Page 15 of Grind
Turning off the water, I wrap a blue towel around my waist as I exit the bathroom.
“I’m almost ready,” I call out, wanting to reassure Ava. As much as I don’t have time for complications, I want, no, need her to feel safe with me. Anger rises in my throat as I remember that son of a bitch dragging her around outside my club.
“About fucking time, Romeo.”
Seamus’s voice is not the one I expect—or want—to hear. As I walk out of the bedroom, I see him sitting at the same island I made sub-par scrambled eggs for Ava at last night. The toast had been pretty decent, though. My eyes sweep the familiar space of my apartment.
No Ava.
The need to keep her safe slams into me hard. I can’t do that if she’s not here. Fuck.
“Where is she?”
There’s more threat in my voice than I intended. Seamus doesn’t deserve that. But it’s taking everything I’ve got right now not to run down the hall in search of her in this damned towel, or wrap my hands around the nearest throat to demand where she’s gone.
“Your lady dashed off as I was coming to see if you were ready.”
He nods toward my kitchen counter.
“I made some coffee. Seems like you need it, though I can’t believe you drink this cheap shit.” He taps the mug for effect.
She’s not my lady, she’s just a woman who needed my help.
Except I can’t stop thinking of her body pinned beneath mine. I hear judgment in Seamus’s voice, and not just about the coffee. Maybe I’m just mad at myself for getting sucked into something that could go off the rails.
Seamus’s eyes are hard on my face when he says, “Look, Connor, she left. Walked right out in your favorite Sox jersey, onto the elevator and down. She was fine.”
Our cousin’s disappearance passes wordlessly between us. Seamus is too discerning to not understand.
Beats pass as my eyes bore into the door, before I force myself to relax. Fight down the possessive feeling that’s clawing its way up my throat. No matter how much I want to protect this woman – this woman that I just met, I remind myself sternly – I have no right to tell her what to do.
To keep her here, or anywhere. That makes me as bad as that asshole trying to control what’s she doing.
I pour myself a cup of coffee. The bitter smell helps me focus. Seamus watches expectantly, his fingers drumming on the cool marble island.
“She’s going to law school,” I say, finally, after swallowing a mouthful of dark bitter brew. “Suffolk.”
That seems to matter. Like the fact that she’s got big plans somehow erases the awkwardness of this moment.
“Ah,” Seamus replies, nodding. “With our beloved mayor’s son?”
“Not everyone can go to Harvard, brother.”
“Connor,” Seamus says, standing up. “I don’t want to tell you what to do.”
“There’s a first,” I shoot back.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
I stare defiantly at my brother. For some reason, he can always make me feel like the little brother even though I’m in my thirties. With him standing there in his Brooks Brothers suit, and me in my towel, I’m not exactly making a convincing case for myself.
“I told you I’ve got this, Seamus.” I slam back the last of my coffee.
Forcefully, I add, “You have to trust me. Now let me put some goddamn clothes on so we can get to the Kildare on time. You’re going to look ridiculous in that fucking suit.”
“She had your Red Sox shirt on,” Seamus reminds me as I walk back to the bedroom. He could never let anything go.
“Great observation skills, Seamus. It’s why you’re such a fine lawyer.” I slam the door behind me. Now if I could just stop thinking about Ava.
