Page 4 of Irish Daddies
A smile slides out of me, an almost real one, though all of this is for show. My eyes flit to the pale, freckled stretch of her throat that I once sucked on, and I imagine slitting it, blood waterfalling from it.
She sees me looking, and her brows knit together momentarily, then relax, as she assumes incorrectly that I noticed a bruise on her. “Kids were the perpetrator of that one too,” she says glibly, pointing at it.
“Your own? Let me guess—you work with kids.” I put the book face down on the table, happy to not have to talk about it. I’ve been reading it, a book about people separated by war and distance, but if I have to talk about it, I’ll have to fake much more of me. It’s easier when I can get the other person talking.
I watch surprise light up her hazel eyes. People love to feel seen. “How did you know?” Her mouth makes a smallo, a little peach ring that I’ve had around my cock. It twitches at the memory.
For a moment, I’m afraid she’ll see through me, realize that I’ve been stalking her, but I shouldn’t be. People never think you’re stalking them. “I’m a stalker,” I say with a straight face, and a beat passes between us.
She bursts into laughter, throwing her head back again, showing me her lovely neck, and I laugh too, passing it off as a joke. “Well, you’re good, because yes, I’m a preschool teacher. It’s cheaper than paying for daycare while I go do something else.”
“What would you do, do you think?”
Caroline’s head tilts, as if she’s never considered it, or as if she’s never had someone else ask her, and she says, “Probably something just as boring. A librarian, maybe.”
“Not a sword swallower?”
“Is that a euphemism?”
That catches me by surprise, and a dry chuckle makes its way from my chest. “No. It’s not a euphemism. There are kids nearby, you know.”
“How do you think I got them?” she teases. When I don’t say anything, she pats the uncomfortable-looking plastic stump beside her and asks, “Do you want to sit? Not to be forward or anything, it’s just uncomfortable to crane my neck to look at you.”
Standing, I walk around the barrier so I can sit next to her, and it’s as uncomfortable as I imagined. “They don’t want parents to be comfortable, huh?”
“Oh, never. I think half the people in here probably think I’m a bad mom for sitting at all.”
“Since you brought it up, I wasn’t going to say anything, but…” I trail off, looking over at her twins, and she looks at me with shock. A sly smile slides across my face, and she nudges me with her shoulder. It’s such a gesture of familiarity, something someone who really knows you does, that it almost takes me aback. I nudge her back, and she folds over from the force.
She sits back up with a laugh. “Okay, so what are you liking about the book so far?”
“Well, I don’t want to give anything away. Did you get to the part where Marisol dies?”
She gasps. “No! Why would you say that?” she whines, clutching the book to her chest like she can change the words on the pages with magic. “Oh, you’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“I am.” I’m not. But she’ll be dead by the morning, so it doesn’t matter much.
“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I’m trouble adjacent.” Then I shake my head. “No, not really even that. I’m in dental insurance.” I chuckle wryly, as if it’s a confession. “Sometimes I wish I were trouble.”
She meets my eyes, and there’s a spark of something in them, a glitter as she holds my eyes with hers. “I know what you mean.”
“How about another coffee?” I ask, nodding at the cup in her hand.
“Oh.” She lifts it a little. “That’s okay. I can’t have too much caffeine.” She scrunches her nose slightly and giggles. “When did I get so old?”
“Well…” I stand up with a smirk. “I was asking you out, but that’s fine. I’d best be going anyway. I have a broken heart to mend after Marisol’s death. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I toss her an easy wink and turn away from her, then walk toward the door with a confident stride, hoping my move doesn’t shatter my entire plan. I need her to show the same recklessness she craved four years ago.
I need her to make the mistake of wanting me just one more time.
3
CAROLINE
The man—theone whose name I realize I never even asked—slaps his wide and veiny hands on his knees, and then stands up quickly. He tosses out a wink like it’s nothing, closing a curtain over the window into another world, and then he turns, walking away from me.
