In the Unlikely Event

Aurora lets out a yelp, but he remains angled right next to her pussy, protecting her modesty.

Don’t bother, mate. I’ve seen it so close I can recognize it in a lineup.

“She likes it when you suck her clit and use your fingers at the same time.” I shove my fists into my pockets, yawning the sleep away. “But quite partial to clit-pinching. Go figure.”

Rather than appreciating my helpful pointers, Aurora leans down, picks up one of her shoes, and hurls it in my direction with a Celtic roar. I dodge it, yawning again for good measure. I hope she takes photos better than she aims, or Ryner is going to have a problem.

“Had a good night?” I look around.

Really, I should do something with this room. Maybe burn it to the ground so they won’t have any privacy.

“Get the hell out!” she screams.

She is so red, her white scar shines bright like the moon. Her spineless boyfriend scurries up, hands her a dress, and rearranges his boner in his trousers.

“I think you should go.” The genius advances toward me, but I can tell he’s the type to file a lawsuit before he throws a punch.

“Aurora.” I ignore him, staring at her with icy boredom.

She puts her black dress on quickly, mumbling something under a breath, doubtful words of praise as to my hospitality thus far.

“I am ready.”

“Ready for what? The hard facts of life? Here’s one: you’re an asshole, Mal. Here’s another: there’s not one part of you I still even remotely like.”

My chest constricts, but it’s probably because I haven’t had a drink since New York. And before New York, in months. Years. I’ve cut back on the alcohol significantly since The Night That Ruined Everything. I didn’t want to become Aurora’s father, Glen.

“To work.” I pick up her shoe and toss it into her hands. She catches it, her brows diving in confusion.

“Mal, it’s midnight.”

“She reads the clock; you read social situations.” I give Shiny Boyfriend an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Together, you’re a rare force of intelligence and capability.”

“I’m serious.” She scowls.

“Inspiration hits me at weird hours.” I shrug.

“Can it hit you in the face into another fit of sleep? At least until tomorrow morning?” she inquires, her cheeks pink.

She’s putting her shoes on, though, like I knew she would. That’s the thing about true artists, they cannot deny their art, even—and especially—when they’re hurting.

Shiny Boyfriend glances between us, obviously unfamiliar with the full rainbow of human emotions. It looks like this is the first time he’s witnessing a fight. He is a bit taller than me and definitely has that Brad Pitt circa 1990, this-is-your-life-and-it’s-ending-one-minute-at-a-time look down to a T. Unlike Tyler Durden, though, I can search with a magnifying glass and still won’t be able to find one alpha bone in his body. There are likely more pheromones in a tutu.

Underwhelmed by my competition, I turn to Aurora and snap my fingers.

“In this lifetime, please. And bring a jacket. I write outside, and you’re notoriously more frigid than the iceberg that killed the Titanic.”

Aurora stomps toward the door.

“Don’t blame the iceberg. Blame the Irish people who built the ship…” she murmurs.

“It was fecking working when it left here for Southampton. We will not be blamed for shoddy workmanship.”

I bite down on a smile. Secretly, I can admit to myself that Aurora is not a total bore.

“Besides, what are you, exactly? Last time I checked, your father wasn’t a Viking.”

She opens her mouth, no doubt getting ready to verbally knee my balls, when the muppet interrupts us.

“Love?” Shiny Boyfriend calls behind her.

I positively loathe that nickname. Love. Something about uttering this word so offhandedly makes me want to jam his head into a bucket full of bleach.

Aurora turns around.

He hands her the camera on the nightstand. “Might want to take this with you.” He winks.

If possible, her blush darkens even further. Mortified and trembling, she snatches it from his hand.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and you dropped the napkin you were so insistent on taking from the pub.” He crouches down, picking up a Boar’s Head napkin and holding it out to her.

Look, I have a reaction. Of course, I do—a hot-blooded, red, break-up-with-your-boyfriend-now-because-I’m-bored reaction.

I’m human, after all, even though I haven’t been feeling like one lately.

But I keep my face schooled, even as she takes the napkin, balls it in her fist, and throws it into the bin under the nightstand.

“That’s an odd thing to take from a pub.” I tap my lower lip, oh-so-interested in this unusual turn of events. “Did you catch the flu on the plane? I have tissues and Advil in the bathroom cabinet.”

“No, no.” Shiny Boyfriend chuckles, obviously delighted with my abrupt shift, playing right into my hands. “Rory is somewhat of a napkin connoisseur. She collects napkins everywhere she goes. It’s rather silly, really.”

“Rather,” I mimic his posh accent.

I still can’t believe she fecks this guy, who thinks collecting sentimental stuff is silly. That she hasn’t told him about our deal. Actually, that I can believe. She’s always been a lying mess.

“Care to elaborate about her fixation with napkins?”

She grabs my wrist, pulling me out the door. “Stop messing around. Let’s get it over with.”

“Oof, I don’t remember her that feisty. What’re ya feeding her?” I shake off her touch, smiling at Callum.

He laughs. He thinks we’re friends. Jesus Christ, the man doesn’t possess one functioning brain cell.

In the corridor, my resolve to be a cunt blunders. I slip and plaster her against the wall. She shoves me back, but her impact is non-existent. Our bodies are pressed together, close, rolling heat and hormones and history Princess Aurora cannot erase, no matter how many frogs she kisses.

I pin my chest to her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “Busted.”

Outside, I perch on the grass, my notebook open in front of me, pretending to write. The chance of me writing songs tonight is lower than my chance of becoming a blind, Italian nun. But if Rory is going to have sex under this roof, she is going to have it with me. Or not at all.

No gray area, I’m afraid.

“It’s dark.” She rubs her leather jacket-clad arms, her eyes roaming my backyard.

“You really are on top of your investigative game. Have you considered joining the CIA? A sharp mind like yours shouldn’t go to waste.” I place the pen behind my ear and frown at the blank page, not looking at her.

Doesn’t matter if I draw a dick with a bowtie on the notebook. It’s pitch black and neither she nor I will be able to see it.

“Suí síos le do thoil.” Sit down in Gaelic.

She ignores my party-pooper comment. “Sorry, I don’t speak dead languages. Wait here, please.”

Aurora dashes into the house and comes back with a plastic bag. She takes out two flashlights, loads of little candles, and a box of matches. I scan her coolly as candles drop from her delicate hands. She is flustered and struggles to keep it all together.