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"Possessive, is he?" She snorted. "Don’t answer. If he comes from the same school as Finn, then he times you when you go for a piss."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"She says it’s endearing."
"Endearing?" I repeated, laughing a little. "You’re going to have to give me some backstory."
She wafted a hand. "I guess I can now. It was always weird not being able to talk about them, but Finn is mega intense where Aoife’s concerned.
"Anyway, when she was pregnant with Jake, she went to the bathroom and didn’t come back for a while. He just thought, ya know, baby stuff. There’s lots of gross crap that comes out of you when you’re pregnant." She shuddered in disgust. "Anyway, Aoife puked, somehow managed to crack her head on the toilet, then passed out on the floor. Ever since, Finn monitors her."
"Is she pregnant again?"
"Nah. He’s just obsessed. It’s like if he takes his eyes off her, she might disappear." She pulled a face. "It’s creepy, but she digs it."
My lips curved. "Well, as long as she’s okay with it, that’s all that matters, right?"
"I guess." She hummed. "Who’s that?"
"Who’s who?" I asked, following her line of sight. "I have no idea," I replied, seeing exactly who she meant. "Jesus, he’s hot."
"You’re taken now."
"We’ve been together for less than a day!" I retorted, but I was teasing and she knew it. She also did this thing with her arms that plumped up her tits. Rolling my eyes at her, I muttered, "You’re incorrigible."
The stranger wasn’t someone I recognized, and neither did Aidan if his scowl was anything to go by. However, the way Aidan was holding his glass told me he wasn’t angry. He was also curved slightly toward the stranger who’d taken Jen’s seat, his shoulder cutting off the rest of the room while he listened to whatever the guy had to say.
I wasn’t lying when I said he was hot, either. His hair wasn’t long, but it curled about his ears, long enough to flop onto his forehead in a carelessly artless way that probably took him five minutes in the morning to sort out, but would take a woman four hours in front of the mirror. He had pitch dark eyes, a Roman nose, a jaw that if you bounced a ball off, said ball would crack, and he looked good in what I could tell was custom tailoring.
Every instinct in my body told me he was Italian.
Every instinct I possessed told me that he was mafia. Just not high up enough in the ranks to be newsworthy.
The bulge in his jacket that told me he was packing helped confirm that belief, but it was in the way he glanced around the room. My guards made similar moves—
Speaking of which, where the hell were my guards?
A quick scan of the room revealed three of them.
Seated in various places around the room, they were all watching me, and each had bruises on their faces.
Bad ones.
Jesus, Aidan had been at it again.
Before I could do much more than grimace with apology, Jen whispered in my ear, "Oh, my God, I think I just came."
I almost chuckled, but I realized why—he was looking directly at her.
And when I said directly, I meant it. It was like the twenty feet between us and the table were mere inches. Like the columns that had to diminish his view of her were non-existent. Whenever a waiter switched into her path, he didn’t appear to notice.
Shooting a look at Jen, I saw, unusually enough, that she’d blushed. There was no coquettish pouting, no smizing, no teasing smiles or hot glances. Nope, she was bright pink.
"Do you recognize him?" I muttered, trying to figure out what was going on with her.
Jen’s initial reaction to plump up her tits when in the vicinity of a hot, rich guy was her standard MO. Blushing and falling silent? Not so much.
"No," she whispered, her hand tightening on my arm.
