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“‘You fucking slaughtered that lad back there. It felt fucking personal, Paddy.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you know the lad or something?”
“I’ve never fucking met him before in my life,” I spit, shrugging as I pull on a T-shirt, holding out my hand as Delic enters the locker room, bringing my takings for the night over and handing them to me.
“You okay, Flynn?” he asks. I blink at him. Not him too.
“What the fuck is with everyone tonight?” I snap. Delic eyes me carefully, a thoughtful look on his face.
“I watch you fight for years, Flynn,” he tells me solemnly. “You always the same. Your anger, it burns ice cold. Tonight, hot. Hot and angry. Frustrated.” He shrugs, moving away.
As soon as he’s gone, Seamus snorts. “You got blue balls or something, Paddy?”
He has hit the nail on the fucking head. I growl up at him. Fucking arsehole. I bethegot laid today. A knowing smirk settles on his fucking ugly mug, and I flip him off.
“I’m sure we can fix that right up,” Seamus grins, gesturing to the door as one of the sex on legs, stunning fight groupies struts in.
Connor’s eyes eat her up while Ronan and Niall smirk. They’re fucking welcome to her. The groupie drops to her knees in front of me, reaching eagerly for the waistband of my trousers. Well, that’s not what my dick wants right now.
I knock her hand away, shoving my feet into my sneakers. The woman reaches for me again as I snag my duffel bag. Can’t take a fucking hint, can she?
“Fuck off,” I snap at her. She rocks back to sit on her heels as the curious looks of my crew burn into my face.
“Everyone get the fuck out,” Seamus growls, his eyes trained on me.
They all file out, including the pouting groupie. Niall hesitates, but Seamus jerks his head at the door. Niall’s eyes slide over me, and I nod stiffly to him. I assume I’m about to be reamed out, but I’m still not going to let anyone jump Seamus.
Niall snaps the door shut behind him. Once we’re alone in the room, Seamus crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing on me.
“You have exactly five fucking seconds to explain what the fuck is going on before I smack your ass down,” he informs me, his face hard.
Fitzy is handy with a flick knife in a fight, but he’s no match in a brawl with me. I contemplate telling him to fuck right off, but there’s something in his eye that tells me this isn’t between me and Fitzy, my best mate. It’s between me and Seamus Fitzpatrick, the next head of the Irish Mafia. He needs an answer, and I have no choice but to give him one.
“Delic had it right.” I shrug at him, slinging my bag over my head and letting the strap settle across my chest. “Blue balls.”
I step toward the door, eager to be off home to rectify the fucking situation A.S.A.P, but Seamus shifts, planting himself in the way. Swallowing an annoyed growl, I stop in my tracks.
“And yet, you sent the groupie away,” he points out.
“And so I did, Fitzy.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t give me that shite.”
I sigh, holding up my hands to appease him. “I didn’t need her services.”
His eyes narrow further. “The Carmichael lass,” he surmises.
I shrug as he shakes his head, scratching the back of it while resting his other hand on his hip.
“From memory, the lass is nothing special,” he sighs, watching my reaction carefully. Iwantto smash my fist through his fucking nose, but I school my face into a neutral expression.
“No offense, Fitzy,” I smirk, “but you don’t think anyone but Tiggy is anything special these days.”
“And so I don’t,” he agrees, still eyeing me carefully. “But I still know a good-looking woman when I see one.”
“Laurenisgood-looking,” I’m nonplussed, but Seamus shrugs one-shouldered.
“The lass is pretty, I’ll admit, but she wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of pretty lasses.”
She would to me, but I don’t fucking tell him that.
