CHAPTER 15
Samia
Worries and tension snap around my brain as we walk hand-in-hand toward the red brick pub MacNam’s.
Kian’s parents have owned pubs for over thirty years. This is one of the most popular drinking spots in Times Square. It’s so big it takes up an entire block, and it’s where he’s taking me to have drinks with Catherine and Ronan MacNamara.
It’s not as though they’re strangers to me. Our parents are friends from a long time ago. But this new version of me doesn’t know if I’ve met them as Kian’s girlfriend. Let’s say they have a problem with me being his woman. What would be the consequences? His mom might be super possessive of her only son and doesn’t think I’m good enough for him. Mothers can be ultra-clingy with their baby boys.
The longer I think about it, the more nervous I become and the closer I am to asking Kian to take me home.
“It’s gonna be okay. Don’t be nervous.” His mouth touches my temple.
“I’m not nervous.” I lie. Close to puking on the street.
“You look white as a sheet.”
I elbow him. “It’s my natural complexion. Are you sure we don’t want to do something else? We could go grab a bite to eat.”
“They serve food here. It’s nothing to worry about. I told them I’d bring you, it’ll be relaxed. Plus, it’s the pub’s anniversary celebrations all week, so they’ll be working the room most of the time.”
Oh, good. That comforts me I won’t be under his parent’s scrutiny for long. But the nerves sit heavy in my stomach as he opens the golden door but pauses mid-step to look down at me with his serious eyes. Kian looks like such a thug, with his messy, finger-combed hair, serious jawline, and scuffed boots. Looking at him, you can tell he’s the type who would fit right in with a biker gang, causing mayhem wherever he goes. I don’t understand why my heart races whenever Kian’s nearby or why I can’t seem to keep my hands off him today. We’ve kissed so passionately that I’ve broken my teenage record.
“If anyone makes you uncomfortable, they’ll have a problem with me, understand?” He’s so earnest that I pull in a deep breath. Believing him without question. Kian would protect me against anyone. “If someone says something off to you or makes you uncomfortable, let me know, okay?”
All I can do is bob my head and squeeze his hand.
But there is nothing to be worried about unofficially meeting the parents again. Catherine and Ronan welcome me with open arms, passing me around for hugs. Even Kian’s twin sisters are there, and the sixteen-year-olds squeal and pounce their hellos on me.
“Easy there, hellions, my girl isn’t into MMA.” Kian scowls, pulling one of them off me to exchange hugs with his sisters.
“She must know some marital arts to keep you in line.” The redhead with sparkling blue eyes confidently declares, her sassy tone announcing proudly, before she directs her attention to me. “Dealing with him is a constant challenge, Samia.”
“Oh, I know this already.”
“Hey,” Kian says, “don’t align with them, dreamgirl. They might look sweet, but they’re trouble.”
“Don’t you forget it,” the other twin adds, not bothered by her brother calling her trouble. They’re such pretty girls, identical to the last feature, and I know I’ll have issues telling them apart.
I noticed how his parents exchanged glances when Kian used my pet name. Chewing on the corner of my lip, I wish I could ask what they think of our relationship, but it’s yet unclear what level of familiarity I have with them, but my gut sticks with what I know.
“Come and sit by me, Samia. Ronan will get the drinks.” Offers Catherine. Her smiling face is beautiful, with wide-framed glasses and feathered hair around her face. It takes only seconds to note how in love she is with Ronan when he climbs to his feet and pecks her on the lips, saying he’ll be back in a minute. I slide into the half-bucket booth along the back wall of the widespread pub and sit next to her. The place is already packed. It’s decorated with green and gold banners for the thirtieth-anniversary week-long celebrations.
“We’re so glad Kian finally brought you by. Since we found out you were dating, I’ve wanted to have you over for dinner, but Kian’s kept you all to himself. It’s only a shame your parents couldn’t be here. When are they back from London?”
“A week, I think.” I answer, “Mom has to wrap up some agency work over there.”
“The girls have been bugging me for months to ask Kat to sign them with her agency. They’re insane about fashion.”
“They’re gorgeous girls.”
“Don’t tell them that.” Amuses Catherine, “They’ll preen for weeks.”
We talk about idle things for a few minutes. She’s friendly. I like her. It’s more than obvious Kian is her golden boy. I chew on the inside of my cheek when she fusses over him, and he lets her.
From how Ronan keeps checking over this way, he has shrewdness in his eyes, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s aware of Kian’s career choices. Kian told me how infamous their Dublin side of the family is. I assumed half of his stories were made up for entertainment. Maybe not.
“Da, Samia can’t drink alcohol. She’s taking medication,” Interjects Kian when Ronan returns with a tray of beverages.
“Kian, it’s fine, one is okay.”
He glowers at me, and I smile back. He’s so cute.
“One is not fine. I’ll get you lemon water.” He rises, but Ronan cuts in.
“It’s sparkling lemonade, not a vodka. Take it down a notch, White Knight.”
White Knight…now that’s funny, and I chuckle into my drink while Kian palms my thigh underneath the table. His mouth finds my ear. “Find that funny, huh?”
“A little. You’re more a movie villain than a hero.”
He smirks, and my stomach tumbles over.
Is it unbelievable to wonder if I can fall in love with him this fast?
Am I already head over heels and only now realizing the extent of my feelings for him?
I don’t grasp I’m staring, using Kian as a thoughtful focus point until he kisses my nose, and I blink back into attention.
“You were having some big thoughts just now, dreamgirl. Wanna share?” his voice is low enough that it’s just between us, but quickly glancing around the table, I see his dad watching us while his wife hands out coins to the girls to play music on the old-style jukebox.
“Not right now.”
Kian smirks again. “Later then.”
There’s no way I can tell him my thoughts until I’m sure what I’m feeling is genuine and not some residual arousal from the things we did in the middle of the night. If I tell him I think I’m falling for him now after we fooled around, and he gave me the best orgasms ever, will he believe it’s true, or just that I like orgasms?
The thought is as problematic as it is powerful.
Beneath the table, I grip his little finger, and Kian winks.
I can’t deny that he’s my safe harbor.
Even when I didn’t want his presence, I still craved his company because, during my recovery, he refused to sugarcoat or shield me from the truth. He promised to be by my side throughout recovering from the head injury. When I was having grumpy days, he let me have those feelings and didn’t coax me into better emotions.
Thinking back, Kian was so patient and understanding. I’m almost embarrassed about how I spoke to him most days. Why he stuck around is a mystery.
Right then, his sisters bound up to the table and begged Kian for some money to buy some sneakers they wanted. He sighed but reached for his wallet and handed each sister the cash.
“You’re the best.” They chime together with the same smirk Kian uses.
While Kian may have a reputation as a bad boy in business, he completely transforms with his family, and I find it incredibly heartwarming to observe.
“Son, you wanna give me a hand in the cellar while you’re here?”
“Always free labor, huh?” Kian says, rising to his feet, and Ronan cocks a cheeky eyebrow, showing me the future because Kian is just like him in every frame and feature.
“Why have all these kids if we can’t use ‘em?”
Both Catherine and I receive kisses from our MacNamara men. For the first time in forever, I enjoy being in a noisy environment without fear that a dizzy spell will hit me out of nowhere because I know Kian is nearby.
* * *
Kian
Wanting my help was a total smokescreen.
I know how my father operates, and if he’s gotten me into the pub cellar, it’s because he wants to say something in private. Propping my ass against a beer barrel, I fold my arms.
“What’s up?”
“Samia is a nice girl.” He starts, and I frown at the direction of the conversation. I guessed he wouldn’t need a body disposed of. Dad isn’t like that; he cleaned up his act when mom came along, as he tells it. But we’re from an Irish crime family, so if the need arises, my father would take care of that shit personally. But I’d expected his chat to be business-related since the extended family is heading our way from the old country next month. He likes to check in sporadically to make sure I’m being careful.
“Yeah, she is. But you know that already. She isn’t a stranger to any of you.”
It’s unsure yet where he’s going with his vague shit or if it’s just my father being the protective man he’s always been. I remain quiet while he moves a few boxes of spirits to the other side of the cellar. The place is pristine. It doesn’t need rearranging at all. That tells me he’s buying for time, weighing up his following words.
“Is it serious? You and her?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s just a question, son.”
“Yeah, it’s serious.” For me. Samia isn’t there yet, but she will be. “You think I’d let mom go crazy fussing around a passing hookup?.”
He chuckles darkly and comes to sit across from me on a crate. His arms brace on his knees.
And then his face sobers.
“I trust you, Kian. You’re not such a hooligan anymore.”
“Thanks.” I retort.
“I won’t probe into the details of this unexpected relationship that only materialized after the girl’s accident or why your behavior suddenly changed, involving actions that could potentially lead to you wearing prison orange.”
“I never get caught.” I feel like I need to defend myself. He taught me half the shit I know to do. Who’s fault is it for the way I am?
“But I’m gonna ask, do you know what you’re doing, son? Are you prepared for the outcome if or when your chickens come home to roost?”
He knows.
I don’t know how he knows, but he does.
“It’s not nice to spy on your firstborn, da.”
He’s without remorse as he smiles. My father still has a head of blond hair and looks twenty years younger than he is. It settled him more once the twins came along, but the Irish rogue in our blood means he’ll never be far away from his old lifestyle. And my father always knew how to acquire information.
“Your mother worries about her babies.”
It’s been a long time since I was a baby, but that sentence is a complete explanation and something we’ve heard often. He’ll do anything for her, and isn’t uncomfortable for people to know how hardcore he’ll go for her in anything she asks of him.
I get it now.
How it beats through you like water. The need to make your person happy, whatever whim it might be. I couldn’t have understood what that meant with any woman before because they were faceless, unemotional situations that lasted a night, or a week at most. But they were before I got serious about Samia and became the man I needed to be for her. There was never anyone who latched onto my heart and made it race like a fucking train.
“She was naturally curious—”
“Nosy, you mean.”
“When we found out from other sources and not from you, by the way, that you were spending a lot of time at Hunter’s place taking care of Samia. Things didn’t add up.”
“I’m past the age of needing your consent. Hunter trusts me with his daughter.” There’s a flicker of my old anger in my voice, irritation that I’m being questioned, but I don’t let it rise to the surface. I have a handle on my shit these days. Whatever my father wants to accuse me of won’t change the outcome. But he surprises me with a smile as he rises to grip my shoulder.
“Catherine knows none of what I suspected. Let’s keep it that way. If shit goes south, we’re always here for you, son.”
“It won’t.”
I won’t allow it.
“But for the love of Christ, if Hunter tries to shoot you, start running in a zig-zag motion.”
A burst of laughter comes out of me. “Is that your fatherly advice? To avoid bullets? Hunter and Kat like me.”
“Right now, they like you because they think you’re the golden boy.”
I shrug. He’s not wrong, but there’s no better man to love and take care of their daughter. I’d kill, lie, cheat, steal, and even die to protect her. My methods are justifiable, at least they are to me.
As we return to the pub, I hear him say, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t I always? Being several steps ahead is my way of life. And she’s worth it.”
He chuckles, and I only relax when I see Samia’s smiling face across the room. She’s in a heavy conversation with my sisters, who are undoubtedly trying to extort a shopping trip from her. Her eyes track me every step of the way the moment I’m in sight, and it is a physical rush.
Samia is my drug, and I’m overdosing on her one injection at a time.
I slide into the booth, crowding my thigh against hers. My arm goes around the back of her to grip her hip, and I put my mouth to her ear. “Missed you, dreamgirl.”
I love making her react, I want to taste her all over, and she reaches for my other hand beneath the table, lacing my fingers.
“I missed you, too.”
Elation is like a hit of heroin, and I rush forward to steal a kiss, and it goes on until I hear the gagging sounds of my sisters. I send a warning glare across at them before they attempt to backchat me. But it rarely works.
“We aren’t allowed to have boyfriends, but you can kiss your girlfriend like that in public? How is that fair?”
Beside me, Samia groans with mortification and presses her face on my shoulder. I love her seeking comfort from me, and I clasp her hip.
“I already warned you, brats, if chest-pumping, pimply-faced shitheads come knocking at the door for you, they’ll be walking away with broken balls. They’re only pounding hormones and bad ideas. They have nothing to offer.”
Identical scowls are directed at me. I’ve been warning about this since they were awkward twelve-year-olds crushing on boys. They’re such awesome little troublemakers, and I know how popular they are at school because I’m constantly monitoring them.
“You’re so unfair, Kian. Da!” they turn doe-eyes on our father. Most times, they have him wrapped around their pinky fingers.
“You know my stance on it: no dating until one guy doesn’t cower in front of me.”
“You intimidate everyone! Mom! Tell these baboons they’re being so unreasonable. It’s like living in a prison with the fun police.”
She laughs. “They’re sweet baboons. You get used to it.”
My father whispers something into her neck, but only my mother hears, which makes her chuckle.
The twins, cunning as ever, switch tactics, knowing they won’t get anywhere with me or our parents. And they smile at Samia. “Sam, will you talk to that idiot boyfriend of yours? We’re sixteen, not ten. We deserve a dating life without him threatening to kill them.”
Samia is delighted by our exchange because her eyes glint with humor as she cuddles against my side. “I’ll do my best, but he’s annoyingly bossy.”
“Just make out a lot more with him, distract him. We know you can do it,” the eldest twin encourages my girl. Samia laughs and tilts her chin.
“Would that work?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I tell her.
If her mouth is on mine, nothing else in this world exists.