Page 6 of Mob Princess

“No one has called me a little anything let alone a little teddy bear since I was six.”

He watches me for a moment before his expression turns predatory. He leans forward to whisper in my ear, but he presses a kiss just beneath it first.

“Je préfèrerais être ton loup.” I’d prefer to be your wolf.

Merde. Shit. He speaks French.

“Peut-être.” Maybe.

I kiss his cheek and turn away from him. I slip into the car, and he closes the door. I lean back and close my eyes for a moment. It’s been an unexpected past two hours. I nearly had—desperately wanted to have—sex with a virtual stranger. I’ve had a few one-night stands. But that’s not what I want from Sean. The reasonable part of me knows it would have broken my heart to fuck him once, then never see him again. I glance at the phone in my hand where it rests on my lap.

Me

What’s your favorite color?

Sean

Cornflower blue. You?

The response is immediate. Just the time to dictate, not even type.

Me

Lavender

Sean

What’s your favorite food? Don’t tell me poutine.

Me

LOL not every Canadian likes fries with curdled cheese.

Sean

Cheese curds

He sends me the green face emoji.

Me

Agreed. Bacon but the proper kind not the burnt stuff you have in America

Sean

Do you mean Canadian bacon?

Now it’s the eyes squeezed shut laughing emoji. Nothing about the self-assured, suave man I met made me think he’d use emojis when he texts. It makes me grin like an idiot. Thankfully, I’m alone, and no one can see me laughing at nothing but my phone.

Me

Sure. What’s yours?

Sean

With my red hair don’t expect corned beef and cabbage. Steamed carrots with butter, salt, and pepper. That’s probably the real reason for my red hair. I ate pounds of it as a kid.

His red hair. I wanted to run my hand through it and see if it’s as soft as it looks. Yet it stayed in place despite the breeze. It was as though it didn’t dare move out of place. That it wouldn’t make him look anything but perfect. It’s definitely not carrots, but neither is it russet. It’s a rich red that fits perfectly with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. A deep emerald like Irish grass after it rains. With red hair, freckles, green eyes, and a name like Sean, it didn’t take him mentioning corned beef to know he’s Irish. Like probably recently Irish. Maybe a generation or two since his family lived there. He called me cailín and said it was Irish.

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