Page 68 of Shattered Hearts
“Tell me more about you.” My voice dives an octave. “Have you dated anyone recently?”
I don’t realize I evencareuntil the question tumbles from my mouth. I have no right to feel so possessive of her, but I do.
Riley shakes her head again. “I, uh, swore off relationships after what happened with Troy.”
A fountain bubbles to life between my ribs. We’ve both been single for the past three years, entirely deprived of others for the same amount of time.
What’s more…since she swore off relationships the same way I did, I must be the first person who’s interested her in all this time, the same way she’s the only one who’s made me feelanythingin ages.
I grip the table to stop myself from reaching for her.
I need to stop fantasizing and come back down to Earth. I’m thinking crazy thoughts.
So we’ve kissed a few times. And every occasion was fucking incredible. But Riley’s not part of the mob anymore. If she ever dates again, no doubt it will be normal guys. Non-murdering, non-violent, non-mafia guys. After the last one she was in a relationship with, who could blame her?
I doubt she’s itching for another made man. Ever.
Our sexual chemistry is undeniable, but that’s as far as it goes. That’s as far as itcango. And maybe now is a good time to get that out in the open.
That’s what I’m thinking, but my mouth says, “Type.”
“Hmm?” Riley cocks her head as if she misheard me.
“I want to know the type of guy you like.”
Riley blanches as if I’m holding a gun to her head. “The last guy I liked…” She trails off and piles her spoon and napkin on the dirty plate.
If she starts reminiscing about Dipshit Sullivan, I’m going to break something.
She chews the inside of her cheek. “He’s part of our world.”
A five-alarm fire erupts in my mind. I bite back a growl.
Who the fuck is it?
“Bobby Burns.” All the women used to throw themselves at him. He’s been married for two years, but he could still be the one.
Riley pulls a face that gratifies me more than it should. “That guy isn’t a man. He’s adog.”
“Patrick Hines.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I barely ever saw Patrick. He didn’t ever live on the estate.”
Her eyes round, and she flinches like she revealed too much.
Shit, that does narrow it down.
In my mind, I picture Riley pretending to be her sister, yakking with my friends in the kitchen this past Sunday.
A red haze creeps across my vision. Those fuckers.
My pulse throbs in my temple. “It’s Rory, isn’t it?”
Riley laughs—actuallylaughs—in my face. “No.”
“Darren, then.”
Her smile widens. She’s enjoying this.