite an assumption to make.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want him to sense that he’s unbalanced me.

It was one week, and I never told anyone. How could he possibly suspect anything, let alone something serious?

“Absolutely.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I could have completely misinterpreted things.”

I hold my phone out like a reporter, eyes wide as she gets the story of her career. “Can you repeat that, sir, for the record?” I can count the number of times on one hand I’d ever heard one of the Byrne men admit they might not know it all.

He huffs a dry laugh. “Fuck off, Shae.”

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