Page 61 of Fighting for Irish
Chapter Fifteen
Kat sat on the trunk of her car and watched Irish roar up the road on his Suzuki. She loved how he looked on it, all stretched out, his body in total sync with the machine as he leaned into the turn that brought him into the parking lot at Lou’s. He parked next to her and swung his leg over in a graceful arc that belied his size. Pushing his sunglasses onto his head, he strode toward her with that sexy half grin hitching up one corner of his mouth.
Damn, the man still gave her butterflies just by looking at her. There was rarely a moment in the day or night when she wasn’t thinking of him. She wasn’t an expert in the area of romance and love, but just by going on basic knowledge, she’d guess she was falling hard and fast for a certain Southie fighter.
“Hey, there, beautiful,” he said as he stepped between her legs. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Kat beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I know. It’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”
“Oh, yeah,” he played along. “It’s gotta be, what, like an hour or something by now. Which is pretty close to forever by my standards when it comes to you.”
She laughed and eagerly accepted his kiss. He wasn’t kidding. It’d been at most an hour and a half since they’d seen each other. That’s how it had been practically all week. The only time they were really apart was when one of them needed to return to their own place for a change of clothes. They even transported Murphy back and forth, depending on where they were spending the night.
Being with Irish was as easy as breathing for Kat. He wasn’t the most romantic guy in the world, or even the most affectionate. But he understood her on levels she wasn’t even sure she knew herself. He was so in tune with her, as though he sensed exactly what she needed and when.
As for him, he was still mostly a mystery to Kat. She knew only a few things about his background and when she asked questions, he changed the subject or skillfully distracted her with several orgasms until she couldn’t think straight enough for a decent inquisition. As much as she longed to know more about him, she found it hard to complain about his manipulative tactics when they felt so good.
“Ready to go to work?” he asked after finally releasing her lips.
She raised a dubious eyebrow at him. “That depends. How many tips are you going to cost me tonight?”
“Depends on how many assholes try to play grab-ass with you.”
She huffed out a breath and planted her fists on her hips.
“Okay, tell you what,” he said, pulling her in until their chests rubbed together, the friction causing her nipples to pebble beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. “You keep track of how many dickwads short your tips because of me…” Leaning in, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth before releasing it with a quiet pop. “And that’s how many times I’ll make you come tonight.”
Suddenly, losing tips didn’t sound like such a horrible thing. With a slight squeak in her voice, she agreed to his compromise, then sealed the deal with a scorching kiss to rival the bayou’s midday heat.
After they came up for air, Irish helped her down from the car and grabbed the nylon pack strapped to his gas tank. He used it to hold his wallet, sunglasses, and an extra shirt in case some drunk spilled his drink—or his blood—on the one he wore.
As they started toward the back entrance to the bar, two guys stepped around the corner. “Hey, there he is. O’Brien,” called the taller of the two, “how’s it going, buddy?”
Irish stopped short, grabbing ahold of her arm to pull her level with him. He tensed and angled his body to put himself slightly in front of her. She wondered at his discomfort, since the men obviously knew him. She didn’t think anyone around here knew his real name except her and Xander.
“Gentlemen,” he answered. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be so rude,” the man admonished. “Why don’t you introduce us to your lady friend?”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. “This here is Sydney,” he began. Kat was relieved when he used her alias. Despite supposedly being in the clear, she wasn’t quite ready to let all her walls down yet. “Syd, this is Sully and Vinnie. They’re—”
“Independent agents keeping an eye out for new talent at the Four by Four,” Sully finished for him.
That’s when it dawned on her who they were. “Oh, Vinnie!” She turned to Irish. “He’s the one you were telling me about, right? The one who could get your career going again?”
Irish shook his head, but he didn’t get a word in edgewise. Whereas Vinnie was apparently the strong and silent type, Sully was obviously very used to directing conversations.
“You must mean Victor, am I right? He’s the manager on all the fighters’ radars these days.”
Victor! Victor…Victorrrrrrr…Macknis? Manis? Something like that. God, she was terrible with names. At least she’d remembered it started with a V. “Yes, that’s who I meant, I’m sorry.”
Sully waved his hand dismissively. “No apology necessary. We actually work for Victor. Didn’t he call and tell you we’d be coming?”
“No,” Irish said. “Must have slipped his mind.”
“Well, no matter. We’re here and we’d like to discuss some business options with you.”
Irish narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly but inclined his head in agreement. “Syd, take my pack and put it in my locker for me when you go in, will you?”
