Page 33 of Our Cracked Pieces
Finally, I said, “I think Lorcan Cavanaugh might be too much for someone like me.”
His whiskey halfway gone, Grayson twirled the glass around in his hands. “Someone like you?”
I nodded. “Someone like me.”
“Rowan, you’re a magnificent person. I think it’s the men who don’t measure up in this picture, not you. Never you.”
“So, you’re saying, as a man, you’d have no problem dating a woman with baggage?”
“Christ, Rowan,” he huffed out. “Everyone had baggage. Some just have more bags than others.”
Patty returned with my drink and another one for Grayson. We thanked her, and she went about her way. I also knew this was going to be Grayson’s last. With good reason, the guy took my safety seriously.
“But mine is a little more than an ex-husband or some kids, Grayson,” I pointed out.
“True,” he agreed. “But only a pussy backs off from a woman he cares about because of her baggage, Rowan. If he’s not strong enough to carry it for her when she’s struggling with it, then he’s nothing but a little bitch, and she’s better off without him.”
I grinned to lessen the seriousness of the conversation. “And you’re not a little bitch.”
“If I care about a woman, I’ll carry whatever the fuck she needs me to,” he replied. “Because that’s what a man does, Rowan. His only purpose in a relationship is to hold her up when she’s too tired to stand on her own anymore.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re perfect?”
“Well, isn’t this cozy.”
Chapter 24
Lorcan~
Two times in two days, and it was a wonder I could even speak to the woman sitting in front of me.
With another man.
Yesterday, I had to deal with witnessing that tool, Cole Dion, hitting on her, and now, after agreeing to a stupid late-night meeting over drinks, I find her sitting happily with some other guy, overhearing her telling him how fucking perfect he was.
Taking him in, he looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. But that was probably because anger was doing its best to cloud my judgement here. My vision was turning a little hazy.
With the color red.
Rowan looked up at me, her eyelids fluttering like a bimbo’s. “Why, Lorcan Cavanaugh,” she drawled out in an exaggerated feminine voice, “what a surprise.”
She was such a fucking smartass.
I looked at the guy. “How many of those has she had?”
He snorted. “I stopped keeping track at dinner earlier.” So, that was this asshole’s plan. Ply Rowan with alcohol, then easy access.
There was that red color again.
Rowan snapped her fingers in an ‘awe sucks’ sort of way. “I could have sworn my license says I’m twenty-nine and not nineteen.”
“Stupid drunk at any age is still stupid drunk, Rowan,” I practically growled down at her, pissed as fuck.
As. Fuck.
She jerked her head towards the guy with her. “Luckily, I’m covered for the night.” Her smile was full of condescension. “Thanks for the concern, though.”
“Yeah, you are,” I shot back. “Because I’m taking you home.” I gestured towards her purse on the table. “Grab your shit, and let’s go.”
