Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
CIARA
Saoirse fanned herself. “I think I’m getting second-hand scorch marks from you two.”
Skye laced her hands together and bounced in her chair with a squee. “I’m so happy for you!”
“To she who is clearly getting all the orgasms,” Pippa lifted her glass.
My brain was finally coming back online from that public claiming Alex had laid on me. “I don’t even have anything to toast with.”
“Shut up. We’re having a moment of silence for your good fortune,” Saoirse intoned.
My friends clinked glasses and drank.
“Now, tell us everything,” Saoirse insisted. “And don’t spare any smutty details. Some of us are living vicariously through you right now.”
I snickered. “Your love of smut is a source of never-ending amusement to me.”
“I don’t have time for an actual man in my life, so I get my needs met where I can,” she said primly.
Pippa leaned in. “So tell us… is he as… intense as he seems? He seems like a very… focused individual.”
“If I’m gonna say anything at all about his… focus or intensity, I am definitely going to need a drink. Be right back.”
Their collective groans followed me as I made my way through the throngs to the bar. As was always the case when The Kilt Lifters performed, the pub was utterly packed. Some came lured by the name to find out whether they lived up to the inherent promise. Some came because—spoiler alert—they did live up to that promise. Jason and his two mates, Ollie and Cal, ended every show by flashing their bums at the audience. It never failed to bring down the house. But a surprising lot of people came because they put on a rip-roaring fun show doing bagpipe covers of boy band songs.
The band had already started their first set by the time I made it back to the table with my pint, so I was saved from the interrogation about my love life. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be averse to sharing something, but things with Alex were too new. We hadn’t discussed any kind of long-term future. We’d only just sort of gotten to the acknowledgment that this thing between us was real, and we wanted a chance at the thing we’d both sensed three years ago.
It was good to be out and about, at least a little. Life had felt suffocating the past few months, as I’d started changing more and more of my habits to avoid Brodie. I knew the bodyguard routine Alex had been in for the past week couldn’t last forever. At some point, I’d be getting another car, and going back to my life. Tonight was a tiny step toward reclaiming normal.
By the band’s first break, we’d gotten several appetizers to split, and Pippa had retrieved another round of drinks.
Skye picked up the conversation as if a half hour hadn’t passed. “So, it hasn’t escaped our notice that Alex has basically moved in with you.”
I choked on the haggis pot sticker I’d popped into my mouth.
“Aye, what’s going on with that?” Pippa asked.
Washing down the food with the last of my original pint, I pounded my own chest until I could properly breathe again. “He hasn’t moved in.” Though his toothbrush had definitely taken up residence next to mine, and his kitten had made herself right at home, officially, he was still living out of a bag. “He’s just staying with me right now out of an abundance of caution. He’s playing bodyguard and chauffeur in the wake of my accident.”
Their chorus of sighs was loud enough to be heard over the crowd.
“I knew he was a good man the moment he volunteered to keep that kitten,” Saoirse declared.
“He’s just got the look about him. So attentive. Not to mention he looks at you like you’re his favorite flavor popsicle,” Skye giggled. “Oh, sorry. Ice lolly.”
I will not imagine him licking me. I will not imagine him licking me…
Saoirse hooted. “I’d say she is, and the consequences are well worth it.”
Oh my God, my face was on fire.
“Right. On that note, I need to run upstairs and check on Saffron.” I didn’t need any such thing, but I pushed back from the table, anyway. Maybe a few minutes with my head stuck in the freezer would see me fit to be in other people’s company again.
Pippa pushed back, too. “I’ll come with you.”
I waved her down. “No, no, there’s no reason. Look, the band is starting the next set. Stay and enjoy the show. I’m just going to slip out the back. It’s literally ten feet to my stairs. Back in a wee bit.”
From the stage, the guys rocked out to their version of the Backstreet Boys’ “Everybody.” People got up and started to dance beside their tables. I slipped through the crowd with the ease of habit from all the time I’d spent here as waitstaff. Without hesitation, I pushed through the kitchen door into Dom Bassey’s domain.
He looked up from where he chopped onions with precision at the prep table. “Ciara, my love. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I paused to buss his bristly dark cheek. “I’m using the back exit to pop up to my flat for a bit.”
“You stop in for a visit on your way back down.” He let more of his native West Africa slide into his voice as he gave the order.
“I will absolutely do that.”
Moving by him, I hustled down the short hall, past the cooler and the pantry, and out the back door. The moment it shut behind me, I paused and inhaled a deep lungful of the chilly evening air. A breeze blew down the alley that ran behind the businesses on this side of the high street, cooling my burning cheeks.
My lungs gradually expanded, and I realized I’d been more anxious about being out in public without my trusty bodyguard than I’d realized. Points to Alex for his concern on that front. But I’d done okay. And I’d be fine again after a few minutes alone. Guilt propelled me toward my stairs so my little fib didn’t stay a lie. I’d just look in on the kitten, maybe get a few minutes of cuddles, then come back for the rest of the show.
The faint scuff of a shoe was the only warning I got before an arm snaked around my throat from behind. I didn’t stop to think, didn’t question, I simply reacted, falling back on the training my brother had drilled into me. I dropped my chin and reached for the arm with one hand to protect my airway, then stepped wide to drop into a riding stance. I drove my elbow back hard into my attacker’s gut. Feeling his hold loosen, I spun, catching him across the nose with a ridge hand. Something crunched and my assailant screamed.
As he staggered back, clutching his face behind the dark mask, I could’ve run, but I was so over this shite. I closed the distance, catching him in the ribs with a roundhouse. When he snarled at me and reached toward me again, I grabbed his hand and torqued it in a direction that was entirely unnatural. The man dropped like a stone, screaming again. I kept twisting until he’d flopped over onto his belly, and I pressed a knee into his back. Maintaining the arm bar, I used my free hand to pull off my belt and tie his hands behind him. Then I yanked off the ski mask covering his head.
And though a part of me had expected it, I still stumbled back when I saw his familiar, if bloody, face. “Brodie?”
“You bitch! You broke my fucking nose!”
“You attacked me, you wanker!”
“You were mine ,” he snarled.
When he started to get up, I scrambled over and drove my knee into his back again, pressing him to the pavement. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Under a hail of invective, I dragged my phone from my pocket, relieved it hadn’t flown out during the struggle. With a deep breath, I dialed 999.
“I’d like to report an assault.”