Page 51 of The Renegade Billionaire
I glance behind us to see Savvy and Clover shimming in place and shooing me along.
“Don’t the girls need a ride home?” I ask.
“No, Cian doesn’t drink. He’ll drive them.”
“An Irishman who doesn’t drink?”
She stops at the door and lowers her chin to her chest. I can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying, so I usher her into a corner, then lift her face to mine.
I still have no idea if she’s laughing or crying. Her expression is…lost.
“Keys,” she demands again.
“Sweetheart, you’ve had at least two drinks. You can’t drive tonight.”
She stomps her foot and frowns. It’s so fucking cute I want to kiss every inch of her pouty face.
“Shoot,” she mutters. “I forgot. Freaking Harry?—”
“Hush. We don’t say that name around here.” The right corner of my lip twitches when she looks up at me. “It’s Harry Turd or oxygen thief from here on out.”
Madison’s face lights up our tiny corner of the bar when she smiles brightly. “That’s been Cian’s favorite insult since high school.”
“It’s a good one. It’s definitely been entered into my vernacular.”
“He’ll be so proud. Seriously, though. Are you okay?” she asks, holding up the bag of ice.
My jaw is swelling, and my cheek is on fire, but I don’t tell her that.
“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Flashing red and blue lights roll through the windows of the bar, and she groans.
“Does this happen a lot?” I ask.
“He’s…he doesn’t like to lose.”
“How long has he been bothering you?”
Madison shrugs, then takes my hand in hers again and tugs me outside where we find Cian sitting on Turd’s back while the officer cuffs him.
I stop to stare at him and laugh out loud. “Cian’s having a good time.”
“You have no idea how much pleasure this brings him,” she says quietly. “Cian was a late bloomer when he moved here in high school. This is him getting revenge on his high school rival.”
“Nice.” I chuckle.
We stand against the brick wall of the bar as another officer approaches. “You who he hit?”
I nod.
“You want to press charges?”
I look to Madison, who shrugs. “It’s up to you. I don’t think it’ll make a difference either way.”
“Can I think about it? I want to get her home.”
The older woman closes her notebook with a snap. “You’re a good egg. Take care of our girl. If you decide to press charges, just come down to the station.” She hands me a card, and I slip it into my back pocket.
