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Diarmuid

 

 

 

After I told Saoirse to get herself reassigned, I ignored her texts.

I hated myself for it.

But it was my only hope of getting out of this rock and a hard place with Niall. If she demanded to be reassigned, Niall had no leverage on me.

I waited every day for the announcement from my supervisor that Saoirse had been taken off my case.

That announcement never came.

Saoirse didn’t show up to our usual Friday meeting. She didn’t answer my text message asking if she was okay when I caved and messaged her.

I fucked up.

I know I had.

But what else could I do? I implore you, what else could I do?

The days dragged, each one feeling empty and brittle, each one without sunshine or magic. I went to work, I went to the gym, I went home. And I saw the ghost of Saoirse everywhere: in my truck, at O’Malley’s, in my bed.

Another week came and went and another Friday approached. I only remembered that I was meant to go to Declan’s fight that night when Marla had reminded me at the coffee shop that morning.

“Are you still taking me out tonight?” she’d asked with a flush to her cheeks. “I bought a new dress.”

Right. The fight. The date I was supposed to be having with an adult woman.

I had asked Marla to come with me weeks ago and forgotten all about it.

The last thing I wanted to do was to sit through a date and pretend to be involved in the conversation. I was being more of a prick than usual lately, my temper short, my replies at work even blunter than normal. Marla didn’t deserve to hang around my grumpy ass this evening.

But I couldn’t back out now. Firstly, it wouldn’t be fair to Marla. She’d bought a new dress, for fuck’s sake. Secondly, I’d never hear the end of it from Declan.

I forced a smile. “Of course. Pick you up at seven thirty. Fight starts at eight.”

 

 

 

Seven thirty came and I arrived at Marla’s apartment to pick her up. She appeared at her door wearing a pastel green floral dress that fit her perfectly and fell to just above her knees. A grey jacket over the top of it, makeup on and her red hair piled up on top of her head.

She looked sweet, ladylike. Exactly the kind of grown woman I should be interested in.

Except, I frowned… This was not the kind of outfit a woman going to a watch a fight should be wearing. She looked like we were going to go out for tea.

I felt completely monstrous next to her in my distressed denim, boots and leather jacket. At least I’d run a comb through my hair and tied it back. And I’d trimmed my short beard yesterday.

“You look…nice,” I said to her. Apparently, I’d left my thesaurus at home. I still managed to coax a blush out of her.

As I leaned in to kiss her cheek I caught the scent of her fruity perfume and I found myself wishing for the smell of roses and honey.

We drove to the theatre where the fight was being held, and I parked in the VIP parking lot, a smaller section next to the public one. I got out and faltered for a second before realising that Marla was waiting for me to open her door.

Jesus. I was such a dick. What was I thinking going out with any woman? I had to be reminded to even open doors for them.

Except Saoirse. You never forgot to open the door for her.

I shoved that thought away and ran over to help Marla out of the truck.

A roar of a motorbike screeching to a halt in the public parking lot caught my attention. What held my focus was the flash of long blonde hair coming out of a helmet.

Jesus fucking Christ. That was Saoirse.

She was getting off the back of a motorbike, wearing distressed jeans and black combat boots teamed with a black leather jacket.

The guy who’d been riding in front of her took his helmet off. It was the same douchebag with a motorbike who dropped her off at the boxing gym: Malachi fucking Walsh.

At least this time he’d gotten her a helmet.

My blood boiled at the thought of Saoirse sitting on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped around his waist. Her place was beside me in my truck, not on the back of some asshole’s bike.

I don’t know how long I was staring, the noise of engines and slamming car doors fading into the background.

I swear she felt me watching her. Actually, I know she felt the tug, the same one I did whenever she was near. Because she turned right then and her eyes locked onto mine from across the parking lot.

Her eyes widened. Then her features hardened. She turned to her date, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She laughed and placed her hand on his chest.

It took every inch of willpower not to go over there, rip her arm off him and beat the living shit out of him.

“What’s wrong?” Marla asked from my side, her hand slipping to my tense forearm.

I forced my eyes away from Saoirse, uncurling my fists from my side. I tried for a smile but was sure it came out like a grimace. “Nothing. Let’s go find our seats.”

I told myself not to look back at her as Marla and I entered the VIP door to the theatre.

But I failed.

Every time I looked at Saoirse, she was looking back at me.