I shouldn’t keep doing this.

I thought I’d quit. When I woke up this morning, I reminded myself that I shouldn’t pull this shit anymore.

Girl after girl. Another one every night. Not that I ever had a dissatisfied customer. I had a whole fan base who kept coming back for more. For the experience — screaming, moaning, multiple times until morning. They weren’t the type to ever stay for breakfast. I always kept myself clean — no drugs, always use protection. I used that to justify my behavior to everyone around me. It’s what I say to my brothers, to my mom, to my ex-girlfriend’s family.

I’m no addict. I’m done with that shit.

But Finn pointed out that I was addicted to girls, to the thrill of the chase. Not that I need to chase the tail that comes in here. I watch them all, a parade of women. Some regulars, some who come to an Irish bar in Hell’s Kitchen to get a taste of the local flavor. I estimate I’ve fucked maybe forty percent of them, and that’s just because I stopped two months ago. Because the court told me I had to quit. Not that they can test for that sort of thing. But it’s easy enough for a determined, powerful family to find out what I’m up to at any given time.

I miss it. Warm, soft skin. The way a woman begs for me to take her deeper, so she can feel every inch of me. The way she sighs when I push her to her limits and then push her even further.

I look around the bar. I could have any one of these women. Take one of them — or two — to the apartment upstairs. Fill the time with my favorite hobby. I call it that, anyway. A hobby.

But my brother Finn tells me it’s a way to numb the pain of everything happening around me. All the things I’ve lost in the past two years, all the shit I’ve done that I haven’t gotten over. And it’s prevented me from getting forward, from moving on, from getting back the one thing that means everything to me. He’s right. He always is. I think about the last girl I fucked, and even if you held a gun to my head, I couldn’t remember her name. I remember a few flashes of her — fake tits, shaved bare, rode me until she came three times. But I couldn’t tell you anything else. Just like a junkie thinking about his latest and greatest high.

An addict.

Good pussy makes me forget. I’ve been clean for a good while. Just drinking a beer here and there. Socializing with people in the bar. Being a good host, keeping my damn self out of trouble. And my cock away from the women who come in and parade themselves in front of me.

Two months ago, it was every night. A display of fake blondes, names I can’t recall. Sent them home every morning. Satisfied, but gone. Didn’t bother with anything else.

It hurt my case. It hurt my case real fucking bad.

I polish up the glasses on my side of the bar and set them out, one by one. “Finn, you okay to let me off early tonight?”

He looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Another girl.”

“No, man. Or maybe.”

“No is the right answer, kid.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’ dick.” I lean against the bar and pour a beer for myself, while Finn tends to the old guys who sit up front. “One won’t matter.”

“It always matters when you’re dealing with fucking Marta. And her P.I. And the courts.”

I growl. He’s right. But there’s an aching need swirling inside of me, a coil about to tighten to the point of breaking. I need something.

“You’re right,” I say, still scanning the women in the bar. None of them is any different from the girls I had before. The ones who didn’t mean anything.

“I always am. And you’re always an idiot.” Finn looks over his shoulder at me. “Be my guest. Ruin your chances at getting custody of Brie. Have her live with that crazy bitch for the rest of her life.”

My fists tighten. I’d like to punch the superior look off Finn’s face and slam him into the floor for good measure. But he’s the one who came to see me in prison. And he’s the one who came to court. Bought me a suit. Got me a job.

“Shut the fuck up, Finn. One time won’t hurt anything.”

He shrugs and fixes some girly drink for one of the ladies making eyes at him. He winks at her and turns back to me. “The only way you could get away with your stupid shit — well, not get away with it — ” He stops mid-sentence. His dark eyes glint in the way they did when he pulled pranks on my parents when he was a kid. “That’s not you. You wouldn’t do that.”

“What wouldn’t I do?”

Finn smiles and turns back to the customers. “Nothing.”

I step up next to him and lean against the bar, nodding to one of the regulars who looks like he should have been cut off an hour ago. “Tell me. You got an idea?”

“You’ll fuck it up,” he says. “Shouldn’t bother telling you. Because knowing you, you’ll fuck a girl, screw everything up. And I’m Brie’s uncle. You’re alright.” He looks at me for a second and frowns. “But I love that kid. She needs you. She needs a stable life. And who the fuck knows — maybe she’s got that with Marta, not you. I mean, if you’re going to go back to banging girls every night.”

“I’m not. And I’m not going to.”

“You just need a fix?” he says, all the humor gone out of his voice.

“Fuck you and the boat you came in on.”

“It’s the same fucking boat, Liam. You think I’m the responsible big brother — ”

“I don’t think that. I think you’re an asshole,” I say, even though it’s not true.

“Yeah, well. I am. I was. The difference between you and me is that I don’t have anyone to go home to. And if I did, I’d keep my act squeaky clean. If I had a kid to take care of, I’d make sure any girl I got with wasn’t just a one-night stand.”

His words wash over me. I’m barely paying attention. Because there’s a shift in the air. It might be what my brother said — even though that ain’t me. I’m not that guy. Not after Tabitha, Brie’s mom.

All that talk, it makes me want to go back to all the drugs and all the girls, and every ounce of alcohol in this bar.

“That’s not exactly a good idea, and you know it,” I say. At that moment, there’s a girl who walks in, stepping quietly behind her redheaded friend. I spot her immediately. She’s not the type of girl who comes to Dougherty’s. She shouldn’t even be anywhere in the vicinity. Natural dark hair falling just to her shoulders, so deep in color, it’s almost black. Natural tits too, and a small waist, sensual hips and ass parading around in a skirt that her friend probably convinced her to wear.

Her friend waves down drinks for the two of them, and this girl, she takes it awkwardly and drinks two fingers on the straw, pinky finger lifted. When she looks up, she doesn’t see me behind the bar. Her eyes sparkle, and she turns to look at her friend like they’re sharing a secret. Awkward in her own skin, but when she smiles… I see those sensual pink lips. I close my eyes and imagine them wrapped around my cock, her eyes looking up at me, desperate, hungry.

I look over at Finn, who’s tending to a group of girls from Brooklyn. Tourists in this part of town. “Who’s she?” I ask, nodding toward the girl. When I look over at her again, she’s chewing on her lip, and for a moment, I think she looks my way. The coil inside of me, it grows tighter.

“Don’t even think about it,” Finn says without looking.

“You didn’t even look,” I say. I dry one of the glasses, hot from the dishwasher, absently pouring whiskey for one of our regulars. My eyes keep going back to the girl, who looks more and more awkward by the moment. She crosses her arms over her breasts, sighs, tries to get her friend to leave. “I might like to get to know a girl who’s not a regular. Maybe that wouldn’t get back to Marta.”

“You might like to just stay away from any girl right now. Forget what I said before. I know you’re not capable of anything real. And Marta’s itching to get any information she can to keep you away from Brie.”

“Fuck Marta,” I say. I keep watching the girl. Not much older than twenty. Nearly ten years younger. Supple, soft skin. Sweet, tight, hot. “Marta doesn’t have the best lawyer in Manhattan in her pocket.”

“Listen to yourself, occasionally,” Finn says. “You sound like an asshole. Do you care about keeping Brie? I mean, really? You say you do — ”

I give Finn a look, crush my hands into fists. If he were any other person in this fucking world, he’d be in a world of pain right now. I’d make sure of it. “I get it. I’m an asshole. I say shit out of the side of my mouth. I’m an ex-con, ex-dealer. Remember you come from the same genetic pool.”

“I do. But like I said, I don’t have much at stake. I can do what I want.” Finn doles out second and third drinks to the gaggle of girls watching him and giggling at his every word. Charismatic. Charming. The smart one.

“Yeah, well. I guess you can.” I keep my eyes locked on the girl. Skin so pale, eyes big and searching. She’d probably give anything for a night with a guy like me. She looks like one of those romantic types, too. “I might be a guy with an idea. What you said makes a little bit of sense. That thing about not just having a one-night stand. I told you I was always thinking of Brie.”

“You’ve said that, yeah.” Finn steps to my side. He looks at me, meaningfully, like he does. “Forget what I said, Liam. Just lay off any stupid shit right now. No runs for the family. No girls. You might have a goddamn good lawyer. Mickey Donnelly is terrific as a lawyer. But judges don’t like guys like us, and not every one of them around here is in our pocket. It’s not 1970, and Dad doesn’t have the hold he used to. Just a fair warning. Your hearing is coming up in — ”

“Thirty days,” I say. It’s automatic. The number is seared into my brain. A few days before I see her again, before Marta drags her in front of our lawyers. Then maybe a supervised visit if they let me, if everything looks good enough and everyone agrees. Twenty days until the next supervised visit, maybe an overnight. And thirty until the hearing.

Everyone in my family thinks I’m a fuck-up. A man-whore. But I did make it off parole without a single violation. I haven’t touched a single drug besides beer in two years, and my every waking thought outside of getting pussy and tending bar goes to her. There’s no reason I can’t work a good idea in between getting girls and tending bar. Really, it’s Finn’s idea. I can blame him if Mom gets pissed at me. Though I can’t really use that excuse with Marta.

I keep looking at the girl. There’s something about her.

Finn nods. “Okay. You can keep your shit together for that amount of time. Maybe.” But he can see I’m not paying attention to him anymore. He looks in the direction I’m looking and grins. “That’s Rhiannon Maguire. She’s out of your league. Can’t say I blame you for looking.”

“Not the redhead. The girl with her. The one with the curves.”

“That I don’t know. All I can tell you for sure is that she’s definitely out of your league. Stay far away. Far, far away. She looks like she woke up one morning and decided she wouldn’t be a nun after all.”

I cuff Finn on the shoulder, and he hits me back. “Every single goddamn girl who walks in this bar has heard of me. And they want to fuck me. They know what I can do — ”

“Yeah, fine. But those girls aren’t the ones who come in the bar every night. Rhiannon is some kind of — therapist, I think. And that other girl — she probably walked out of Columbia University yesterday. Nice jewelry. Nice haircut. No dye, no fake tan. Like I said, that one — ” He points at the dark-haired beauty conspicuously. “She’s way out of your league. Trust me on this, bro. You need to leave her the fuck alone. And do me a favor — forget I ever implied you should have a relationship. For some people, that would be a bargaining chip in court. For you, you’d find a way to make her into a liability. She’s way too good for you.”

I watch her for a few seconds more. She looks down. Runs her fingers through her hair. Something inside of me tightens, like it wants more. More of all of that. And she’d be damn perfect for a relationship. She’s a judge’s wet dream. Proper, smart, college-educated. And she’s hot as hell in that way that a librarian is hot. Like a school teacher who gets dirty behind closed doors. Something tells me she hasn’t been too naughty before, but I can change that. By the time I do, she’ll be happy to stay.

I shrug. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t know she’s too good for me. She’d be perfect in front of the judge. And the lawyers. And I think she could help keep Marta away from that money I have saved for Brie.”

“Don’t think about it. Stop thinking about it. I never should have said anything,” Liam says, groaning. “How the fuck am I related to you again?”

“You think it’d be easy enough to get her name on that trust?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Liam.” Finn turns and grumbles, paying attention to the women coming in instead of me.

My lawyer Mickey Donnelly would know exactly how to arrange every damn bit of it. This girl is ripe for it. A scam like I used to run every once in a while, except this is for a good cause.

She’s damn hot, too.

And I’m also hoping she’s available for the next thirty days.

My cock twitches. I almost like the idea of taking her to breakfast, if I get to wake up next to her and fuck her all over again. The family is supposed to come over tomorrow morning, anyway. Fucking, breakfast, lay the surprise on that she’s my girlfriend. Fiancée. Whatever. Sure, that could work.

I smile. Just looking at this girl, I know she’ll be a challenge. She doesn’t have one night stands. She doesn’t mess with ex-cons covered in tattoos, and she’s not out for a casual fuck. And I’m almost certain she’s not a mafia groupie girl.

I imagine her bouncing on my cock, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

I nod at my brother and start walking toward the girl. He sighs and shakes his head. All he sees is the screw up, the one who never does anything right. Well, I’m damn good at being a dad, and it’s about fucking time I got custody of my own damn flesh and blood. The judge has been on me about getting a stable environment together for Brie. Wifey, house, breakfast on Sundays.

This girl has that wholesome shit written all over her. She’s a poster child for stability. And she’ll be begging me for more once I get a hold on her.

It’s impulsive, reckless. Probably idiotic.

I nod at her, and she blushes.

But, I’m going in for the kill — and I never miss.