It feels like an eternity passes before I come down enough to be sane again. I run a hand through my hair and turn my head for a glance at her.
Jhene’s lying where I left her, thighs still splayed open, chest rising and falling. Her eyes are on the ceiling, glasses sliding into place.
“You alright?” I husk out.
“I…” she starts and then stops. Her slender throat works in a swallow. “Wow, Killer.”
I laugh. “Wow yourself. You know what the fuck you were doing to get me to that point.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says innocently, rolling over onto her side. She’s propped herself up on her elbow. “I’m just an innocent bystander. You’re the brute who came out of nowhere and took me for yourself.”
“That… sounds mostly accurate,” I admit with another deep chuckle. I turn on my side to match her, arm sliding over her hips to pull her closer. “But you’re a fucking tease and you know it.”
“You have to take accountability for your actions, Killer.”
“You know what,” I growl, and she giggles, squirming against me as I bury my face in her neck.
With the gym to ourselves, we give into each other with more rounds to go.
TWENTY
Jhene
“Girl,get your butt over here and sit down for five minutes before you collapse!”
Chantal calls out to me as I pass their table carrying a tray laden with pints of Guinness. I manage a quick glance over my shoulder to find her waving at me from the corner booth where she’s seated with Simone and Monique. The three of them are dressed to the nines, looking comically out of place in the Irish pub.
…but I’ve gotten to know them well enough to know they don’t give a damn.
All three ladies pride themselves on being fashionistas.
I’m the opposite in my scuffed sneakers and faded T-shirt with the logo of a soda brand stamped on it. Killian’s offered to take me shopping for an entire new wardrobe. An offer I’ve turned down because I genuinely hate shopping.
Trying on frames was torture enough when he bought me new glasses.
I deliver the tray of Guinness to the table of ruddy-faced Irishmen, then pivot back over in the direction of the lady’s table.
Tonight’s the grand reopening of the Banshee, which means it’s a packed house. Every last one of Tom’s regulars has shown up in solidarity and so has almost the entire Callahan clan.
Even their women.
It’s sending the exact message Ronan wanted—a show of strength to the Bratva. They can burn down the building, but they’ll never defeat them. The clan will always rise from the ashes.
As I approach the lady’s table, I slide my notepad out of my waist apron in case they’re ready to order more drinks. I should’ve known they were really calling me over for a break.
“You’ve passed this table six times in the last ten minutes,” Monique says flatly. “Sit down before I trip you.”
“I’m fine, really?—”
“Girl, sit your booty down right this instant,” interrupts Chantal. “You’ve been scurrying around this pub like a chicken with its head cut off.”
“Do you see how packed it is? Every table is full!”
“And I’m sure the other four servers on shift can handle it.Sit.”
I put both hands on my waist and peer at the ladies stubbornly. As if I’m about to stand my ground. But it turns out they’re standing theirs too. They stare back at me with raised brows and lips pressed into expectant lines.
They’ve even made a spot for me at the booth.
