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“Oh, come on.” She waves a hand at me. “Some serious sexy vibes were coming off you two right there!”
I glare at her. She better shut the hell up unless she wants me to smash a glass down on her broken fingersaccidentally.
“He’s nice,” she insists like she’s the only woman who is privy to that fact. Yeah, I’ll re-break her cocky ass fingers for her soon. “You could do worse.”
I freeze, her words echoing in my head. I know what people say about Niall. I do. I also know who he is. I’ve seen him covered in blood once or twice over the last year. Once I peeked at him carrying a bloody body out wrapped in a sheet.
But he’s also the man who drives me home every night he can. Who makes sure no one makes unwanted advances. Who fixes broken things in my apartment in secret. Tiggy needs to butt thefuckout. Right now.
“He’s theIrish Reaper,” I hiss at her, my rage swelling in me. “I could do a lot -.”
I cut myself off, taking a deep breath. What am I supposed to say to her? He won’t touch me, and I refuse to swallow my pride and beg him to?
I settle for a half-truth. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. Not at all.”
At least, I’m sure that’s what Niall tells himself every time he gets close to stepping over the stupidly arbitrary line he’s drawn in the sand between us.
NIALL
Tiggy has disappeared from the bar when I wander back in, and Mellie has finished stacking her glassware, now chopping up fruit for her cocktail station.
When I slide onto the barstool across from her, the lass offers a distracted smile, wiping her hands on a dishcloth and pouring me a whiskey, setting it on the bar beside her.
“D’ye do yoga, lass?”
She blinks in surprise, her eyes darting up to meet mine. “Uh…. I used to go to classes. I can’t really afford them these days, so I just do it at home if I need to de-stress.”
My eyes dart over her body, my mind conjuring up the image of the lass contorting herself into all those positions the women in Tiggy’s class used to. It’s a mouthwatering image. Shaking my head, I clear it, focusing on the task at hand.
Drumming my thumb on her bar, I stare at my glass for a moment.
“When ye did the classes, did ye have a lass as a teacher or a lad?”
Again, she seems surprised, pursing her lips as she tries to remember.
“A woman, usually.”
Relief surges through me. Thank Christ for that. Otherwise, I would have had to track the lad down and beat him senseless if he’d put his hands on her like this teacher of Tiggy’s had a tendency to do.
“Does it still exist? This yoga place ye went to?”
The lass sighs, dicing some strawberries, her eyes darting over at me. “What’s with the twenty yoga questions?”
“Seamus wants Tiggy to have a female instructor. I’m supposed to find her one.”
Mellie drops her knife, planting her hands on the countertop and glaring at me.
“Tiggy has a broken hand. She can’tdoyoga,” she snaps.
I blink in surprise. Mellie doesn’t usually lose her temper at me. Her bright blue eyes darken, and suddenly, I’m rock hard. Jesus fuck, I want to be buried balls deep in the lass right now.
“I know that, lass,” I assure her, nodding. “Eventually, she’ll want to return to the classes, and I’d need to check them out in advance.”
She huffs out a breath, snatching up her knife again.
“So Google it,” she spits, turning away from me angrily as I stare at her. Something is going on. I’m not entirely sure why, but she’s upset about something. I need to find out what it is so I can fix it for her.
“Are ye all right, lass?” I keep my eyes locked on the back of her head, my fingers flexing on the bar.
