Page 10 of Grind
“Tell me about your family,” she says brightly, cutting into my thoughts.
My family? Tension ripples over my muscles. Does she know who I am? But then I see her looking at a picture of me with my brothers, the five of us laughing and saluting the camera with our beers at some barbeque.
That part is simpler.
“I have four brothers. Four of us work in the family business, including me, and Seamus who we just got back full-time from some fancy law firm, but my youngest brother is actually a fighter.”
She searches the image and points to the huge bruiser in the end of the lineup. “Him, right?”
“The black eye is a giveaway, huh?”
I’ve got the eggs and toast plated and slide it across the island. Lowering myself down onto the stool across from Ava, I’m struck again by how stunning she is. It’s not lost on me how domestic this scene is. It feels good and I don’t entirely like it; I don’t have time for this.
“Scrambled eggs? You made me scrambled eggs?” She sounds like she might start crying again. This woman has had a rough day.
“Look, they’re not fancy, but they’ll taste good. I promise.” I shove the plate a little farther in her direction and then dig into my own. Normally I’d hit a takeout place or bring a sandwich home from the bar, but I’m too distracted tonight.
“What about your family?” The second I ask, I wish I could take it back. Why are we getting so damned personal? Her composure fractures for just a second, before the mask falls back into place. Her face is utterly bereft before she masters it, telling me everything I need to know.
“It’s just me. My dad left when I was really small, and my mom raised me. She was amazing, but her family didn’t approve of my dad, so they didn’t have anything to do with us. Not even after they separated. Unfortunately, she got sick with cancer when I was in high school. By the time she passed away and I was in college, there just wasn’t a lot left.” Clearly a story she’s told before, but also like she has gone into more detail than she usually does. Maybe further than she intended.
Things go quiet again. Worry spikes for a second, like I fucked up. I’m not used to these conversations. Personal conversations, especially not with beautiful women. Most of the women I talk to are more interested in surface things: the money, the flash of glamor at Intrigue, the Doyle name. I don’t know how to bring it back from the edge when things get too deep.
“These eggs are really good. Thank you again,” she says. She’s standing up, moving toward the couch with a slowness that reminds me she was injured tonight. “I can just crash here, if you have a blanket.”
I’m on my feet and step into her path, blocking her way to the sofa. “Absolutely not. You’ll be sleeping in there.”
Her eyes shift uneasily toward the bedroom that lies in shadows beyond the door and then back to my face. She pulls her bottom lip in, and sucks on it. “Listen, Connor…” Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but do I hear a note of regret along with the shoot-down she thinks she’s delivering? Even the vague suggestion of being in my bedroom with Ava has my cock twitching, a fact I’m working hard to ignore.
“Alone,” I add firmly.
I stride toward the master bedroom and throw on the light. I pull a T-shirt out of a drawer, trying not to think too hard about why I grab my favorite Red Sox shirt and not one of the brand new shirts right next to it.
I want to imagine her wearing nothing but my favorite shirt. In my bed.
It’s all I can do to keep from growling. Going to be a long damned night.
“It’s a little big, but it’ll be fine to sleep in. Bathroom’s over there. Help yourself to the shower, there’s an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Door locks from the inside, here and here,” I indicate the door lock and slide bolt.
It’s a lot of security, but you can’t have too much of it in my business.
I pull a business card out of my pocket and put it on the nightstand. “This has my cell phone number on it. If you wake up and I’m not here, and you need anything at all, call me.”
“If you’re not here?” She’s starting to get panicked again, her eyes going immediately to mine.
Something catches in my throat. Every part of me needs this woman to know that she’s safe. Protective instincts I haven’t felt in a long time crash to the surface. Plenty of time to figure out why later.
“Things sometimes come up at the club. Don’t worry.” I point at the couch. “I’ll be right out there and anything that wants to get to you will have to get through me first. You’re completely safe. Get some sleep.” Not that I’d be sleeping. No, I’d be wide awake imagining her in my bed, in my favorite T-shirt.
“Good night, Ava.”
Before I turn to go, she reaches out and grabs my hand. The soft skin of her small hand around mine, the pressure of her touch, and the way she’s looking at me are too much. This girl – and what she does to me on multiple levels – is taking me into a whole new territory. I don’t know if I like it.
“Thank you, Connor,” she whispers softly, giving me the faintest smile.
Her touch is electric, and my body comes alive with an awareness of how close she’s standing. She gives my hand a squeeze, and then I pull away and walk out, closing the door behind me, before my body gets other ideas.
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