7. Connor #2
"But what?" I lean forward, searching her face. Have I read this whole thing wrong?
Her eyes move back to the book. "I have an exam in the morning."
"At eight in the morning." She looks at the clock again. Heavy emphasis on the eight. "And I’ve already been going today since breakfast."
I run the numbers. She pulled basically a fucking fourteen-hour day and will be lucky to get five hours of sleep before she has to take a huge exam. On what? I look at the book. Constitutional law? Here I am, sitting like a Neanderthal. All I can think of is wanting her in my bed.
That's not the kind of selfish asshole she needs more of in her life.
Again, that urge to protect her hits me so strongly it’s almost all I can feel.
I’m better than this. Better than Stacy.
So much money flows into Intrigue every night.
Money I could give to Ava. Money she could use to quit her shit job and buy her the time she needs to become a great goddamn lawyer and destroy the Stacys.
A worthy investment. Not Brooks, though.
There won’t be much left of him to destroy when I’m done.
"No pressure. I’m going to have a coffee.
" I grin as I pick up the floppy plastic menu and glance down.
You can barely read the words under the coffee stains.
"Maybe some scrambled eggs? And then when your shift is over, I am going to make sure that you get home safely.
" I’ve seen enough of that spark in her eye to know that offering to pay her way through school right now will get me tossed out of the diner.
She regards me for a long time, several beats passing. God. Did I cross a line already? Try to impose myself too soon?
She gives a quick nod, as if she made some decision. "That is incredibly thoughtful. I would love that. But can I make one suggestion?"
"Anything."
I mean it, too. Right now, I’d do anything she asked me.
Her voice drops to a mock serious, low tone, "I would skip the eggs if I were you."
The next hour flies by. The food isn't terrible, but I'm only half paying attention to what I put in my mouth.
Ava bustles around, serving customers, cleaning up and stocking the tables effortlessly.
I appreciate her curves, the strain of her breasts against her shirt, and the way her long dark hair brushes against her back as she moves.
Fuck.
My eyes are on her when a man comes up to my table and clears his throat. I look up and it takes me a second to register. Bull, one of the big neighborhood guys that occasionally does work for my father. For my brother, Ronan, I correct. Maybe I should say for us.
“Mr. Doyle,” he sounds uncertain, glancing around. Bull’s a big guy, six-five easy with tattoos, leather, and chains straight out of a biker gang. Clearly he can’t figure out why I’m here.
Concerned I’m here for him. Jesus. Shows how distracted I was that I hadn’t noticed him earlier.
His voice booms in the rickety little diner, and Ava glances over her shoulder more than once.
“Hey, Bull,” I stand to shake his hand. It feels like I’m conducting business out of the diner, the way my father does at the Kildare. Christ.
He makes small talk for a few minutes, and then turns like he’s going to leave. His eyes drag around the diner. “You need anything, sir? You good?”
No, Bull. I don’t need you to break anyone’s legs tonight, I say silently. My eyes take in the street outside first, though. That Stacy kid was around? I’d ask Bull here to join us for a little walk.
“I’m good, just needed a break from the club.”
This seems to resonate with Bull, who lets out a huff of amusement.
“I hear you, boss. Not exactly my scene either.” He pauses for a moment, and I know the look in his eyes.
It’s the look all of our guys have had when they’ve run into my brothers and me after hearing about my dad.
But Bull just clears his throat and nods. “Let me know if anything changes.”
“I will, thanks.”
After he leaves, I lean back against the tired booth and sip my coffee.
Every few minutes Ava’s gaze meets mine briefly and she graces me with a smile.
An old man bustles out of the back, and the other waitress talks to him in low tones.
They both cast several nervous glances in my direction and then he approaches Ava.
“You can leave a little early if you want.”
She does quick math, reaching the same conclusion that I do. The diner is dead. She won't miss any tips by cutting out a little early. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m sweetening that deal a little.
Moments later, she grabs her stuff and stands next to my table. Then we're on the street. At first, I start moving back to the club as though I’ll grab my car, but she shakes her head and points in a slightly different direction. “Actually, I just live a few streets over.”
She's looking around uncomfortably.
I can't help myself. I reach down and grab her hand. “Ava, you’re totally safe with me.”
She looks up at me, and it's hard to read her expression. But then she squeezes my hand, leans a little into me, and whispers, “I know.”
I let her point us in the right direction and set the pace. My mouth’s a little dry, and I pull her close. My cock stirs just being next to her, no matter how hard I shove thoughts of the other night in my apartment down.
“Connor,” she says evenly, “how do you know Herbert?”
Her eyes are on my face, wary. “Herbert?”
Who the fuck is Herbert?
One eyebrow quirks. “Big guy. Tattoo. Chains. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy that would go to Intrigue?” Not the kind of guy that could afford to go to Intrigue – or get in if he tried - goes unspoken.
There’s silence as I weigh my answer. “Bull, you mean? I didn’t know his name was Herbert. He does some work for my family.”
“What kind of work?” She’s not asking me what kind of work he does. She’s asking me what kind of work I do.
“Manual labor.”
Seconds pass. I’m not unwilling to talk about what I do, but I’m just not anxious to do it tonight. As if sensing it, she leans into my arm and wraps her hand a little tighter around my bicep. It’s hard not to flex just for good measure.
“Thank you for coming.”
The next few moments pass silently, and I let myself enjoy her being there. Her walk slows, imperceptibly at first and then more deliberately.
“This is me.”
She points at a nondescript building. It’s nicer than I expected. That’s good. A few people stream past us, but the street’s mostly empty. No sign of Stacy or any other trouble. But I’m still glad I walked her home.
My eyes roam her face. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. I’m uncomfortably aware of how tired she looks. I want to get her into bed – and the fact that I’m mostly thinking about letting her get some sleep? That’s a new one for me.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Connor.” Jesus. Part of me aches to give her night out that’s so amazing she won’t forget it.
Should I even ask? That familiar stab: My life is complicated. Her life is complicated. And I’m not certain that our two lives intertwine. She’s a law student tangled up with the Stacy family. However indirectly. However not her fault.
And me? I’m the fourth son of one of Boston’s most notorious old mobsters.
It doesn’t matter if my father’s clean now.
If our business is mostly clean. The key word there is mostly, and the difference?
That might be more than Ava can handle. Never mind how little time I even have to go out on a date, between my work at the club and my family obligations.
In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went out on an actual date.
But somehow, looking down her beautiful face – the wide green eyes, the tumble of dark hair, the faint curve of her lips – that’s all far away.
“Do you want to come up?” her voice is tentative, tired, as her eyes search my face.
Does she think I expect that? Probably. It’s not like many people have given a shit or taken what she needs into consideration.
I turn to face her, a wicked grin spreading almost involuntarily. “There’s nothing I’d like better, Ava. But someone has a big exam in the morning and needs all the sleep she can get. Rain check?”
Surprise registers, before her face clears and she meets my grin with her own soft smile.
“I’d love that.”
“Let me take you out to celebrate acing your test. Tomorrow?”
Her eyes close, and then when they open, there’s a heaviness that lifted for a minute. “My next day off isn’t for a week, Connor.”
A week? Christ. But that doesn’t stop me. “A week, then. It’s a date.”
Something pushes me to go a little further. “What time do you get off tomorrow? If I wanted to walk you home.”
Maybe I can’t protect her all the time. But late at night, if I can make it happen, I can sure as hell pick her up.
Ava pushes her dark hair back over her shoulder, and bites her lower lip. I can’t tear my eyes away from those lips. Then she says, “Actually, tomorrow night I work at my school’s law clinic. I work at the domestic violence clinic.”
Shit. Not only does she work full-time and go to school? She helps women and vulnerable people avoid situations like the one she was in. Of course she does.
I pull out my phone. “You text me where and when, and I’ll meet you.”
The club’s closed tomorrow. I’ll make it work. From the way her eyes light up, it seems like I’ve done the right thing. My face is getting hot. “I’ll text you the details,” she says softly.
Desire spikes through me and my body presses toward her. Pulling her against me, I bend my head down to hers and capture her lips with mine.
She tastes like strawberries and mint Chapstick and hope.
My cock’s steel where it strains against my pants. Her lips are hungry on mine, her hands sliding up the sides of my arms to loop around my neck.
Sparks. Explosions. Jolts to every nerve.
When we break apart, I take a step back but keep my hand lightly on her arm. If I don’t end this, we’ll end up upstairs. I clear my throat.
“Tomorrow night then, Ava. Good luck on the exam.”
She squeezes my arm, and then turns and heads into the building’s small atrium where a doorman looks out curiously. “Good night, Connor,” she calls over her shoulder.
When I’m sure she’s safely inside, I scan the empty road again and then take off roughly toward Intrigue. I really don't know why I waited so fucking long to do this.