Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“That’s because she’s not from Ireland,” I say, buckling my belt. “She’s from Sweden. Somewhere outside of Stockholm, if I remember correctly. I confess, I was tipsy by the time she started telling that story.”
Clover blinks. “Sweden.”
“Born and raised. But she always dreamed of being Irish and running an Irish pub. Her aunt, who’d moved to New Orleans, said America was the kind of place where impossible dreams come true. So, Karen moved here twenty years ago and…made it happen.”
“Wow,” Clover murmurs. “I’m not sure that’s how being Irish works, but good for her? I guess?”
I laugh. “That’s where I landed, too.”
She shrugs as I shift into reverse. “As long as the Irish people aren’t mad about it, it’s none of my business. My family’s all from Scotland or Wales, so…” She glances my way, her gaze lingering on my lips for a beat that reminds me I’m still half-hard. Not even cackling Karen could completely kill my need for this woman. “What about you? Kate sounds like an Irish name.”
“Dutch,” I say, forcing my attention back to the windshield. “For my family, anyway. It means a small farm. Or ‘hovel.’ My mom says she should have known my dad was bad news with a last name like that.”
Clover hums beneath her breath. “Is he? Bad news?”
I pull out of the lot, the headlights catching the torrent of flakes in the beams. There’s no accumulation on the road yet, but this kind of storm means business. This is Minnesota weather, not Louisiana weather, and the roads down here aren’t built for it. Neither are the drivers. By morning, half the city will be sliding through intersections in a panic.
It’s definitely time to get Clover home.
And to get myself home, no matter how much I’d like to go back to her place.
“According to the stories my mom’s told me now that I’m grown, yeah,” I say finally. “But I don’t remember him that way. I thought he was a fun guy, even though he was gone on business a lot. He died when I was fifteen.”
Clover makes a sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry. My mom died when I was young, too. I was three. I barely remember anything about her.”
“I’m sorry.” I decide not to mention my girls or their recent loss. Maybe Clover knows my ex died in a plane crash from her proximity to the Voodoo rumor mill, maybe she doesn’t. Either way, it’s best if we avoid baring our souls any more than we have already.
I glance over to find her shifted in her seat, watching me drive. With her make-up kissed off, she looks younger than before.
Another solid reason to take my ass home.
Not to mention…
“So, you and Blue are really close,” I say. “You’re the reason he moved in with Beatrice originally, weren’t you? You were the friend who needed help after getting injured.”
She nods. “Yeah. He’s the best. Beatrice, too. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”
“He’s a good man,” I agree, regret knotting in my stomach as I add, “and my team captain. And a friend.”
Clover hums beneath her breath. “Okay. Why are you making that sound so ominous?”
“It is ominous. Casual sex with a teammate’s sister is against the good guy code.”
“Surrogate sister,” she corrects with a sigh, “and the ‘good guy code’ stuff is ridiculous. I’m my own person, not anyone’s property. Blue would be the first person to agree with me about that, too. He’d be happy to know I’m about to get laid by a man who knows what he’s doing.”
“Would he?” I ask. “Even if that guy’s over a decade older?”
“Yes, I think so. But even if he didn’t approve, it doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’m my own person.” She shrugs before adding in a softer voice, “And he’s not at the apartment, anyway. He’s at the hospital having a baby. I’ll text him when we get to my place, make sure Beatrice is doing okay, and you can stop worrying about that part. Blue doesn’t need to know anything about tonight. We’ll just…keep it to ourselves. We already decided this is a fun, one-time thing, right?”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Right.”
“So, let’s not overthink it,” she murmurs. “Let’s go eat some ice cream in my kitchen and see where things go.”
See where things go…
Currently, they’re going straight into a wintery mess. The wipers thump across the glass, smearing wet snow, and the trees lining the street as I pull into her Mid-City neighborhood are already white along the tops of their branches.
I could easily use the snow as my excuse. Tell her I have to drop her and run before the roads get too bad.
But I have four-wheel drive, and I don’t like to lie.
Especially not to people I like as much as I like Clover.