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“She’s Paddy’s problem for the rest of the day,” I grunt. Connor’s eyes shoot up his forehead. I thought the same thing, but what Seamus wants, Seamus gets, and even Paddy Flynn has to suck it up on occasion.
“Besides, Seamus said ye needed me?”
“And so I do, Niall,” he agrees, dragging a hand through his thick ash blonde hair. “Some gentlemen have been rather rowdy at the tables.”
“Just give me their names.” I nod to him as he pulls out his phone. Tapping around on it, Connor lifts his head, frowning at me.
“Now, Niall,” he warns, “they’re regulars, and I’d like them to keep all their extremities. So, no blades, just fists.”
What the fuck is the use of that? Why am I even here? I might as well stay here and sit with Mellie while she works. Jesus fuck, how many men have tried their luck with her while I haven’t been here to glare at them and warn them off with my eyes? Has she taken any up on their offers? My hands clench into fists, my breath cold in my nostrils.
“I don’t know why ye’re not sending Paddy if that’s the case,” I grumble. Connor shrugs, shooting me an amused glance as he turns his eyes back to his phone.
“Paddy’s busy with Seamus’s wife, so that leaves me you. Besides, you’re just as handy with your fists as our Paddy is.”
“A couple of toes would send a better message.”
Connor laughs, but he doesn’t agree with me. “That’s not the kind of message I want getting around about my tables. If they were cheating, now that would be a different story. But they’re just rowdy lads. I want you to rough them up, not scare them off.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket as Connor sends me names and addresses. He sends me off with a warning glare. Mellie hasn’t emerged from where she went into the dressing room to fix her hair. I would have liked another look at the lass’s eyes before I left, but I don’t think I will be so lucky.
I stride out of Oracle, growling and throwing a dark glare at the fucking piss-weak cops in their stakeout vehicle. One of them locks eyes with me and hastily averts his eyes. Good.
I climb into my SUV, wrinkling my nose. It smells like Tiggy’s perfume in here. It’s not a bad smell. It’s just not the scent I want in my nostrils right now. My vehicle used to smell like Mellie. Like apples and sunshine. But I haven’t driven her home in over two weeks. Too long.
This is a bullshit errand and a waste of my talents. My eyes land on the empty passenger seat, and I growl. Shoving out of the SUV, I shoot another glare at the cops as they watch me stalk back inside.
I track Mellie to the kitchenette, where she’s making a cup of coffee. She slides the coffee over as soon as she sees me, immediately reaching for another mug. So fuckingperfect.
“How’s the head?” I ask, gesturing my mug at the side of her face.
The lass grimaces, touching the side of her head with her fingers. I've put down my mug and crossed to her before she even gets out half her “it’ll be fine” nonsense.
Mellie’s breathing hitches as I comb her hair away from the spot with my fingers and bite the inside of my cheek. Shifting her hair has moved the fucking apples and sunshine scent around until it’s brushing up against my skin like it’s a tangible fucking thing.
She holds stiff as my fingers gently probe the spot. There’s a goose egg there, but the skin hasn’t broken. Moving in front of her, I take her jaw in both my hands, tipping her head back so I can examine her eyes.
Now, the lass is breathing in sexy little pants, her eyes burning into mine. There’s no sign of a concussion, so I tell myself to take my hands off her fucking face and step away.
Unfortunately, the message my brain sends my fucking hands is not the one I decided. Mellie’s plump lower lip drops, and she sucks in a sharp breath as my thumb strokes over her chin, the tip brushing the underside of her lip.
Her bright blue eyes darken,deepen, and I’m at war with myself. Half of me wonders if it would be bad if I tasted her mouth just once. The other half reminds me why it’s such a bad idea.
Before I can make my decision, my eyes sweep over the shadows underneath hers. Jesus fuck. I’m such a cunt, debating whether I should kiss her when she’s exhausted.
“Why are ye tired just because it’s May?” I murmur.
The lass blinks in surprise, remembering herself and jerking her head away from my hands. I let her go, stepping back and picking up my coffee mug, leaning against the metal counter, watching her over the rim of my drink
Mellie turns back to the coffee machine, getting her mug ready. Right as I think she isn’t going to respond, she sighs, shaking her head, and shrugging.
“My dad had a stroke last May, right before I started working here. It was a really hard time.” Her voice is small and strained. “I lost my dad and my home, and the anniversary of his death is coming up, and I miss him.”
Jesus fuck. Why couldn’t it have been something easy to deal with? Like some fucking prick harassing her? I could have handled that. Iknowhow to handle that. Fuck the cunt up. Problem solved. Butthis? I don’t know what to say. Do I pat her back?
“Sure, and I’m sorry to hear about yer pa, lass,” I settle on. It sounds pathetically awkward, and she nods, keeping her back to me. Maybe I should leave. I didn’t want to upset the lass.
I’m about to give up and leave when the awkward silence stretches, but as I set down my mug on the countertop, Mellie speaks again.
