Page 29 of Mob Knight

“No. I said I was practically raised here and played darts. I didn’t say I played pool or darts well.” I grin, but my heart stops as I wait for her to laugh at me, not with me.

I’m excellent at darts because my dad wouldn’t teach me how to throw a knife until I could hit the bullseye with precision every time I threw a dart. Not a family story I’m sharing. I’m not as good at pool because I think it’s boring and rarely play. But it was the only thing open to give me a chance to stay near Joey.

She chuckles, and I don’t feel like it’s at my expense so much as appreciating a self-deprecating sense of humor.

“I’ll take a win where I can get it. I doubt there’s much you don’t excel at.”

She’s on the opposite side of the table from me now as she leans forward. Her top isn’t loose, but there’s just enough space between the material and her skin for me to have a stellar view of her perfect tits. I almost forget it’s my turn when she misses because I’m too busy daydreaming about fucking her.

I pull my head out of my arse and take the shot. I do better than I expected and sink three more, which ties us. Someone bumps into her when she walks past me. It knocks her into me, and my arm goes around her waist. Our gazes lock, and I want nothing more than to kiss her. From the way her gaze darts to my lips, I think she feels the same way. If I don’t ease her away from me, she’s going to feel my semi-erect cock shoot to full mast.

“Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault.” I ease my arm away until just my hand rests on her waist.

She pulls away, but the same arselick knocks into her again. He’s drunk and being obnoxious. I reach out with the hand holding the cue stick and tap on the guy’s shoulder blade with my knuckles. It’s a light tap, I swear. But he spins around with plenty to say.

“What the fuck, asshole? Touch me again, and?—”

He takes a moment to shift his gaze from Joey to me. When he does, he wants to swallow his tongue. His head jerks back, and his mouth hangs open.

“Sorry. I meant nothing by it.” His tongue practically trips over his teeth as he rushes to apologize.

“You’re cut off.”

He thinks he grew a pair. “Mind your own fucking business. You don’t tell me?—”

“Yeah, I do.” I signal two bouncers already easing their way through the crowd to me.

“What the fu?—”

“Stop swearing.” If he were my mother’s son, he’d already have a bar of Irish Spring between his cheeks.

“Get your motherfucking hands off me.”

He tries to pull away from a bouncer and winds up driving his elbow into Joey’s shoulder. I barely moved her in time to keep it from nailing her jaw.

“You’re going to let Mikey and Tommy escort you outsideafteryou pay your tab. You donotwant me to help you out, and you donotwant my cousin—who owns this establishment—to help you out.”

“It’s not my fault the bitch was standing in the way.”

The man has a fucking death wish. Mikey and Tommy are my second cousins through my dad. Their parents are just as strict about no swearing in front of women and children as mine are. They each grab an arm, and Mikey’s shoulder goes into fuckwad’s chest as he pushes him away from Joey and me.It looks more like he’s steering the douchebag, but I guarantee it feels like a linebacker’s charging into him. The NFL scouted Mikey, but he blew out his knee at the first season opener.

“Are you all right?”

I keep my voice low as I ease Joey’s hand from her arm and rub her shoulder. She nods, but she looks anything but fine.

“Joey, answer me. Are you all right?”

I infuse a little command in my voice, and her gaze immediately shifts downward. I feel like an arsehole until her body leans into mine.

“Yes, Cormac.”Yes, sir.

That’s what it sounded like she wanted to say. The way her gaze remains averted. She drank the beer she bought while we played, and I got her a second one she’d just finished before our game got so rudely interrupted. My cue’s leaning against the table where I placed it before squaring off with the drunk piece of shite and telling him to leave. My free hand goes to Joey’s hip, and I squeeze. She doesn’t react, so I squeeze harder.

“Are you telling me the truth,cailín?”

She raises her gaze to meet mine for a moment, uncertain what the Irish word means. But she looks down a second later.

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