Page 86 of Wild Angel

“My sisters!” I blurt out in a barely controlled shriek.

“Not them,” Sam says. “Who’s this guy?”

I let go of Matty, brush my hands over my clothes. “Oh. He’s…uh…Donny.”

“Donny who?”

“Donnacha Brennan. He’s part-owner of the Brennan Boxing Club down in—”

“Jesus, you got yourself involved with the Irish mafia?”

I bark out a laugh. “No, you fucking idiot. It was the Bogota.”

Sam and Matty share a look. “But they’re Irish, right?” Matty says.

I roll my eyes, clap my hands over my face. “Oh my God, please just call Vito. Let him explain it to you with flashcards or something.”

I drag my hands away to find Matty’s face has set in one of those expressionless masks these two love wearing so much.

But I can’t. My mind is a complete mess. It’s like I’m holding onto a bare wire and waiting for someone to pump electricity through it…but all they want to do is keep asking me useless questions.

Matty calls, but Vito doesn’t pick up. He slides the phone back in his pocket and gives Sam an unreadable look. “Guess they’re both busy now.”

I snarl in frustration as I turn and stalk away from them.

For once, Sam and Matty don’t immediately follow me. When I glance over my shoulder, it looks like they’re bickering again.

They’re worse than a fucking married couple.

I turn the corner and come up short. Ahead, Viv is just stepping into the hall, tugging at the hem of her tight little dress. I grimace, consider my options.

Maybe, if I’m quiet, she won’t notice me.

But as luck would have it, Viv happens to glance over her shoulder as she’s adjusting her hair—which I’m pretty damn sure is a wig—and spots me.

I grimace.

She smiles and waves.

Then it’s like my brain finally starts working again. Everything falls into place. If this was a movie, there’d be an angelic choir playing right now.

I force a grin as I hurry up to her. “Just the person I was looking for!”

“Me?” She presses bright red fingernails to her sun-damaged cleavage.

“Yeah, you. We should get to know each other, right?” I’m faltering, not having a fucking clue what to even say to this woman.

I’ve always struggled with female relationships. Probably because I’m too busy for more than a two-sentence conversation with the check-out girl at the grocer.

And the few women who went to Brennan’s Boxing Club began avoiding me like the plague after I broke that bitch’s nose a few years back.

Word spreads.

I reach out and hesitantly pat Viv’s shoulder. “So, uh, you want to have lunch or something?”

Viv’s eyes go round. “That would be lovely! I’ll ask the girls to make us something special. Do you like sushi?”

I couldn’t give a fuck what we eat, but I couldn’t have been happier Viv is into raw fish. “Like it?” I give her arm a playful punch. “I fu—freakin’ love it!”

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