Page 56 of Go Luck Yourself
My nose curls. Those words all basically mean the same thing?
“What is with your uncle’s distillery?” I ask.
Loch shifts on his feet, glaring at the sign ahead of us. “The King sponsors this event. Kind of him, eh?”
“I thought he was only going to be at the Dublin parade. Is he coming to this event too?”
Loch laughs. It’s as cold as the wind.
“Are you going to expand on that?” I step with him when the line moves. “Why your uncle’s so absent? Why we drove here instead of”—I cut a glance at all the normal people—“instead of usingother methods? Why your castle’s so damn empty?”
Loch folds his arms over his chest and stares off into the festival, expression shuttering.
I grunt. “Fine. I’m sure Siobhán will tell me.”
That yanks his focus back to me so assertively my back seizes, shooting me upright, at attention.
“Don’t fuck my sister,” he snarls.
I balk. “We went from me maybe flirting with her tofuckingher? Again,I have no plans to.Flirt or fuck. But shouldn’t Siobhán be the one to have a say in this?”
“Not if her say is choosing a pompous pretty boy arsehole who struts around like he’s god’s gift.”
I don’t miss a beat. “Aw, you think I’m pretty?”
He doesn’t either. “Do you still think I’m hot?”
That shuts me up. Briefly. “Do you want me to, if I was flirting with your sister?”
His jaw tenses. Silence falls again, and the line moves forward, carrying us with it. But that silence lengthens, grows heavier, pushing in an uncomfortable knot against my chest.
“She’s not my type, anyway,” I add.
Loch cuts a look at me, one brow cocked. “What is your type,then?” he asks slowly. Then adds, “Since my sister is na good enough for you.”
“You’remadI’m not interested in her now? And you said I’m infuriating.”
“Bet you go for the upper crust Cambridge sort. Trust funds and their da’s credit card. Is that what you thought I was?”
“Yep. You caught me. I’m superficial to the max. A materialistic douche, inside and out. But you’re assuming I was interested in you.”
“It was na an assumption. You told me so.”
My cheeks heat. “As an artist, you should know the difference between appreciating an aesthetic and actual interest.”
Loch snorts. “You did na answer the question.”
The line shifts forward.
What is your type, then?
“The fuck if I know,” I mutter.
“You do na know?”
I grimace at him. He holds, showing what could be sincerity.
He really gives a shit? Why?
