Chapter Twenty-Two
Maeve
It’s amazing what great sex can do for your sleep.
I woke up this morning more rested than I’ve been in ages, but with the aches and pains of being well sexed-out as evidence that I didn’t imagine Aidan in my bed last night. I didn’t even have much to eat after he left before I went to bed, sated and more spent than ever.
If this were a romance novel instead of my life, Aidan would’ve stayed the night, but luckily, this is not a story. It’s real, and in my very real, mundane reality, I need to ensure that the rules we established last night aren’t forgotten on the very same day we set them up.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror while brushing my teeth, scanning my body from head to toe. I don’t dwell on the scar too long, trying my best not to let it matter as much anymore.
It’s healing.
I’m healing.
But I do linger on the small, round reddish point on my neck, revealing that Aidan sucked so hard on my skin that he almost left a love bite.
My nipples harden at the thought of how he rubbed his cock against my arse before he took me from behind.
My gosh, he was wild.
And I was right there with him, just as crazy with desire for him.
I guess now I know what all the fuss is about.
I also know that I haven’t had nearly enough of him yet.
I want to experience more with him.
More sex, of course. More filthy, dirty, rough sex.
Not mild, sweet lovemaking.
The sound of a text brings me out of my bubble, and I pick up my phone lying on the sink. My lips stretch into a wide grin when I find my other friend’s name flash up at me.
ROíSIN: Are you still alive?
ME: I know Tai Chí. Of course I’m alive.
ROíSIN: Did Mystery Man live up to your expectations?
ME: Definitely.
ROíSIN: You’ve got to give me more than that.
ME: If I were to use a line from one of my romance novels to describe how I feel right now: fucked better than my wildest dreams.
ROíSIN: Wow. You lucky lady.
ME: Mmhmm. ??
ROíSIN: Are you going to see him again?
ME: For the time being, yes.
ROíSIN: Wow. And here I always thought I lived in a nice, quiet village where nothing exciting ever happens.
I snort and lean down to spit out the toothpaste before shooting off a reply.
ME: A lot of villages aren’t nice and quiet, my friend. Trust me on this.
ROíSIN: You’ll have to tell me more about this man of yours the next time we meet up.
ME: As long as you don’t expect me to reveal who he is, then fine. And he’s not mine. Don’t forget that.
ROíSIN: Grand. I have to get back to the café, but tell me one more thing: Did he know how to get you off, or did you have to show him?
A delicious warmth settles in my lower belly, and I lick my lips, remembering how good Aidan was.
ME: He absolutely knew what he was doing.
ROíSIN: Again, wow. I really need more details, so I can live vicariously through you. I’ll speak with you later.
I leave the bathroom and hurry to get dressed for the day.
Even though the warmer season is here, the Irish coast is fickle, and the last thing I need right now is to get sick.
I pick a pair of dark-brown, corduroy trousers with a high waist and a white, feminine shirt with a high, lace neckline, and a deep purple knitted cardigan with a wrap-around belt that ties in a bow at the back.
Images of the night before flash before me, never far away, even though I should be focused on my job.
Not that I expect there’ll be more work to do today down at the station than on any other day.
There might be more to Cloonmara than meets the eye, but if that’s the case, I haven’t discovered it yet.
I still don’t know what I’m doing here, and if someone were to ask me why I even agreed to transfer to the Garda station, I’m no closer to having the answer than when I arrived two months ago.
I’ve no idea if I want to stay here for longer than a couple of months, but I do know that I have to learn the ways of the village if I want to really connect with the people living here.
And now the bull problem has disappeared–or at least I hope it has–I need to put more effort into learning all I can about the Cloonmara Garda station in general.
I can’t keep hiding away in the back office or I’ll die of boredom.
On my walk to work, the only sounds keeping me company are the soft notes of the breeze blowing, teasing tendrils of my hair loose from the low bun at the nape of my neck, and the crunch of gravel underneath the soles of my practical waterproof hiking shoes.
An engine starts off in the distance and follows me gently for most of my walk until it stops, giving way to the optimistic chirping and trills from birds who evidently think it’s summer already, even though we’re only at the beginning of May.
I come closer to the village bus stop and take in the small group of children of various ages waiting for a bus to Kinsale.
Whereas they weren’t familiar to me a few weeks ago, I recognise some of them, and the soft murmurs of children are comforting to me.
Not as scary as they used to be.
I walk past the group and notice a flyer pinned to a lamppost next to the bus stop with the words Cloonmara Spring Rising Festival in bold, pink letters with a majestic wave painted in the background.
I cock my head as I read the dates, wondering how I’ve missed that it’s only a couple of weeks away.
Maybe I just haven’t paid enough attention.
A sudden gust of wind pushes me in the back, and I pull my trenchcoat closer by cinching the belt tighter and pulling up the lapels to cover my neck.
It’s never warm for long in Ireland. Especially not in a village by the sea.
I round the bend in the road, and my eyes land on the stones forming half a circle before the church entrance. I smile at the vicar standing outside St. Brighid’s massive door. He waves to me, his usual mild smile in place, and then continues chatting with an elderly couple on the grounds.
It’s funny how I seem to notice so much more life in the village now that I’m not as preoccupied and lost inside my own head.
Not that I think having rough sex with Aidan is the whole reason, but it definitely helped.
I shake my head at my thoughts that, once again have veered back to him and his clever mouth and tongue…and his cock…and breathe deeply through my nose.
“Enough with the daydreaming, Maeve,” I mutter and take the three steps up to the Garda station. “Get your act together.”
My phone rings, and I stop inside the sliding doors to pull it out of my coat pocket. I step to the side to check the caller ID in private.
Unknown number.
Frowning, I swipe to answer it.
“Detective Sergeant Gallagher.”
“It’s me.”
A sharp pang lances through my chest from the sound of Dot’s voice. I close my eyes.
“What do you want?”
“Now, is that the way to greet your auntie, Maeve?” She makes a tutting sound, and it gets on my nerves. “Have you lost the manners Nellie and Jack taught you? That’s a shame.”
I curl my hand into a fist in my pocket but school my features so as not to alarm any of my colleagues passing me on the way to the office.
I don’t know how I lost track of time like this when I should’ve known better.
She hasn’t called in three months. Not since I was released from the hospital and she phoned, begging me to lie to the police about Joe.
If Dot had tried getting to know me while growing up, she’d have known that I wouldn’t do that. Concealing from the police who shot me?
Not a chance.
Even if my partner hadn’t been with me that day, I’d never have helped Joe by lying to my superior, telling her that I didn’t know who did it. I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eye if I did, and I wouldn’t be fit to wear my badge if I did something like that.
I’d be lying if I said that I’d hoped I wouldn’t hear more from her, but this is Dot.
I should’ve known my peace wouldn’t last.
It never does.
“What do you want, Dot? I won’t ask a third time.”
“Don’t get yourself wound up. Here I was the other night, thinking that it had been ages since we’d last had ourselves a nice chat. I just thought it was high time I phoned you to do that, y’know?”
My left eye starts twitching at the blatant lies falling from her mouth.
“Right. Because we talk on the phone regularly, don’t we, Dot?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Maeve.”
Dot’s voice drips with venom, the same as always.
“I’m late for work,” I lie.
I wait for her to carry on, but all I can hear is her laboured breathing through the phone.
“Well, you know why I call, Maeve.” She sniffles. “My boy’s in hiding because of you.”
I close my eyes.
“He brought it on himself.”
“That’s not true,” she scoffs. “He has to earn his way in life somehow.”
My hands begin to shake, and I clutch the phone tighter.
“Getting involved with drug dealing is never a good career choice.”
“He had no choice.”
I bite down hard on my lip to keep the sound of disbelief inside.
“Why did you phone me?”
“Joe called me the other day. Asked where you were.”
“And?”
She chuckles. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
Tension crawls on my skin like ants, the suspicion waving like a red flag in front of me. Dot never does anything out of the goodness of her own heart.
“Why not?”
“I thought you might be willing to help me if I helped you by not telling him about your little holiday by the beach. I need money. You need to keep Joe off your back. Connect the dots, detective sergeant.”
“What?” I huff in disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Just think about it. I don’t need your answer yet.”
“Listen to me carefully. Blackmail’s a quick way to end up in prison. Believe me, you don’t want that.”
“Tsk. Blackmail is such a nasty word. That’s not at all what I’m doing.”
“Leave me alone, Dot,” I seethe. “If you go down this route, you’ll drown.”
The line goes dead, leaving me to deal with the usual bitter aftertaste of hatred the only way I know how.
I bury the conversation in the back of my mind and go to work.
Daydreaming is over.
I look down at the distressed woman in front of me and offer a reassuring smile.