Page 167 of Twisting Beauty

I did not look away from her once.

“Lorc—” Finn was at my shoulder, his hand on my arm. “Christ, mate⁠—”

I shrugged him off, tossed my hurley and helmet aside on the sidelines, and aimed straight for her.

Behind me, someone shouted. Rafe maybe. Then Breezy, louder, that grin in his voice. “Don’t go starting a war over her, Lorc.”

I did not answer.

My vision had narrowed to Liath. She’d come down off the bleachers and was standing at the players’ benches on the sideline. That bastard was still beside her like a fucking creeper, his hand at the small of her back like he had any right, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d already won.

I grabbed my club jacket up from the bench as I passed.

She saw me coming. Her eyes flicked to Deargán at her side, then back to me and I saw her visibly step forward as if she could get between us.

I dropped the jacket over her shoulders.

The cluster around the benches went quiet. Someone behind me drew a breath before a ripple of whispers started.

A club jacket was sacred. Every Irishman in the ground knew it. You didn’t give a girl your jacket unless you want half the county asking when the wedding is.

It claimed her. It made her mine. I didn’t give a shite what that looked like.

Deargán arched his brows. “Unlucky pass today, Lorcan,” he drawled, poison dripping from his mouth, “almost gave me a concussion.”

Liath nudged me with her hand, a look on her face like, well, go on, apologize.

My smile curved sharp. “If I was trying, I’d have hit you. I never miss.”

His dark pupils flickered.

I pictured my thumbs on his throat. The cartilage giving. The pulse failing under the pressure. The fantasy purred cold in my chest.

I put my arm around Liath’s shoulders and pulled her against my side. “Come on, Gray.” I glared at him as I said it. “Let me take you home.”

She gave him one last look before she let me lead her away.

Driving her home, I gripped the wheel until my knuckles whitened, casual words scraping out, brittle. “What did he want?”

“Nothing. Just… college stuff.” She twisted at her seat belt.

“Looked like he was saying shit to you.”

She stiffened. “Oh, um, yeah, just about… some assignment work.”

The suspicion gnawed, a parasite under my skin. She was lying.

Later, she walked through the manor like she was somewhere else.

She was just tired. Of course she was quiet. Of course she was not herself.

At the top of the stairs, I stopped her with a thumb at her wrist. “You alright?”

“Grand.”

She did not look at me.

I tried again in front of my door. “I downloaded that McQueen documentary you were on about. The one with the bloody runway show. We could put it on. I’ll get the fire going in my room.”