“Little town outside Dublin, Ireland.” Pale green eyes assessed him openly. “You’re not from here, either.” It was another statement. He was getting a lot of those today.
“I used to be.”
Sean visibly relaxed and tipped his head toward Peter’s childhood home, thick black eyebrows arched in question. “Then you know the man who used to live there?”
Oh hell. His pop hadn’t left a debt with the Irish mob, had he? “I do,” he replied neutrally, eyes quickly scanning the Irishman’s body for concealed weapons, a little trick he’d picked up during his youth, and found none. He relaxed some then too.
“Place is a shithole.” The guy’s gaze was locked on the crumbling structure that held all of Peter’s childhood memories.
He crossed his arms. “Yes, it is that.” Not that he hadn’t tried to change that. But his father had refused every attempt he’d ever made to help.
They both stood staring at the tiny bungalow, arms crossed, feet braced apart. It occurred to Peter that he still couldn’t place why the guy seemed so familiar. He should probably just ask. Yeah, he should do that.
“My father used to live there,” Sean said.
Peter’s gaze whipped to his right, locked on the Irishman. “Excuse me?”
Sean motioned to the house in front of them that looked sad and pathetic in the falling snow, all boarded up and crumbling down. “My father, Viktor Kowalskin, lived there. He just passed away. Did you know him?”
Shock slapped him upside the face and Peter swore, rejecting it. “What the fuck? He isn’t your father.” He couldn’t be.
Sean’s blue eyes went hard. “The hell he isn’t.”
Peter was reeling. “But he can’t be your father.”
“Why is that?” demanded the black-haired Irishman.
“Because he’s my father.”
Both men stared hard at each other in awkward silence as the truth of their relationship hit them. Then Sean swore something decidedly Gaelic and threw back his head, laughing. Peter scowled. Frigging Irish, always thinking every damn thing was a joke. How could he laugh at a time like this?
Could his life get any more fucked up?
“Well that was unexpected. Should we properly toast the old man’s passing with a stiff drink and get to know each other, brother?”
Yeah. Apparently it could.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“HEY Y’ALL, THANKS for coming tonight,” Leslie said as she opened the door to her guests. There were only two of them, Sonny and Lorelei, but it was all the girls she needed to help celebrate the return to her abode.
Lorelei was the first inside and was unzipping her coat when she asked, “Are you loving being back home?”
“So much.” Although she had gotten used to all the space in Peter’s house scarily fast. Made her apartment feel teeny.
Even so, it felt great to finally be home, even though she was still worried crazy over Peter and bummed over losing the bet. For the past week Leslie had been back in her apartment, thoroughly enjoying having her old bed back.
Missy hadn’t been as enthused. The kitten had kept yowling until, fed up, Leslie had driven to Peter’s place in the middle of the night and snatched one of his dirty T-shirts. As soon as the baby had gotten a good whiff of his scent she’d stopped crying and fallen asleep on it in a little ball of fluff.
If Leslie had held it briefly to her nose, inhaling his scent too, well, there was no proof.
God she missed him. So much so that she’d put the damn shirt on and slept in it, Missy curled up into her side, purring contentedly. It had been a darn good night’s sleep.
Sonny hung her coat and scarf in the entryway closet and looked around. “Your place is great, Leslie. I really love the bold colors. Mind if I snoop around?” Her gaze was already down the hallway.
Coming from the woman who had such a funky, easy style, Leslie took that compliment seriously. “Thanks, darlin’.” She gestured behind her to the open living room. “Snoop.”
The natural beauty grinned. “Awesome. I’ll be back in a few.”
“I’ve never been to a stitch’n’bitch before.” Lorelei held up a bag full of yarn and two large knitting needles. “In fact, I’ve never really even knitted.”
“I’m still pretty new at it myself, so it should be fun. Mostly it’s an excuse to sit around and bitch to your girlfriends about life.” There were one or two things she could get off her chest.
“You mean like about how I now vomit more times a day than a regular person eats meals?”
Leslie patted her shoulder. “Exactly, love.”
“Fabulous!” Lorelei’s smile was bright and full of humor.
Just then Sonny strode back into the room looking gorgeous and bohemian in black leggings and an oversized off-the-shoulder knitted sweater the color of plums in spring. “You have great decorating taste, Leslie.”
“Thanks.” She motioned to the empty chair next to her. “Have a seat.”
“I just need to grab my bag quickly.” She was back in no time with a picnic basket full of yarn and needles. “I’m so glad we’re doing this. Life has been so crazy that I’ve stalled out on this sweater I was making. This gives me the motivation to start again.”
Lorelei inquired, “Where’s the boy tonight?”
“On a date with JP. They went out to see the new big sci-fi flick at the theater.” Sonny tucked her feet under her and settled a ball of yarn on her lap.
Leslie did the same, tucking her bare feet under her and snuggling down inside her own baggy sweater. She was wearing her oldest, most favorite worn-in pair of jeans. The knees were about to blow, but that was okay. She was a loyal girl. She’d wear them until the ass ripped out.
She gestured to the tea tray in front of her. “In honor of the pregnant lady we’re doing decaf tea. There’s a variety of flavors to choose from, so help yourself.”
Lorelei was already pouring a cup. “So, have you heard anything from Peter?”
She shook her head and pulled out her knitting basket from its cubby tucked under the end table. “I haven’t, actually. And it’s been a week since he left.” One very long, very worrisome week.
“No doubt he’s fine, sweetie. He’s probably just taking some time for himself.” Sonny added a slice of fresh lemon to her tea.
“I’m sure he’ll get a hold of Mark when he’s back.” Leslie said casually, like it didn’t matter to her at all that she’d had mind-shattering sex with the man and then he’d taken off before she’d even gotten fully dressed. Or that it didn’t matter that she’d wasted so much time and energy planning for an event that was never going to happen in any reality because she didn’t know how to keep her hands to herself. Peter had come along wanting up in her skirt and she’d tossed every functioning brain cell out her ears, only keeping the warped ones to make decisions for her.
And now she was back to square one. Back to being lonely, independent Leslie who worked at her brother’s nightclub and didn’t have anything of her own. Sounded terrific, didn’t it?
A slap on her knee jolted her. “Hey, so you need to fill us in on this bet that you had going with Peter. Give us the details.” Lorelei leaned back in her chair and sipped at her peach tea.
Her first instinct was to keep her mouth shut. It was probably the right one. So of course she chose the opposite. “Y’all know how I’ve been trying to get him to play at the club, right?” They nodded. “Well, he bet that he could get me in the sack by the end of the World Series, or he’d play at Hotbox and let me promote the hell out of it to help the business—which I’d be buying with the down payment he’d also give me.”