Hustle: The Doyles: A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 6

  You can’t plan for that magic in a fucking box.

  You can’t schedule “enjoy life” between your last meeting at six and when you start your paperwork at 6:30.

  One time in high school I heard he took his father’s antique car and drove north just to get away. Way north. Was it Nova Scotia? Maybe that was just a rumor, but somehow looking at the handsome lines of his face and those intelligent eyes, I don’t doubt for a minute that Seamus could pull it off. I’d always been disappointed that he hadn’t asked me along.

  “What are you drinking?” He motions to the server to bring us two more. She’s throwing daggers in my direction and longing glances at Seamus, and I oddly feel a little feline satisfaction at being at his table tonight.

  Silence stretches for too long, and then he starts, “I had another thought about the shop.”

  At the same time, I say, “For Christ sake, Seamus. We’re off the clock. Relax.”

  It’s not that I don’t want to talk about my shop. Not that it’s not on my mind; this just seems like a rare chance to get to go a little deeper with this man.

  No matter how much he frustrates me, I want to go deeper.

  Want to get to know the man that he’s become.

  Under all the polish and Harvard and bullshit, I mean.

  I can feel him resisting it and expect him to push back. Instead, he leans back against the booth and runs a hand through his hair. I try not to notice how it’s slightly mussed and gives him a carefree air that’s so fucking good. And such a fucking lie.

  His eyes cut up toward me again. I’m struck again by how dazzlingly blue they are. “Seamuscape, hey?”

  A wicked grin turns the corners of his lips up and it’s like someone turned the heat way up. The world seems to slow for me when he smiles like that, the promise of some real and something wicked beneath all that control. “I like it. Truth is, there’s so much going on it’s hard to get away. But sometimes you just have to.”

  The band has started jamming on some modern twist of an Irish song. It’s a little fast, but I like it. “Seamus,” I begin, “about the other night…”

  He’s staring at me intently. I find it hard to continue.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It’s not my best quality, but I hate admitting when I’m wrong. Seamus would probably tell me it’s rooted in my childhood trauma like when he went all Dr. Phil on me at the club. I push down the annoyance.

  Right, an apology.

  I look back at him and remember the very brief hurt that flashed across his face when he’d pushed me away. Maybe we both felt more than we were letting on.

  “You’ve always meant a lot to me, Seamus. I hope you know that.” I tentatively reach out for his hands. They’re warm and strong, and I try not to remember how they felt sliding up my body.

  Sometimes I wonder how life would have been if things had worked out between Seamus and me. One thing’s for sure.

  The sex would have been off the charts hot, if the shivers tracing their way down my arms right now – and the remembered feel of his hard cock – are any indication.

  We hold eye contact for a few seconds more, and he quirks a lopsided smile at me. He clears his throat and tries to get back to some neutral ground. “Do you come here often?”

  I can’t help it. I bark a laugh that catches fire in my gut and have to squeeze my eyes shut before I laugh, or maybe cry, and make my mascara run.

  “Smooth,” I manage finally. Emotions flash over his face, almost too fast to catch, but he finally settles for a sheepish grin.

  Taking another sip of my drink, I nod. “It’s an easy ten-minute walk from my place. I’m friends with the band. And the crowd’s comfortable.”

  His eyes meet mine for a second, before they snap back to the band.

  “Exactly why I come here too.”

  Honestly, I can’t believe I haven’t run into him, but I’m usually with friends. If he was hiding out in the back, I’d just hit the dance floor and miss him entirely. The thought immediately strikes me as ridiculous.

  How could you ever miss a man that’s as handsome as Seamus?

  “Evi, may I ask you a question?” There’s something in the way he’s carefully speaking each word, the way that his voice is a bit deeper that’s got my stomach flipping. I give a little shrug.

  Go for it.

  “Why aren’t we still friends?” his voice is so quiet that I almost can’t hear him. My eyes move up to his, fast.

  “You tell me.”

  “No, Evi, I’m serious.”

  He’s dead serious, but a wave of confusion washes over me. “Seamus, you’re the one who walked away.”

  He looks like I punched him. “Evi, I didn’t fucking walk anywhere. We met up that day and had an amazing time at the beach, talking about our plans. Maybe we disagreed a little, but you’re the one who walked away.”

  My laugh is harsh, even as I’m fighting to keep my face neutral. I’d meant that figuratively.

  “Seamus, we didn’t disagree. You told me that my plans were ridiculous, and that I shouldn’t waste my life.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he sounds a little less sure, and looks a lot more horrified.

  My hand briefly reaches out to touch his again, our fingers brushing as sparks explode. My voice is whisper soft as I say, “I promise you did.”

  “Fuck, Evi. I’m sorry. I lacked….control, I guess.” What I want to tell him is that he didn’t lack control. He had been purely and unapologetically Seamus. It wasn’t the fight that pissed me off, it was the ice-cold professionalism he’d treated me with – like I was a casual acquaintance and not—family? I wasn’t sure what I was ready to admit to myself tonight.

  Taking a much bigger swallow of my drink, I say. “Water under the bridge, right?”

  Right?

  He doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t know what to even say. It is, and it isn’t, and that complexity is just real. Maybe it’s too real for the man Seamus has become. Honestly, I don’t really know.

  But I hope not.

  “My turn. Are you happy?”

  His eyes flash a challenge. “Are you?”

  “Before this bullshit with Stacy? Yes. Mostly, anyways. I’ve had to work hard for what I’ve got, but I got where I wanted to go.”

  If I’m not mistaken, that’s admiration sparkling in his eyes.

  “I always knew you would.”

  “The fuck you did.” I hate that my voice lilts up, like a question. I don’t need his approval. But damned if I don’t want it. That familiar feeling, something reaching up from deep inside, like a flower seeking the sun.

  “Evelyn McCallum, you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. I knew when you were eight years old that you’d get whatever you set your mind to, and you have.” He’s back to the confident Seamus, but he seems warmer.

  Well, then. It explains his determination that I could transfer to Harvard or whatever, but doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t seem to understand that I wanted something different.

  His grin turns a little roguish. “I don’t necessarily agree with the way you accomplish everything, strictly speaking…”

  I start to bristle, but he puts up a hand. “But I admire the hell out of your guts and your go-getting and your results.”

  My heart is pounding a little harder, and my body temperature spikes again. But I’m going to put the warm sense of whatever that is away for now and revisit it later, when I’m alone. In case I fucking cry, which I probably will, Hank’s judgment of hyper-emotional humans notwithstanding.

  “You’re dodging my question, Doyle.”

  A moment of silence, then a slight nod. “I think it’s because I honestly don’t know how to answer you.”

  His honesty stuns me. Seamus always has an answer at the ready, knows what to say, what people want to hear.

  “Six months ago, yes. Happy enough anyways.” He shoves a hand through his hair again, and for just a second, I imagine tanglin
g my fingers through it. I’m trying to ignore how my clit is sparking to life.

  “Now? My dad, my brothers, the business. My practice. It’s a lot. I went from being Boston’s hottest corporate lawyer at a huge practice to having my own practice with a few token clients. Most of the time I’m wading through the legal and financial mess of Doyle Enterprises. There’s a lot of money, but there are a lot of complications. Especially now, because I thought I’d have more time to get everything sorted out. ”

  It is a lot. But still.

  “Seamus, you always do so much for other people. Life is always going to throw a lot your way. It’s how you are. It’s who you are.”

  The intensity of his gaze could burn through me, and I’m vaguely aware of a song about ships sailing off to sea coming to a close.

  “But you can’t let that steal all your joy. You have to keep something for yourself.”

  I learned a long time ago that the world will deal you rough hands, ignore what you want, and test everything you’ve got. But it’s still your life, your one life, that’s passing by. You have to be you, and you have to grab joy when you get the chance. That’s the part that Seamus always seems to miss.

  Seamus leans a little closer, his eyes boring into mine. His tongue runs over his lips and my stomach flips. “Maybe I have forgotten how to do that, Evi…”

  Before he can finish, a booming voice fills the air as a form arrives next to us. The lead singer, who is an old friend, came over to say hello. I leap up, hug him, and introduce him to Seamus, who looks aloof again, like he’s taking this guy’s measure.

  I want to laugh, because he’s more like a grandpa than anything, but let Seamus get a little jealous or whatever’s happening. The singer quickly drifts away to talk to other patrons, but the magic’s broken.

  Sitting back down, I reach into my bag and pull out the Tarot deck I have with me. I shuffle the cards and give Seamus my biggest smile. “What do you say, Doyle? Pull a few cards.”

  He looks dubious, when I add, “Maybe it’ll help you have a little faith.”

  Sticking out his chin, he nods.

  “Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  7

  Seamus

  The bar stinks like beer and feet, and the sound system is blaring too loudly while the band’s on break. But all I can do is look at Evi.

  Maybe it’s the liquor. Maybe it’s the music. Or maybe it’s just the woman.

  All I wanted when I came here was to be alone.

  Around other people, but ones who didn’t want me to do anything or answer questions or solve their problems. The whole anonymous in a crowd thing. Sometimes it’s soothing.

  When she walked in, I thought about slipping out the back. But then I sat rooted to my chair, thinking about buying her a drink.

  I hate the indecision I feel around her, almost as much as I hate her magnetic pull. I feel like the Earth orbiting the sun when I’m with her.

  I’m used to being the sun.

  Now she’s going to read my damn fortune. My eyes go to the elaborate tattoo on her arm. It’s a Tarot card, although I’m not totally sure which one. It’s the same as the design as her logo, so it’s probably an Empress. I make a note to look this up later.

  “What do you want to know?”

  My mouth goes dry again, and I feel the pressure of her steady gray gaze. Damnit.

  She smirks at my indecision. “Let’s do it this way. Pull three cards and put them face down.”

  I do.

  “How many specific questions do you have?”

  I consider. “Two?”

  She indicates an open space on the table. “Pull two and put them here, face down.”

  I do what she says.

  Her fingers flip over the first card, and her mouth turns down when she sees it.

  “Ten of Wands. This is the past. The card basically means that you’re carrying heavy burdens.”

  No shit.

  “But it also suggests that maybe you pick up some responsibilities that aren’t yours. Have you ever thought that if you put down some of those things, that other people will pick them up?”

  The directness of that makes me a little uncomfortable, and I flash on my father’s tired, concerned face as he says, “Seamus, my boy. You need to let some of these things go. You can’t control everything. You can’t anticipate every outcome.”

  The hell I can’t.

  “What’s next?” I ask, flipping over the next card.

  “This is the present. Interesting. The King of Pentacles,” her smile turns feline. “Basically, the card refers to a wealthy, refined, and powerful man that gets shit done and takes care of the people around him.”

  Evi quirks an eyebrow. “Wonder who that could be.”

  Heat rolls up my neck, my cheeks flushing. She flips the last card over of the three.

  “Wheel of Fortune?” I ask. “That’s good, right?”

  Her shrug is noncommittal. “It depends. Technically, it means that big forces of destiny are in play, and it can really go either way.”

  Terrific. Nothing like a little metaphysical confirmation of that complete lack of control I’m feeling. I shift, but she meets my eyes.

  “A teacher I studied with once had a really interesting insight about the Wheel. She said that people think it’s all about this chaotic force of fate, and maybe there’s an element of that. But you have more control than you think. It’s all about how well you play your hand, and how willing you are to step into that destiny.”

  I know a thing or two about playing hands. And I’m definitely wrestling with what direction my life will take.

  “Okay, so think about your first question.”

  I do, my eyes lingering on her face. Come on, Tarot. What’s the story with Evi and I? I take a drink of the beer, just to distract myself.

  The card falls over, and my eyes hit the title just as she says with a little surprise, “The Lovers.”

  I try to breathe, but I’m swallowing beer, and before I know it, I’m coughing and there is beer coming out of my nose. Fucking hell. Seamus Doyle does not look like a mess like this.

  She reaches out and I think she’s going to hit me, but instead she just leans over to rub my back with a surprisingly gentle touch. God love these corner booths that force you to sit side-by-side. “You okay?”

  Turns out you don’t need oxygen to get so aroused it feels like your balls might burst.

  “Fine, thank you. Please continue.” It’s an effort to sound composed around the small coughs wracking my body.

  She’s studying the card. “I think it’s self-evident, Seamus.”

  Is there a note of accusation in her voice?

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  Even though I know she’s asking because of my card, my heart thunders.

  “No.”

  She raises her eyebrow. My cock twitches, and I’m fairly certain I look a little pained. “Got your eye on anyone?”

  How the hell do I even answer that, when I’m not totally sure myself?

  After a minute of frank appraisal, she tilts her head. “Second question?”

  I’m thinking about her shop, and that whole thing. The card she flings over has a globe on it.

  “The World. Nice. Whatever you’re thinking about, that’s basically everything good in one package.”

  If only she knew how right she was. That package doesn’t fit into my world, and I don’t fit into hers, but damned if my body is getting any of these messages. Especially tonight.

  “Thank you very much, Evi,” She looks pleased and so I venture a little further. “How did you learn this?”

  Her appraising stare has me uncomfortable, like she’s inferring all kinds of judgment there. Honestly, I’m just curious. There’s a lot about her, a lot about the diverse interests that she’s cultivated, that are interesting.

  “You know, Seamus, sometimes it’s worth learning skills even if you can’t easily monetize them.”

&n
bsp; Fifteen years ago, I would have argued with that. Today, even though I’m not exactly a shining example, I know the value of having a richer life.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Her eyes come up to meet mine. My lower stomach tightens and I’m fighting blood flow headed south with so much force that it’s getting hard to talk. Even the way that she reads Tarot cards seems to be a turn-on now.

  She slides the pack of cards back into her bag with a little shrug and then answers the question. “Here and there. It’s an interesting way to get a different perspective, to find a different lens through which to view life and answer questions. Beyond that, who knows?”

  I don’t, but The Lovers was pretty spot on. A moment of silence drags on a little too long, and she’s sliding on her coat. My stomach clenches, like I can’t bear the thought of her leaving or the thought of her leaving me here alone.

  Throwing down bills, I shrug my own coat on. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  She’s starting to protest, but I’m already on my feet and shouldering a path through the crowd. She follows, and when the damp air on the street hits my skin, I realize how alive and in the moment I feel.

  How actually relaxed.

  My thoughts have barely dragged to work or family stuff since she sat across from me. That itself is a fucking miracle.

  And wouldn’t have been the case if I’d sat there alone, drinking beer and staring off into space, going over cases. Coming up with strategies. Worrying about the future.

  We walk in silence for the most part, but I surprise myself by reaching out to hold her hand. She doesn’t look at me, but I can see her smile, and it feels really fucking good. The feel of her smaller hand in mine, hot, is almost more than I can take. Combined with the relief of not feeling like an entire ball of stress, is heady. We get to her shop, and I don’t want the evening to end. I don’t want to forget how this feels.

  Even if it can’t last.

  “We should do this again,” I offer lamely. “I had a good time, Evi.”

  She lets go of my hand and strokes the side of my face. She looks beautiful in the moonlight, like her empress, and before I know what I’m doing, my lips are on hers. She responds eagerly, pressing against me and sliding her hands up my shoulders. Her tongue, pierced with a stud, caresses mine. I wonder what that stud would feel like on my cock. It’s taking everything I have not to beg her to find out.