Page 85 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“You look hot, Clodagh,” Teagan calls, vaguely interested. “Like a mermaid with green scales and a braid.”

“Do you always look like a hot mermaid?” Connor jokes. “Or is it a special occasion?”

“This is us all the time,” I joke back. “I like to look my best when cleaning. Killian makes a lot of mess in the bathro—”

Oh crap. I was going to make a mermaid joke. My face burns thinking about the mess I saw Killian make in the bathroom.

Killian’s jaw grinds, and his nostrils flare so much he might capture wind speed.

“Well, you look lovely,” Connor adds.

Still nothing from Killian. I guess mermaids aren’t his go-to fantasy. It annoys me that I’m annoyed.

His eyebrows join in a deep frown. What the hell is his issue? This morning at yoga, he was relaxed, and dare I say,fun. Now, he’s put the stick back in his ass.

“Well done getting my stiff big brother to do yoga in a park.” Connor grins, thoroughly enjoying himself as he looks back and forth between Killian and me conspiratorially. “Next, he’ll be meditating in Central Park.”

“Dad was awful,” Teagan pipes up. “He couldn’t do half the moves.”

“Bottom of the class,” I tease as Killian rolls his eyes. “Not like you, Teagan. You should keep it up.”

“Are you sure you can’t join us, ladies?” Connor asks. “I need to hear more.”

Killian’s eyes lock with mine. “We’re just about to order pizza and a movie, but obviously, you have other plans,” he says flatly.

“Yeah, we’re heading to the new club in the Meatpacking District,” I tell him, even though he didn’t ask. “Vapor. Sorry, Connor. It’ll have to wait.”

Connor’s smile widens as he exchanges a glance with Killian. “Vapor, hey? Great choice. They’ll treat you well there. You deserve a good night out after putting up with my brother. So what’s it like living with him? He’s a pain in the ass, right?” Connor seems to be in no hurry to let us leave.

“The worst.” I smile. “If I didn’t have Teagan to live with, I’d run away.”

Connor chuckles in approval.

Killian doesn’t seem to find our banter funny. I’m met with a dark gaze. “Security will escort you.” He reaches for his phone.

“It’s okay,” I try to say, but he cuts me off.

“It’s not open for debate.”

Jeez. Nothing ever is with Killian Quinn.

***

I’ve been told there’s an art to getting into a New York club. Be chill, be cool, but be in their face.

“IDs,” the doorman the size of a truck growls at me. Is it a rule for bouncers to never smile? We get it—you’re in charge, and you’re scary.

I hand over my ID warily. I’ve never been in such an attractive queue before. He might decide we aren’t good-looking enough to get in. And since it’s an Irish passport, some insist on seeing an American ID.

The doorman reads it, nods to a woman with a clipboard over his shoulder, and passes her my ID.

What the hell?

Are theyconfiscatingit?

“Hey!” I protest.

The girl scans my ID, then clicks her fingers. “VIPs go this way.”

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