Driving the Mob (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

I stand up, hands on my hips, looking around our apartment. It’s not the biggest place, but everything is modern and clean and well-kept. It was the same in England. Though Murphy won’t stoop to supporting his best friend for life – in the mob world, it would be disrespectful to treat Dad like a child – he always sets us up in good accommodation and pays a portion of the rent.

“Let’s finish unpacking,” I say. “And then I need to get into work for my first shift.”

My belly swirls with a thousand fireflies, each one buzzing hotter than the last. My first shift as a driver, working for Murphy freaking Moran.

And fine, maybe I’m not driving in the specific way I want to one day, but it’s still a job where I get paid for being behind the wheel.

It’s something, a start, and I’m determined not to waste the chance.

Dad nods and stands, and together we unpack our meager belongings. I fight off the sadness when I think about how paltry all this is, a few books and mementos, our whole life reduced down to half a dozen cardboard boxes. But I don’t let the sadness eat away my optimism for this new job.

I wonder if I should be more nervous about the job, but the truth is the thought of seeing Murphy sends far more butterflies dancing around my body.

I spend way too long in front of the mirror, brushing my auburn hair down to my shoulders, looking into my pale green eyes and wishing they were brighter, more vivacious, more like whatever the heck Murphy would want them to be.

But none of it matters in the end.

Murphy Moran isn’t going to pay me a single moment of attention and that’s that.

“Molly, I’m heading out,” Dad says from the other side of the bathroom door.

I bite down on the question that rises automatically on my lips.

Where is he going? What is he going to do when he gets there? Does it involve gambling?

“Okay,” I call back.

I promised to respect his recovery process when we returned to the States, and not to treat him like he’s under surveillance. But the questions still bounce around my mind painfully, joined by vignettes of what our life was like before Mom passed when Dad was bright and happy and ready to take on the world.

I sigh, pulling my bangs over my forehead, a habit I’ve never been able to kick no matter how much I promise myself I’ll be confident and calm and collected.

It’s like I’m hiding behind my hair, but I can’t help it.

Even if I try to show the world a brave face, a unfazed demeanor, and a take-no-shit attitude, sometimes I feel like a scared little kid just waiting for everything to go wrong.

I leave the bathroom and walk across the empty-feeling apartment toward my bedroom.

My driver’s uniform waits for me on my bed.

I feel silly as I stare down at the black trousers and the black jacket, with the old-fashioned hat sitting at the top of it all. There’s no way I’m going to be able to wear my hair down, so all that brushing was a waste of time… and even if I was able to wear it down, there’s no way Murphy Moran would even glance at me stuffed into this antiquated outfit.

I pick up the hat and turn to the full-length mirror in the corner, holding it over my head. I’m right. I look ridiculous and unprofessional with my long auburn hair spilling out from beneath the cap, shading my eyes, making it look like I don’t even care if I can’t see.

I sigh and put my hair up in a bun, trying not to let my mind flit to Murphy and his glinting intense blue eyes as I run my fingers through my hair. But not thinking about his eyes only leads me to imagine that it’s his fingers moving through my hair instead, stroking tantalizingly across my scalp.

I remember the last time I touched myself to the thought of him, just a week ago when I learned we were returning to the States. I’d been good and had withheld the desire for a long time, but the moment I heard his name again, lust ignited inside of me and that night I couldn’t help but stroke my fingers up and down my body, teasing the lust out of me with steamy vignettes.

I imagined him leaning over me, his muscular body throbbing.

“I know you’ve had a crush on me forever,” this mind-made version of Murphy snarled, bringing his fire-hot lips to my skin, kissing and then opening his mouth in a lustful bite. “And now look at you, all grown up. I need you, Molly. I need you now.”

I glance at the clock, suppressing a moan. I haven’t got enough time to indulge in fantasies.