So, I never spoke of it again.
There was satisfaction in being right. In being flat.
But now there is something else. I’m second guessing the boundaries of my linear emotions. There is a blip in the line when I look at him.
Fear, I reason. Because I’ve never felt as dangerous as I do when I think of what I could do to him.
Rory isn’t flat like me.
He’s all jagged edges and soft corners. A contradiction of dark masculinity and soft humor. But inside, he feels.
And I’m the girl that’s going to soak him in kerosene before I light a match.
There’s a faint whisper of the conscience I didn’t know existed telling me to stay away. But the destructive part of me wants to punish him.
I want to stay linear. Because it’s easy. And it’s familiar. But it’s like one of those heart monitors when they bring someone back to life. I can see the small peaks and valleys forming already. My flat line is altered.
Pliant, when before it was unbendable.
I stare at him too long and he feels it. His eyes move over me too, suspicious.
He knows something is up. Because I never would have come to him otherwise. So, I need to give him a reason. Something to think that I need him. I’m going to make him a good soldier. The Clyde to my Bonnie. And we’re going to fuck up everyone who’s ever crossed me before I turn on him too.
Because in this world, you can only ever rely on yourself.
And I am going to end this. One way or another.
Rory pulls up into the parking lot of Slainte and turns off the ignition. This is the Irish mafia’s stomping grounds. Headquarters, if you will. A strip club and gambling establishment and who knows what the fuck else. Mack was a dancer here for all of two seconds before Crow went and married her, so I know a little about the place.
The question now is what we’re doing here.
Rory is back to his normal boyish personality when he turns in the seat and winks at me. He reaches for my hand and his is warm and big and calloused from fighting.
“Name?” he asks.
This is my opportunity. And here comes the breadcrumb. Rory can’t resist helping a woman in distress. So, I’m going to throw him a bone. I will give him a legitimate reason why I need to stick around for a while.
“The thing is…” I say quietly. “The name doesn’t matter.”
Rory doesn’t interrupt me. That’s the thing about him. He’s not like most guys. He actually listens to what I have to say. And whenever I talk, his eyes are on my face, not my body.
It’s unfamiliar, and it makes me uncomfortable. Exposed and raw. Full of curves and peaks that I want to stomp back down into the flat line where they belong.
“The game has lost appeal,” I continue. And this part is actually true. “It hasn’t been there for a while.”
Rory’s eyes are warm. Relieved. And the small sense of calm I had evaporates into annoyance. Of course, he’s happy. Trying to dictate the way I live my life. Just like the rest of them.
He has no right to judge me.
The fucking Mafioso trying to tell the hooker that her life is all wrong. It gets under my skin and lives there, but I don’t let him know it.
This little charade is going to be quick and rough, the way he likes it. He’s a perpetual bachelor. I’ve seen him at the fights. The women hanging off his arms. The life he lives is fast and hard. High octane.
Anything less wouldn’t give him the same satisfaction.
Men get bored easily. Monogamy isn’t natural to them. Fact.
Rory would get bored with me too, no matter what he tells himself. It’s only the chase that thrills him. And if I wasn’t fucking him over right now, he’d be fucking me over in only a few short months. No question about it.
