Page 39 of Illicit Heir

I freeze. My pulse skyrockets.

It can't be her.

Who else would it be?

It has to be her.

How did she get my number?

I rack my brain, then scrub my face in frustration. Jesus, I'm a moron.

I did give her my number. I drank too much whiskey, and in the middle of our card game, I let my arrogance determine my moves. I programmed my number into her phone to prove a point to her. I barely remember what I was trying to reassure her about, but it had something to do with being a stand-up guy and not just a crazy stranger.

Guess I proved her correct on her assumptions about me.

Goddammit, why did I do that?

Unknown Number: You're going to ghost me now? I know you're reading this. Ya fucking coward.

I program her number into my phone. I write Lauren the Enemy to remind myself who she is and not to confuse the situation.

Me: I'm not a fucking coward. I'm not an O'Leary.

Lauren the Enemy: Ya are a coward. You're manipulative. Ya did it on purpose. Ya came into my pub, knowing who I was, with all intentions of hurting me. What was the point? Why did you single me out?

Guilt once again gnaws at me, and I wish it didn't. I stand in front of the window, staring into the darkness of the early evening sky, loathing my actions. The thought of how I hurt her doesn't bring me any pleasure the way I assumed it would.

Lauren the Enemy: Yea. That's what I thought. Ya are a coward.

I don't reply. What would I say? I wanted to know what it was like to fuck an O'Leary? Actually, that's exactly what I should say.

Be a complete dick, and she can move on easier.

Me: As ya know, my brothers are with O'Leary women, except they're not O'Learys anymore. They came over to our side because your blood is disgusting and they realized that.

Lauren the Enemy: So ya wanted to convert me?

Me: No. I didn't sleep with ya to convert ya, lass. I just wanted to know what it was like to be inside an O'Leary, and now I do. So thanks for the night. I enjoyed it. I know you did too. Why don't ya focus on that instead of whatever you're trying to get from this situation?

Lauren the Enemy: You're such an asshole.

Me: Aye. And ya knew it before ya slept with me. But I can assure ya, this situation isn't going to change. I am who I am, and ya are who ya are, so I'll thank ya again for a fun night.

Lauren the Enemy: Give me your address so I can send ya this money ya left.

Me: The money is yours.

Lauren the Enemy: I told ya, I'm not a prostitute.

I shake my head. What is with this woman thinking that me giving her the money for the pub makes her a prostitute?

Me: For the last time, it's not a payment for sex. Fix your pub. Give your mum a break. Give yourself a break. It's my parting gift. Now, I think it's best if we stop texting.

Lauren the Enemy: Good call. I'll block ya.

My gut sinks and panic hits me. I don't want her to block me. What if I want to reach out?

"What the fuck am I talking about?" I mutter and then bang my head slightly against the glass window, stating, "Jesus, I have to get a grip."

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