Redeeming 6: Boys of Tommen #4

JOEY

NOBODY SERVED up karma quite like Molloy.

Watching her do something as mundane as taking a hit from a joint had caused something inside of my heart to flip the fuck out.

Because this wasn’t her.

She didn’t dabble in weed.

Hell, the only time I’d seen her put a cigarette to her lips in the six years I’d known her was at a disco back in first year, when she’d taken a hit off Rambo’s blunt at the back of The Pav, only to unceremoniously spew up the contents of her stomach afterwards.

I was the fuck-up in this relationship, not her.

Molloy played her ace card tonight, though, and in doing so, had forced me to fold, with nothing but hearts on display for everyone around us to see.

“Nicely done, baby.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, I clamped a hand on her hip and pulled her close. “You win this round.”

My life was unpredictable, and my future was bleak, but I had no doubts that wherever I ended up, this girl would forever have a hold over me.

“This round?” Defiant as always, she looked up at me with those ridiculously sexy green eyes and arched a perfectly groomed brow. “I always win, Joe.”

Yeah, she did, even when it wasn’t good for her.

Her body was pressed against mine, causing her tits to brush against my chest every time she breathed. It was entirely too much in this moment, and I was having a hard time keeping my head on straight.

I could hear murmurs of a conversation happening around us, but I couldn’t make out a single word of it, because my entire focus was on the girl who’d been successfully tormenting me from the first day we met.

Because I loved her.

Because every part of me loved every part of her.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

I fucking reveled in all of it.

She had my heart in knots, and my head spinning.

Never once taking her eyes off mine, she trailed her long red nails down my stomach to my belt buckle and tugged me closer.

Fuck.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she took the hand I had on her hip and placed it on her peachy ass.

Reaching up on her tip-toes, she curled a hand around my neck and pulled my face down to hers. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

“You crushed me.”

Pain. It hit me square in the chest. “I know.”

“Bad boy.” Her breath was laced with alcohol and so fucking warm on my face when she whispered, “Tell me you’re sorry.”

Pissed off and agitated, I gave in without a fight, too weary and too damn in love to fight my feelings. “I’m sorry.”

“How sorry?”

“Very sorry.”

“Good boy.” Her tongue was on my ear then, her body pressed flushed against mine. “Now, tell me you love me.”

“I love you.” The words flew off my tongue in record time.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“Hm.” Taking my hand in hers, she led me onto the dance floor and like the habit of a lifetime, I followed after her, knowing that this girl was by far my greatest addiction. “What are you doing?”

“You broke my heart,” she told me, moving my hands to her hips, as she curled her arms around my neck and stepped closer. “The least you can do is dance with me.”

Too weary to argue and too damn weak to resist, I pulled her close, thankful for the vodka in my stomach, because I was in no way comfortable with dancing, but this girl, well, I seemed to do just about anything she asked.

Drunk on vodka and regret, I kept my hands clamped on her hips, feeling her curvy body press against mine as she ground her hips against me, while the melancholy sound of LIVE’s Lightning Crashes drifted around us.

As my brain processed the lyrics, a horrible weighted energy settled on my shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Molloy asked, instantly noticing my discomfort.

“Nothing.”

“Joe?”

“I just…” I shook my head again and blew out a pained breath. “It’s the song.”

“What about it?”

“Reminds me of her.”

“Who?” Her green eyes softened. “Your mam?”

With my jaw clamped tight, I forced a nod. “Fucked-up, I know.”

“It’s not fucked-up.” Reaching up, she cupped my face between her hands and pulled it down to hers. “Look at me.”

It hurt to look at her.

To feel how deeply I felt and know that I wasn’t good for her.

“Look at me,” she repeated, green eyes burning through me as the song played around us. “Keep your eyes on me.” Shivering, she kept me close and said, “Make this song about us instead.”

With a dull ache in my chest, I forced myself to comply. To give this girl whatever she wanted. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She stroked my cheek. “I know that, too.”

Exhaling a pained breath, I let my brow sag against hers. “You’re all I want, Molloy.”

“Then prove it,” she whispered, fingers gliding over my skin. “Because you can’t keep me hanging in limbo like this.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“Maybe not, but that’s what you’re doing.”

Pain struck me in the chest. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Stop trying to protect me and start making me happy,” she countered, eyes locked on mine. “Because it’s time to pick your poison, Joey Lynch.”