Page 22 of Grind
“Of course,” Ava says smoothly. “Where are my manners? Connor, let me introduce my boss here at the center, Ruth Barrett. Ruth founded the center and has run it for almost twenty years. Her work really inspired me, and she’s given me the opportunity to intern here when I can.”
Her gaze shifts back to me. “Ruth, this is my friend Connor Doyle. Connor offered to walk me home tonight.”
She doesn’t elaborate why, and another minute passes where she studies my face. “It’s nice to meet you, Connor. You’re not a student here.”
It’s not a question.
“No, ma’am. I run a business downtown.” She’s continuing to look at me in a particular way that’s making me uncomfortable.
“Doyle. Any relation to Seamus Doyle?”
Relief floods through me. Of course she’d know Seamus. “Seamus is my brother. He teaches here occasionally.”
She smiles for the first time. “Seamus is a good man,” she says, and then adds pointedly, “And no fan of the Stacy family, I might add.”
Her eyes track back to mine for a long moment, and then she says, “You go on home, Ava. Thanks again for your work. Nice meeting you, Connor. Have a good evening.” And then she heads back to her office.
There’s a pause, when Ava says, “Just let me grab my coat.”
She has her things and we’re out the door. It’s late – again. I promised her I’d walk her home, and that’s it.
“Any chance you’d want to grab a drink? Or I could buy you some dinner?” It’s out before I can stop myself, and she looks at me uncertainly.
“I’d love to,” a tentative note in her voice fights with the words. “But I have a study group that starts at 7:00 a.m., and I’m not totally ready for it.”
Do I want to have dinner or drinks or anything with this woman? Hell, yes. But I can see where this is going. She told me when she’s free. In a fucking week. Does it suck to wait?
Hell, yes again.
Do I want to be putting pressure on her? Absolutely not. Then I’m no better than some entitled Stacy demanding what he wants and not thinking about what’s good for her.
“Not tonight. No worries. Just keep me looking forward to that dinner in a few days.” My grin hides the disappointment I feel. “Have you eaten dinner though?”
She gives a quick shake of her head, and I step to the side to pull out my phone. I hit a few key strokes and then slide it back in my pocket. When she looks at me curiously, I just wink and slide an arm around her shoulders. It’s a quick walk to my car, and an even regrettably quicker drive to her place at this late hour.
I pull to a stop two streets away from her place, and leave the car idling. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” Jogging across the street, I come out a minute later with two bags of takeout. One for me and one for her. Technically, there’s enough food for a week in hers, since I don’t know what she likes. A little of everything. Plus I know her financial situation isn’t great, and this way I can take care of her without pissing her off. I hope.
I swing down into the car, stashing my bag behind the seat and handing her the warm takeout. “Best Chinese food in Boston. There’s something for everyone in there, because I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
She stares at the bag, looks away and then back at my face. “You didn’t have to do this, Connor. But thank you.”
“Can’t have you studying on an empty stomach,” I shift back into traffic and then all too soon we’re in front of her apartment.
As I hold open the car door and walk her up to her apartment, there’s a moment of uncertainty when she turns to me quickly. “You’re Murphy Doyle’s son.”
And then I know, know what the moment of hesitation was back in the law center. Got it. Running a hand over my jaw, I square my shoulders and nod.
“Your dad… has quite a reputation,” she says finally. It’s hard to read what she’s thinking, but she’s nervously twisting her hair like she does when she’s anxious. Shit.
“Look, Ava, my father got a rough start in life. There’s no denying that, and he did some time, although that was, what, forty years ago?” I jam a hand through my hair. This isn’t how I wanted to have this conversation.
She reaches out, and instinctively I pull back, although I will myself to hold still. Her hand comes to rest on my arm. “Justice isn’t always black and white. I just wondered, that’s all.”
It isn’t always black and white. Neither is business, unfortunately. But I’m not going deeper with her, not on a sidewalk in the cold at midnight and her dimsum chilling by the minute.
Shit. I might not be willing to go all in here on every detail of my work right now. That’s some serious shit, and that kind of trust has to be earned. But there’s no way I’m dragging anyone into my life that doesn’t want to be there.
No matter how beautiful she is. Or how much I want to protect her. Or how much I fucking want her.
