Page 22 of Hustle

Want to get to know the man that he’s become.

Under all the polish and Harvard and bullshit, I mean.

I can feel him resisting it and expect him to push back. Instead, he leans back against the booth and runs a hand through his hair. I try not to notice how it’s slightly mussed and gives him a carefree air that’s so fucking good. And such a fucking lie.

His eyes cut up toward me again. I’m struck again by how dazzlingly blue they are. “Seamuscape, hey?”

A wicked grin turns the corners of his lips up and it’s like someone turned the heat way up. The world seems to slow for me when he smiles like that, the promise of some real and something wicked beneath all that control. “I like it. Truth is, there’s so much going on it’s hard to get away. But sometimes you just have to.”

The band has started jamming on some modern twist of an Irish song. It’s a little fast, but I like it. “Seamus,” I begin, “about the other night…”

He’s staring at me intently. I find it hard to continue.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not my best quality, but I hate admitting when I’m wrong. Seamus would probably tell me it’s rooted in my childhood trauma like when he went all Dr. Phil on me at the club. I push down the annoyance.

Right, an apology.

I look back at him and remember the very brief hurt that flashed across his face when he’d pushed me away. Maybe we both felt more than we were letting on.

“You’ve always meant a lot to me, Seamus. I hope you know that.” I tentatively reach out for his hands. They’re warm and strong, and I try not to remember how they felt sliding up my body.

Sometimes I wonder how life would have been if things had worked out between Seamus and me. One thing’s for sure.

The sex would have been off the charts hot, if the shivers tracing their way down my arms right now – and the remembered feel of his hard cock – are any indication.

We hold eye contact for a few seconds more, and he quirks a lopsided smile at me. He clears his throat and tries to get back to some neutral ground. “Do you come here often?”

I can’t help it. I bark a laugh that catches fire in my gut and have to squeeze my eyes shut before I laugh, or maybe cry, and make my mascara run.

“Smooth,” I manage finally. Emotions flash over his face, almost too fast to catch, but he finally settles for a sheepish grin.

Taking another sip of my drink, I nod. “It’s an easy ten-minute walk from my place. I’m friends with the band. And the crowd’s comfortable.”

His eyes meet mine for a second, before they snap back to the band.

“Exactly why I come here too.”

Honestly, I can’t believe I haven’t run into him, but I’m usually with friends. If he was hiding out in the back, I’d just hit the dance floor and miss him entirely. The thought immediately strikes me as ridiculous.

How could you ever miss a man that’s as handsome as Seamus?

“Evi, may I ask you a question?” There’s something in the way he’s carefully speaking each word, the way that his voice is a bit deeper that’s got my stomach flipping. I give a little shrug.

Go for it.

“Why aren’t we still friends?” his voice is so quiet that I almost can’t hear him. My eyes move up to his, fast.

“You tell me.”

“No, Evi, I’m serious.”

He’s dead serious, but a wave of confusion washes over me. “Seamus, you’re the one who walked away.”

He looks like I punched him. “Evi, I didn’t fucking walk anywhere. We met up that day and had an amazing time at the beach, talking about our plans. Maybe we disagreed a little, but you’re the one who walked away.”

My laugh is harsh, even as I’m fighting to keep my face neutral. I’d meant that figuratively.

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