Page 43 of Player
Finn
“Here’s an expression for you. Actions speak louder than words.”
I’ve got to admit, Clarissa’s quick with a comeback. I like that about her. Feck, there’s little I don’t like. She bites her lip then scrunches her nose, making a funny expression. No fake batting of the eyelashes. No pretense. No games. Real and genuine, even in her lusting after me.
God, when was the last time I was just myself?
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I pulled that condom out of my knapsack just before the innkeeper knocked.”
“You want me, admit it.”
She makes the same funny face, one expressed with such distaste it would cause a lesser man’s insides to shrivel and die. “Our hooking up,” she goes in for the kill, “was the most awkward experience I’ve ever had. Us doing so again? That falls under the category of pass.”
Hard pass.
Jaysus, she’s not one to mince words.
You’ve been rejected, bucko.
A man who beats the ladies off with a stick. A scrapper who grew up on a nightly diet of blood, fists, and sex. A bloke who could curl his finger at any woman or flash her a lazy grin and she’d be in my lap in five seconds flat.
Rejected.
I don’t know whether to be disgruntled or amused. It’s Mexico City that did me in. Chasing after Fahder. Hanging out with Los Lobos. Waiting around to do me job. When was the last time I knocked the hole off someone? Gone balls deep in a woman? Fucked until I was blind? Releasing a load onto Clarissa’s baby white stomach doesn’t count. That wasn’t sex, that was ... whatever it was. A role. Me screwing with her mind. Me making things awkward, like I’m fond of doing.
Now it’s come back to bite me.
I lean back in my chair and stretch my long legs beneath the table, trying to make sense of my conflicted emotions. The things I could do to her. Lick her pussy until she’s begging for more. I bet she’s a pretty pink, like her cheeks right now. Tie her hands over head and pry her thighs wide open before using one of my leather belts to gently, ever so gently, mark her creamy white skin. I bet she likes things edgy. I bet I can make her crave the hard ride I’m offering.
But she’s right. A hard feckin’ pass is what’s best. Sex for pure, selfish pleasure will cause unwanted complications. I’ll use her. Present her as my pretty, Americancailín. Make the lads feel comfortable—unthreatenedif you will—with my sudden appearance in Cork’s most notorious fight club. So when I hand one shyster a bashed head and another his arse, it’ll seem like I’m the best thing to come since Guinness on tap.
Hayden says O’Brien’s a notorious gambler.
My job is to convince the mobster I hold a winning hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That came out stronger than I intended.”
“Ever consider concealing the truth?”
She shrugs. “You came on my stomach. What’s to hide?”
I laugh, totally unashamed. And a wee bit relieved she’s come to terms with everything and we can move on.
“I can stomach a lot of things from people. Liars I detest. Honesty is one of the things I value most from a person.”
Feckin’ hell. If she only knew.
“In Syria, things were real, you know?”
I look at her, catching the raw edge in her tone. Suddenly, curious about her experiences. “You’ve seen your share of death?”
She flinches. “Yes.”
“Death, killing aren’t things average folk can relate to.”
“But you can.”
“Yeah, I can.” Except I’m dishing out death then disappearing, so I don’t have to deal with the aftermath.
