Page 46 of Mob Star

What was he going to say? Attached? In love? Hopelessly devoted? I hear that song from Grease in my head. But that’s what I wonder.

“I’m glad you told me up front. You’ve been giving me choices you could have easily kept from me. I want to be with you, and I’m going into this with my eyes as wide open as I can.”

We pull up to the industrial park with the warehouse that someone converted into this ax throwing place. It’s not very industrial anymore, considering there’s a wine bar, a vape place, and three food trucks parked in the lot. I spy a group of motorcycles parked at the far end, and it makes my heart race. I can’t see license plates or even that much detail to tell if I should be scared.

When we walk in, there’s a group of men in black leather vests. I want to bolt.

“Hey, Finn!”

The biggest guy waves at Finn as he gets off his stool. He’s gotta be three-fifty easily. The doctor in me wonders what his blood pressure must be, and if he should eat oatmeal for high cholesterol rather than drink an IPA.

“Hey, Hank.” Finn holds out his hand to a guy who totally looks like a Hank. “This is?—”

“Dr. Gallagher.”

I go still. How the hell does he know my name? I feel a clammy sweat break out along my back.

“Hello.”

I do the polite thing and offer my hand, and we shake.

“I’m certain you see hundreds of faces every day. My daughter and son-in-law had a baby three years ago who was born with the cord wrapped around her neck. You were her doctor because she was blue and not breathing well when she came out. You saved my little half pint’s life.”

I chide myself for my paranoia as I smile. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did more than help, Doc. My daughter and son-in-law had been trying for eight years. She’d lost four pregnancies already. She was high risk because of her own health. We didn’t think they’d ever have a child. She was a miracle, and you kept her alive. Thank you doesn’t seem enough.”

I reach out and put my hand on his tatted forearm just like I’ve done with countless family members who need just an ounce of reassurance to make it through another day.

“Hearing stories about the kiddos growing up is the thanks.” I give his arm a quick squeeze, then let go.

“All the same, Dr. Gallagher, you helped make my family whole.” Are those tears in his eyes?

He turns back to his buddies and plonks down on the stool next to one of the high-top tables. There are four lanes, so there are places to sit when it’s not your turn. Finn and I walk over to the desk and sign all the necessary waivers. We wait for a target to come available, so we snag a loveseat near the back wall. There are a few of them pushed against the walls, along with the stools. I glance up at Finn and notice his eyes are scanning the crowd. He’s taking in everything and everyone. He’s not on edge. Just the opposite. I think he’s pretty relaxed. It takes me a minute to realize it’s because he can see everything from the front door to the back emergency exit. There aren’t any windows except next to the main door. Our backs are to a wall, and anyone not throwing is easy to watch.

What is it like to be on guard constantly? Isn’t it exhausting to always have to be situationally aware to the nth degree? I sense his need to control everything around him, but I never get the sense that he’s controlling. It sounds like a contradiction. But it’s not. He doesn’t make anything feel oppressive or restrictive. Instead, it puts me at ease. I can let my guard down because I know Finn will watch out for me. It’s not like I’m paranoid or too anxious to go out. It’s not like I assume something horrible’s going to happen, so I only feel safe with him.

It’s because I’m a single woman living and working in NYC. I’d be foolish not to pay attention to my surroundings. With Finn, I feel totally in the moment. I choose to trust him. I choose to follow his lead. I choose to be with him. So, since it’s my choice, I have no problems letting him have control. Plus, I want him to have a good time. If being on guard actually lets him relax like he is now, then why question it?

His hand rests on my thigh over my dress. His thumb rubs the outside of it absentmindedly. He leans to whisper in my ear.

“It’s sexy as feck seeing someone come over and thank the beautiful woman on my arm for saving a baby’s life.”

I turn my head to whisper back to him. “That’s what you think is sexy? So, I don’t need to worry about my lingerie?”

The look he shoots me makes my legs tense. His grip tightens.

“I think it’s sexy that you’re brilliant, and kind, and sacrificing. I think it’s sexy that you’re gracious, patient, and humble. And as for the lingerie, you don’t need to worry about it because you don’t need to wear any.”

His hand slides up my leg like a centimeter. Just enough for me to feel without it being inappropriate. The weight of his hand settles heavier on my thigh as he continues to whisper to me.

“I haven’t enjoyed your pretty pussy nearly enough. That means when I want it, I will have it. No more panties.”

I hold my breath for a second. That’s the hottest fucking shit. But only because it’s Finn. It would sound arrogant and disgusting coming from someone else. His matter-of-fact tone doesn’t make it sound dismissive or overbearing. It makes me feel physically desirable after he made my heart melt with his compliments. Like he wants all of me. Like I want to let him have all of me.

“Finn?”

An employee calls out his name. He helps me off the sofa and holds my hand as we weave among the tables to where the woman has four axes in her hands. She leads us to our lane and explains the rules. Finn steps back, and I suddenly get nervous. What if I make an utter fool of myself and don’t even hit the target?

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