Connor #2
An hour later, I’m across from Cat in what has now become “our booth” at The Marq, though it feels like a lifetime ago that I sat beside her here, admiring how her shapely figure brought my Tom Ford jacket to life in all the right places.
Flirting with her as Dane Ryder, a carefree art afficionado who had exactly zero problems compared to Connor Gallagher, has become a foggy memory at best.
Real or not, I miss that guy.
“I just love these martinis. I don’t know why I don’t drink them, like, all the time.” Cat cages another olive between her teeth and slides it off the plastic toothpick.
We’re on our second each, extra dirty, extra dry, extra olives.
She’s getting extra slurry too.
After a minute, I frown at her. “Have you eaten today?”
She smiles. “I don’t know. Had some coffee earlier.” She giggles.
I barely recognize this side of her, but I can’t judge. I haven’t seen anyone grieve the loss of the most important person in their life since I was in my teens.
We had Declan manning that ship. Maeve, Brody, and me were just deckhands with no say whatsoever in how to handle our mother’s passing.
Men in my family don’t handle grief well.
In the aftermath, Declan became moodier, quieter, and angrier in general. We never talked about how we were doing. Never received any kind of counseling. Brody and I threw ourselves into working for our father. Maeve stepped up even more.
My younger sister matured overnight, embodying the essence of our mother before the booze and the drugs strangled the life out of her.
I’ve never expressed my gratitude to Maeve for that.
Gazing at Cat, I wonder if maybe I should. Women in our world must be strong, loving, rational, and supportive. They juggle the emotional toll we burden them with, all while maintaining the home and raising the kids, and we expect them to perform without being asked or thanked.
I’ll have to give her a call, but not tonight.
I hook a stray hair behind Cat’s ear. “Let’s get something. Anything. Something to soak up a bit of this alcohol. I haven’t eaten either.” Flagging down our server, I order a basket of fries.
As I peer around, the damask walls and dark lighting appear different than they did on New Year’s Eve.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Cat lost her father, and her anguish leeches out of her and into the walls. The ceiling seems to sag, the patrons quiet and dour.
I check the door again to ensure her hotheaded brother isn’t plowing through it.
Cat waves her martini glass in the air. “Hey, chill. Nino…he’d never think to look here for you, smack dab in the middle of the city.”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” I’m definitely not “fine,” but I’ve never seen Cat like this. I can’t get a read on her.
“Besides.” She leans in and opens her purse to reveal her SIG 9mm. “I brought backup.” She giggles again.
Shit. She’s way too drunk for this. “You shouldn’t be carrying that thing around. It’s not—”
“It’s not what, Connor?” She arches a sassy brow, but sadder emotions dance in her expressive eyes as she inches closer. “You smell so good. I could literally eat you right now.” As if to prove her point, she sinks her teeth into my bicep.
I’m repulsed by how turned on I am. Seriously, my body can’t control itself for one damn night?
She’s on her ass from two martinis because she’s been up all night crying and probably hasn’t eaten since the hors d’oeuvres at the gala last night. I don’t want to take advantage of her in this state.
I want to be a friend, an ally. A lover, but also more. Someone to take care of her when she needs it.
Instead of fancy work attire, she’s dressed in a tracksuit with her hair loose around her shoulders. Grieving Cat is all kinds of raw and free. Sadness cracked her wide open, and she has nowhere to hide.
Plus, she’s been alone all day in her room with no one to comfort her. So, I understand why she’s coming on to me like this.
I’m partially responsible for the chaos in her life, though, and I’m not going to let her down anymore. I’m not going to make any more mistakes either.
Not with her. Not anymore.
The server drops off our fries, and Cat immediately starts eating them by the handful. Small relief.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling right now, you know?” She pounds the bottom of the ketchup bottle. “When my mom died, I was just a kid. I was simply sad. I only had that one emotion to manage.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I shrug, then decide that’s not enough. So, stupid me, I open my mouth again and say, “My mom checked out when I was a kid, so in a way I’d already lost her, but she didn’t actually die until I was in my teens.”
Cat pauses with a ketchup-dipped fry halfway to her mouth. “I thought your mom was alive?”
“Nope.”
Pursing her lips, Cat sets the fry down.
Shit.
“You said your parents, plural, love art, present tense.”
Fuck me. I forgot all about that. “We’ve established I’m a liar. Sorry about that. But Dane Ryder has two living, loving parents who adore art.”
Her expression suggests she’s considering accepting this bullshit excuse, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
I take her hand. “I wasn’t trying to pull anything…else…over on you in that regard. It was just a story. Just…”
I trail off, frowning. I’m really not sure why I said my mother was still alive. There was no reason Dane’s mom couldn’t be dead.
Cat leans in, gazing up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “You wanted to feel your mom’s presence one more time, didn’t you?”
A lump forms in my throat, and my heart gallops in my ears.
It’s a little terrifying how much she gets me.
I swallow around that damn lump. “My mom was an alcoholic for years and died of a drug overdose. My younger sister was more of a mother to me. So…yeah. I guess I figured as long as I was playing someone else for the night, why not give him a better backstory?”
“I’m sorry.” Cat touches my arm, tears rimming her eyes.
A fist squeezes my heart. “It was a long time ago. Today’s not about me. I don’t deserve your tears, so stop. Okay?” I never want Cat to cry over me again.
I drape my arm over her shoulders, and she melts into my chest.
Then she plants her hand right on my dick.
I laugh, an involuntary response to the weirdest day ever.
“Sorry, I’m sad and tipsy and horny. Plus, you’re just so hot.” She finishes off her martini and smiles.
When I kiss her, I taste the olives on her tongue. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Hell, yeah.”
We slide out from the booth in separate directions, and she trips on the table base.
Thanks to quick reflexes, I catch her before her face meets the disgusting bar floor. “Got you.” I spin her around “bride-style” and carry her to the door.
Giggling, she wraps her arms around my neck. “My hero.”
I hate myself a little more.