Nate

“The boner was the best part.”

He grunted in disapproval. “Look, it’s obvious to me that she wants you for the long haul—”

“No, she just thinks she does.”

“The fuck does that mean? You don’t say that stuff to her, do you?” The last sentence was delivered with a hint of alarm.

“Well, yeah, I told her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about when she—”

A rusty laugh crackled through the phone, which then turned in to a full-throated guffaw. “You told your woman that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about?” He howled with laughter as I downed the rest of my beer, then ordered a whiskey.

“Ah, shit, Nate. I knew you were dumb, but you’re really outdoing yourself over there.”

Charlie’s voice whispered in the background. Conrad relayed what I’d told him, and then I heard a low whistle.

“Charlie’s not pleased, I take it?”

“She just said you’re lucky Sabrina hasn’t kneed you in the nuts.”

“Fuck.” I drank half the whiskey in one burning gulp. “So what do I do?”

“Do you want her?”

“Yeah, she’s the fucking sun. Hot, smart—she got a full scholarship to Temple, for chrissakes—caring, has this amazing smart mouth on her. Jesus, the things she says.”

“I hear all that. I do. But is there more? Do you just want to hit it and move on, or what?”

The thought was—and I admit this was odd—abhorrent to me. Even being away from her for this impromptu bitch session with Conrad was making me itch to get back to her, to take back what I’d said. “No, not with her. She’s different.” And wasn’t that a sobering thought?

“Different.” He chuckled. “Yep. I had an inkling that day when we found her. She looked at me like I was the boogeyman from her nightmares—and I’m pretty sure I was—but when she saw you, it was over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that she loved you on some level then. As much as a thirteen-year-old can love, anyway. Now that she’s grown, she’s totally fallen for you.” He paused. “I don’t see why. You’re such a son of a bitch.”

“Love?” I sat back in my chair and finished my drink before holding up two fingers. “Make it a double.”

“You drinking?”

“Yeah.”

“Meeting with the Irish this afternoon?”

“Yeah. But they’re piss drunk half the time. We’ll get along famously.”

“Keep your wits about you, boss. Sabrina’s got you turned every which way. Getting trashed when you’ve got business to attend to will only make shit worse.”

“Right.” I downed a big swallow as I held the phone away from me. “Got it. Don’t you think this is…I don’t know. Soon? She’s too young. I’m too…too me?”

“I can’t really weigh in on that. The second I saw this sexy little piece through her shop window, I was a goner.

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “True.”

“Look. She’s had five years to think about this, and it sounds to me like she spent the whole time in love with you.”

“In love with the idea of me—” I corrected him. “As something I’m not. I’m not a good guy like she thinks.”

Charlie’s voice murmured in the background. Con laughed. “Charlie says you need to stop trying to play the heavy and just be yourself. That’s what Sabrina loves.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why would she love me?”

“No clue. Ow!” Con laughed again. “Lay off me, woman! Charlie says you’re very loveable.”

I grumbled, no real words forming.

“My advice—apologize and quit telling her she doesn’t know what she feels. That’s a sure path to losing a nut. If you feel the same, then say it. If you don’t, you need to say that too so she can move on. But don’t ruin this thing just because you know deep down that you’re a shitcake who doesn’t deserve a beautiful, college-bound, amazing woman.”

The truth in his words burned almost as bad as the cheap whiskey. “Damn, since when did you get so insightful?”

“Since I married a woman who”—smack noise and then a squeal from Charlie—“gets me on every level.”

“Hey Con, don’t pork her in front of the kids.”

“Good point. Lock the door, baby.”

I drained my glass. “On that note, I’m out.”

“Call me anytime, asshole. I still owe you bigtime.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Go get her. And don’t let her go.” The call ended, and I ordered one more drink. I had a lot of thinking to do, and I always seemed to get my best ideas when I was toasted. Right?

Peter was slapping me in the face. Why the hell was Peter slapping me in the face? I tried to focus on him when he smacked me again.

“Cut it out!” I blocked his next attempt.

“Finally. Jesus Christ, man.” He slumped back against the seat. We were in a car. When did we get in a car?

“What’s happening?”

“What’s happening?” He glared at me. “What’s happening is that you got so trashed at The Slaughterhouse that Gilly called me to come and get your ass. We’re supposed to meet with the Irish in half an hour, and you aren’t even coherent!” He turned to David in the driver’s seat. “Step on it.”