Page 8 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 3

CILLIAN

Icould have played up the Sir Galahad act twenty minutes ago, but this is far more amusing.

If the club were a pre-school, Meisie would be the new girl who hadn’t yet learned the way of the world.

Who to avoid.

Who to make friends with.

When to walk away, and when to get the fuck out, pronto.

Yes, she managed to get the better of the first guy, but I think a wet cigarette could have also got the better of him. Basically, she’s innocent as hell and completely out of her depth. So about as far from my usual type as the north pole from the south.

But I do like her accent. All posh and classy and delicate. Feminine.

And I like her freckles.

The fact she hasn’t smeared them with an inch-thick layer of makeup tells me this was either a last-minute decision to come out, or she just doesn’t care.

I’m leaning on thedoesn’t give a shitside because her hair has been thrown up in a messy ponytail, and she’s not even bothered with high heels. But then again, it’s a nice dress she’s got on, so the last-minute decision also stands.

She’s a puzzle.

I guide her to one of the cordoned-off VIP areas and gesture for her to sit down on the black velvet couch.

The second I’ve done it I kick myself. The tables are bolted to the floor so they can’t be used as weapons, and since I can’t get my knees under the table, I can’t sit beside her.

Rookie mistake. And a prime example of why Cole should be doing this, not me. Getting inside a girl’s knickers is as second nature to him as snorting lines.

I take the seat opposite her and lean my elbows on my knees, sitting forward so we can talk over the loud racket. She leans in too, but only slightly.

She’s still in her shell.

We’ll soon fix that.

“What’s your poison?”

A smile plays on her lips while her fingers fiddle with her purse. “Guys usually start withwhat’s your name?”

That gets a laugh from me. She has no idea I already know her name, her fucking star sign, and what she had for dinner yesterday. Justin likes to know what she’s wearing, thinking, and eating. Never know when shit like that can come in handy.

“What’s your name?”

“Meisie,” she replies.

Aye, aye.Meisie.

I already know you say it like Macy, because Justin already asked her this. “Like Macy?”

She nods her head. “It’s South African.”

Iknow.

Jesus. I’m going to have to go back to the start and play the good guy all over again.

I can’t do it.