He shakes the glass for a refill, and I retrieve the bottle and another cup. “Not telling me anything I haven’t heard before. Besides, you love me. Want to know what I have planned for you?”
“If it’s not a bullet to my brain, I’m not interested.”
“You always know just what to say.”
I think of Catriona upstairs and rub a hand over my face. “Fuck it. Tell me your plans.”
“Really? I thought it would have taken more convincing. Mrs. O’Connor must really have you in knots.”
I make a rolling motion with my free hand. “Do you ever stop running your mouth?”
Tsking, he says, “But I have so many interesting things to say.”
“Start with what the hell you’re doing here,” I suggest.
He shifts the bag at his side that I didn’t realize he’d brought with him. “We’re going to start with this.”
“You think now is the right time?” I question drolly.
Eamon smirks. “Why? Are you planning to consummate tonight? I didn’t think Catriona was interested, based on the videos I’ve seen this week.”
“It’ll be in your best interest to refrain from commenting about me fucking my wife.” I throw back the rest of my gin. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
His expression turns rueful. “’Fraid not.”
“Do I get a choice in what or where it is?” He gives me a look that says how can you be so stupid. “Fine. Get it set up. I’ll pour more drinks.”
“I’m surprised your pretty bride isn’t wondering what we’re up to.”
I scoff, trying not to imagine what she’s doing right now or if she’s wearing any of those negligees I’d seen in her room. Howtonightcouldhave gone if we were any other people in the world. “I’m sure she’s pleased you’re keeping me busy.”
While he sets up his supplies, I retrieve a bottle of Teeling vintage reserve single malt whiskey from behind my desk. Despite the fact that I haven’t been to Ireland since long before the Emerald Isle opened, I still prefer Irish whiskey. By the time it’s poured, Eamon is ready. Gesturing to him, he grins wide, and I pour us two generous measures.
“Sláinte!” Eamon toasts after knocking his glass to mine. “I take it by the look on your face, marriage isn’t the happily ever after you always dreamed?” Eamon snickers, bringing me back to the present as he arranges his supplies on a sterilized tray: tattoo gun, needles, ink, petroleum jelly, and a bunch of other shit I don’t know the name for. I find myself looking forward to this. Maybe Eamon, the bastard, isn’t such a gobshite after all.
“Shut the fuck up unless it’s to tell me what you’re planning on putting on me.”
At this, his grin spreads wider, and he pulls out the stencil from his bag.
I lift a brow at him as I study it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack,mo chara.”
I think about Catriona and how she’ll react when she sees. She’ll be pissed, no doubt in my mind. Probably call me crazy. Honestly, I think it may be worth it.
When my lips pull into a smirk, Eamon says, “I knew you’d love it. It won’t take long, and then we can drink the rest of this whiskey.”
“Like hell. It’s for special occasions.”
“Lad, you married Rory Gallagher’s daughter. It’s either a special occasion or we’re toasting to your impending funeral.”
He isn’t wrong. “Alright, fuck, I’ll drink, but you’re going to finish the bottle on your own.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
By the following morning,I’m cursing Eamon’s name for convincing me to finish half the bottle with him—sneaky bastard. When I’m done, I study the tattoos and imagine Catriona’s reaction—ire, disgust, and confusion, probably. But what I’m really hoping for is outrage. She’ll do all sorts of interesting things if she’s pissed off with me. Hit me. Yell at me.
