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“Your boyfriend?” he asked.
“He used to be. We broke up about three months ago and I think he left some in the fridge,” she said. He rummaged through the top of the refrigerator and pulled three beers out and grinned over at her, making Viv giggle from the goofy triumphant look on his face.
“Found them,” he said. He set everything down on the table and rummaged through her cabinets looking for a glass. Viv handed him her wine glass and finished putting the food on the table. “So, you want to go over the rest of the rules?” he asked. “I’ve got the first memorized,” he teased.
“Shower schedule,” she said.
“Yep,” he agreed, pointing to his forehead, his long dark hair framing his beautiful face. “It’s in the vault,” he said. “What’s the next one?”
“How about we let each other know if we will be entertaining,” she said, using air quotes to frame the word “entertaining”. “I don’t mind you bringing a woman back here but I ask that you don’t have an endless parade of them trudging through the house.”
“Endless parade of women, hmm.” He stroked his beard as if he was envisioning all of those women and she giggled.
“Okay Casanova,” she said. “You get my meaning though, right?”
“Sure, no three or more-somes—got it.” He smiled and winked at her and Viv shoved a bite of chicken into her mouth to keep from groaning at the idea of Cillian bringing a woman back to the house. He was a grown man who most likely felt like he had some time to make up for with the female race, but she didn’t want to have to bear witness to the whole thing. She wanted to volunteer to help him blow off some much-needed steam but that would be foolish. It had been months since she had sex with someone or something besides her vibrator and breaking her dry spell with an employee was a horrible idea.
“Rule three,” she said, clearing her throat to continue. “I’m not a maid or a chef,” she said.
“I don’t know Viv,” Cillian spoke up. “This chicken is pretty fantastic.”
“Well, thanks for that, but I don’t want to have to clean up after you more than you probably don’t want to do so after me,” she said.
“Right—don’t be a slob or a douche,” he said.
“Are you taking any of this seriously? I feel that you aren’t.” Viv looked him over, hoping for stern but knowing she fell short by his amused expression.
“Sure,” he said. Cillian reached across the table and took her hand into his. “I take the fact that I was a stranger to you this morning when you literally bumped into me and gave me a job—very seriously. You’ve given me a place to stay and that is also something I take seriously. Joking around is my way of hiding my emotions. Maybe I should have shared that earlier—it’s one of my many flaws.”
“You must be a hoot at funerals then,” she teased. He rubbed his thumb over her hand.
“I’ve only been to one and I was a mess. I couldn’t stop laughing and everyone thought there was something wrong with me.” Viv had only attended two funerals herself. She thought back to her mom’s funeral and how awful it was. She thought she would never feel so much sadness but she was wrong. Losing her grandmother nearly did her completely in.
“Were you close to the person?” Viv asked.
“He was a friend and it was a long time ago—when I was practically a boy back in Ireland,” Cillian admitted.
“Your parents are still alive, then?” Viv prodded. She knew she was possibly sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. She justified her inquisition by remembering that she was effectively Cillian’s landlord and had a right to know at least something about him.
“No,” he whispered. Cillian pushed his half-empty plate back from where he sat and Viv felt like an ass for prying into his personal life.
“Sorry,” she said. “Forget I even asked.”
Cillian shrugged. “It’s fine. My parents went back to Ireland when I was in my early twenties. They were only in America for about seven years and they missed home so much, my dad decided to move back. I thought I was big shit and when he begged me to go home with them, I refused. If I had just agreed, my life would have turned out so differently.”
“How?” Viv asked. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the kitchen table, fixated on the beautiful man sitting next to her.
“Well, as I said, I thought I was the shit. My father asked his friend, Savage, to keep an eye on me but I was quite the handful. I tried to join Savage’s motorcycle club and when he turned me down, I looked elsewhere for acceptance. Let’s just say that was the beginning of the end.”
“I’m sorry,” Viv whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It was all my doing. My dad died shortly after he got back home—heart attack. I was a stubborn ass and refused to go to Ireland for the funeral. Me not showing up broke my mother’s heart and sent me into a downward spiral. One bad decision led to another and before I knew it, I ended up in prison. I found out my Ma died a few years later from cancer. I didn’t even know she was sick.”
Viv couldn’t help herself. She slid her chair closer to Cillian’s, resting her hand on his forearm. She wanted to give him comfort but wasn’t sure just how far he’d let her go. “I’m so sorry, Cillian,” she whispered.
“My mom died when I was a little girl and my dad couldn’t seem to get a handle on life after her death. He took off and my Gram finished raising me. I know what it feels like to lose people you love but I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you having to go through all of that from prison.”
“Again, ending up behind bars was my own making,” Cillian said.
