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“Thank fuck for that,” he mutters, turning to set the coffee maker going.
As soon as his back is turned, I drop my head, biting back a groan of mortification. Paddy must have told him we had sex. Unprotected sex. And sent him to buy a packet of Plan B for me. How humiliating. God, this guy must think I’m some kind of slut or something.
“You’re doing laundry?” His voice cuts through my mortification. I lift my head, following his gaze toward the basket I left on the coffee table.
“Um, I’m not supposed to leave the apartment,” I hedge, and he nods.
“Yeah,” he smirks. “I know.”
We stare at each other for another long moment, and he sighs like the most put-upon person in the world.
“I’ll fucking do it.”
I blink as he strides over, snatching up the basket and the detergent I found under the sink in Paddy’s bathroom, slamming the apartment door behind him.
Sliding off the stool, I cross to fetch my book. Picking it up, I lay it on the coffee table, grab my phone, and curl up on the sofa. The urge to call Mrs. Dawkins is hammering hard at me, so I settle for texting Andie instead.
LAUREN: Working?
ANDIE: Gotta hustle baby. How’s hiding out? You find your mafioso?
I’m surprised she texted back immediately. Maybe her boss is out. I snort and roll my eyes at her text.
LAUREN: I don’t think you’re supposed to call them that. Isn’t that Italian?
ANDIE: No idea. He’s mafia, so mafioso works well enough. Did you find him?
LAUREN: Yeah. I found him.
ANDIE: Is he going to help you?
LAUREN: I don’t know. He’s helping hide me ATM, so I guess that counts.
ANDIE: What’s he like?
My fingers pause on the phone. What is Paddy like? My cheeks flame at the memory of his tongue… and his dick.
LAUREN: He’s not what I was expecting.
Like, I wasn’t expecting him to fuck me. I have no idea if that was a one-off thing, but I’m okay with it being just that once. I will carry the memory of that fuck to the grave.
ANDIE: As long as he keeps you safe, he’s all right in my book. Shit. Boss is back. Got to go. Love ya Low!
LAUREN: Bye. Love you too.
Dropping my phone, I stare unseeing at the book on the coffee table. Somehow, having a kind of normal chat with Andie only made me sadder. I miss Dot. I miss Mrs. Dawkins, and I miss Andie.
Chapter Seven
PADDY
Seamus drops into the chair beside me, handing me a tumbler of whiskey, his eyes flickering over the stripper working it on the pole on stage before returning to rest on me.
“I’ll have to talk to Pa about the Carmichael lass,” he tells me.
I grit my teeth and nod sharply at him. Yeah, I figured as much. “And so you will, Fitzy.”
He studies me for a beat, smirking. “Heard you sent Liam for Plan B. Decided to try to fuck her happy, did you?”
