Page 17 of Finn

“I was the one trying to keep you away from the ring tonight.” Eoghan sits to the left of me, sipping his drink while still wearing an excited smile.

“Don’t act like you aren’t giddy as a schoolboy, knowing I’m going to get a ration from our mother tomorrow.”

My brother smirks, and I want to wipe the smug smile off his face.

“Maybe I should give you a matching cut, Eoghan. Then she’ll have two sets of ears to box.”

“Now, why would you do that when I’ve gone through all the trouble of putting together this fine bachelor party for you?”

I look around the bar then back to my brother. “What bachelor party?”

“Exactly,” he says, nodding at me. “You wouldn’t let me plan anything for you, so we’re stuck here drinking the same whiskey we do every night with the same people we see almost as often.” He shakes his head in disappointment.

“When it’s your turn to walk down the aisle, I’ll make sure to throw you a damn bachelor party with all the strippers and alcohol you could possibly imagine.”

Eoghan scoffs. “Like that'll ever happen. Marriage is for suckers.”

“Or men trying to take over criminal empires,” Cillian says with a smirk.

Ignoring my brother and lieutenant, I scan the crowd. I’m not looking for anyone in particular. It’s just a habit of mine, making sure any and all possible threats are noticed and eliminated before they become a problem.

Eoghan is pouting in the corner, obviously wishing I’d taken him up on his offer to have a full-blown celebration tonight instead of sitting in one of our bars, but this is exactly where I’m comfortable. I don’t need a last night of freedom celebration. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that’s going to change is I’ll have a roommate with my last name.

A sexy as hell roommate that’s sure to keep me on my toes…but she’ll never be in my bed.

It’s obvious she isn’t interested in mixing business with pleasure, which I fully think is for the best. Unfortunately, it doesn’t answer the question of why; for the last week, I’ve been finding any excuse to call or text her. Asking her for little details about the wedding, which she doesn’t know, just so she’ll have to find out from Lilliana and get back to me. Or why I’ve been imagining her in my home and in the bed she’s made clear she has no desire to be in. Three nights in a row, I’ve fisted my cock with thoughts of her painted-red lips tipped up at the corners while on her knees in front of me. Even in my fantasies, her eyes still held that glint of defiance, which I think made me come even harder. There has got to be something wrong with me. I’m inviting a woman who can’t stand me into my home, into my sanctuary, and I’m getting off on her hating me.

My gaze must linger in one spot for too long. When I finally shake myself out of my thoughts of Alessia, a tall blonde with fake tits and a dress that leaves hardly anything to the imagination is walking over with a smile directed at me.

“Hey,” she says. “I saw you fight tonight. Congratulations on the win. Can I buy you a drink to celebrate?”

I hold up my glass. “Already have one.”

“Well,” she says, sitting in the empty chair next to mine. “How about a different celebration? Somewhere not so crowded.”

She leans in, a hair's breadth from my mouth. It would be nothing to lean over and take her lips in a bruising kiss, then take her to my brother’s office and begin the “celebration” she has in mind. But her hair is too light, and the shade of red on her lips isn’t the same one I can’t seem to get out of my head. The shade worn by a woman who has obviously cast some unwanted, powerful spell over me. I shake my head and smile politely, telling the blonde, “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

She shrugs a slim shoulder and licks her bottom lip in a move that’s meant to look seductive but isn’t doing a damn thing for me. “You sure?”

“While I appreciate the offer, I’m about to be a married man.” I shoot her a smile in the hopes she isn’t offended by my rejection, seeing as angry drunk women at a bar can be bad for business.

Her eyes trail up and down my body, and I’m getting the feeling she doesn’t care one way or another about my marital status. “Lucky girl. Another time then.”

Her nails scrape across my hand before she gets up and wanders off.

“Jesus,” I mumble, taking a sip of my whiskey. “Does no one respect the bonds of marriage anymore?”

My brother and Cillian look at each other, then me, erupting in a fit of laughter.

Assholes.

“Finnegan Patrick Monaghan. Let me see your face.” My mother storms into the dressing room at the church, eyeing me through the mirror while I straighten the tie that feels as though it’s choking me.

Fucking Eoghan.

I turn and face my mother and she walks up to me, grabbing my chin and wrenching my head to the side, scrutinizing the cut and bruise above my eyebrow.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she grits out, letting her hand fall. “I would expect this from your brother, but seriously, Finn? Did you really need to fight the night before your wedding? And could you not have protected your face? You’re better than that.”

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