“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” His face is unnervingly calm as he says this. We get stuck at traffic lights coming into Citywest, and it’s only when he pulls the handbrake up that he looks at me and smirks. “I promised to get you home safely, Katie. I intend to do that.”
“It’s over an hour’s drive from here; I don’t want to put you out.”
“You’re not putting me out,” he insists. “I’ve got a house in Tipperary that I’ve been meaning to visit anyway. Consider this a good excuse.”
“How many houses do you have?”
“You mean in Ireland, or?” That grin again—the one that would melt the knickers off a nun.
“I can’t even tell if you’re joking right now.” I look at him, trying to get a read on him. I don’t know anything about him. I make a mental note to Google him later when I don’t have to worry about him noticing me cyber-stalking him out of morbid curiosity. “How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?” He asks, pulling onto themotorway and accelerating smoothly.
“Oh, fuck off.”
“I’m thirty-one,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by his response. “You don’t look a day over twenty-six.” Yet the way he carries himself and the confidence in his eyes make him seem older than his years.
We make general chit-chat as we drive, and I discover that his only sibling is Robbie. His dad died when he was sixteen. He was married young, much like Anthony, and is now divorced. No children. No pets, though he is a dog lover. And though I don’t ask, I can venture a guess and say he’s fucking minted.
Add that to his being out here giving off book-boyfriend vibes, and it’s no wonder I’m feeling a little intimidated.
Not by his wealth. I couldn’t give a shit about that, though I will admit that it is impressive to see someone who has achieved financial success without resulting to selling their body to strangers on the internet. What really intimidates me is his overall confidence and charisma. Even now, driving around in a mismatched tracksuit, he looks damn near edible.
“You own your own house?” He sounds genuinely impressed when he moves the twenty questions on to me.
“Well, I’m still paying off the mortgage, but yeah, I do own my own house.”
“Fair play to you; it’s not an easy thing now. The banks have been cracking down a lot lately.” He moves into the outside lane with ease, effortlessly manoeuvring through traffic as if he owns the road. “What do you do for a living, Katie?”
“Only Fans.”
He swerves slightly, his eyebrows raising in surprise.
I can’t help it; my head tips back, and I cackle my arse off.
“Are you serious?”
“Why? Are you going to go look me up?” I ask, still laughing.
“Probably, yeah,” he responds with a smirk.
“I don’t do Only Fans,” I turn my head to face him, my laughter subsiding. “Although I think I should, they’d pay me to put my clothes back on, and I’d be mortgage-free.”
“Would you stop!” he chuckles, shaking his head.
“If you must know, I work as a cover designer from home and run book tours.”
“Book tours?” He presses.
“Yeah, I organise promotional tours for authors and help them gain exposure for their books,” I explain, feeling a sense of pride in my work. “It’s a lot of fun and allows me to be creative while working remotely.”
“How did you get into that?”
I shrug, “I had to do something for money when the pandemic hit. I just kind of fell into it. I love it, though. I’d never go back to working for someone else.”
I give Aiden directions from my turn-off, and pretty soon, I’m home.
