Page 88 of Carnal Wagers

It definitely gave off a freshly fucked look, the kind that screamed I was well cared for, even if sex and orgasms had been off the table last night.

At the bedroom door, I paused in confusion, my hand on the handle, my compact purse under my arm. His deep voice hummed between beats of beatboxing, the sounds rolling and clicking with a nice, strong rhythm. This wasn’t the type of music I imagined Cillian losing himself to. It was too upbeat, too cheery for him.

“Cillian? Are you—” The sight of him standing in the kitchen, back to me, cut me off.

It wasn’t a bad view, but he seemed to take up less space than I remembered, and honestly, the tight joggers and loose strappy workout tank didn’t fit his usual don’t-fuck-with-me personality. Unless I was mistaken, his tattoos also didn’t match my memories. I rubbed the last of the grogginess out of my eyes. Whatever was gently sizzling in the pan had me practically salivating.

“That smells good. What are you making?”

“Pancakes.”

A man whirled around with more energy than I’d seen Cillian muster in an entire afternoon. A ginger, too, but definitely not the man I’d gone to bed with last night.

“You’re not Cillian.”

“You caught that, huh?” Liam O’Leary—I recognized him on sight from my recon over the years—scratched the back of his head, wooden spatula sticking up overhead. “He couldn’t stay. Pipe burst at one of our bars. You know how it is.”

“Of course.”

I rubbed my shoulder, swallowing down my bitter disappointment. Emergencies happened. At least he hadn’t left me completely alone like last time. This was better than nothing.

“He asked me to see you out. Make you breakfast first. Actually, he made the batter. I’m just”—he clicked his tongue and finger-gunned at me with each sound—“baking it. So, go. Sit. It’s almost done. Coffee’s on the table. Cream? Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s dark.” He chuckled at his own poor joke, then gasped at the sudden acrid smell of burnt pancake and jumped back toward the cooktop to flip it.

His accent was similar to Cillian’s, less pronounced but still heavy enough to leave an impression on my foreign ears. Out of Cillian’s brothers, Liam looked the least like him, with a playful, almost childish touch to his features. Where Cillian was the Doberman Pinscher of the O’Leary brothers—always serious and primed for action—Liam was the Belgian Malinois—energetic and intense, but downright focused when it came to business.

I dragged a chair out from the dining table. “Did he say when he would be back?”

“He won’t. It’ll take all day. Maple syrup on yours?”

“Huh? Oui—yes.”

Discomfort gathered in my throat and dripped down into my belly as I tried to justify this. Cillian was busy. That was a completely normal thing to be. After what we shared last night, he wouldn’t shut me out. I had to believe that. We had a moment, a connection. It meant something. It had to. At least, it had to me. I absently traced a finger across the table.

When a plate of pancakes clattered in front of me, I startled, and Liam sat beside me. No plate lay in front of him.

“Are you not eating?”

“Ate before you woke up.” As I forked up a few bites, he scooted closer and cocked his head. “Have we met before?”

“Possibly,” I dragged out.

“You look oddly familiar.”

I forced an uncomfortable smile. If Cillian realized who I was, that was meaningful. If his brother figured it out for him and spoiled the game, that was a very different pair of sleeves.

“I get that a lot.”

His gaze never left me through every bite I took. From the fluffy texture and smell alone, the pancakes should have sent me into sensory overload. Instead, they tasted no better than ash, but I forced myself to chew and swallow.

I fidgeted with my fork, poked at my food, rolled my shoulders, adjusted my hair, tugged at the roots, cracked my neck…Nothing dispelled the growing unease with every added minute in Cillian’s apartment without him, under someone else’s watchful stare. Between bites, I typed, deleted, and retyped messages to Cillian.

Alizé

Thanks for last night.