Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Aw hell. There was no way he could know Seamus was supposed to be looking for his cousins. He hadn’t even tried yet; he’d been too busy discussing brewing techniques and following Gillian around like a puppy. Too busy avoiding his attraction to Bellamy. “You don’t say.”
“Don’t say what?” Owen asked, sliding back into his seat with a cup of coffee in his hands. “What did we miss?”
Bellamy told him about the Irish “fight club” and Owen got a look on his face that made Seamus cringe. Hell. Not that look. Since birth, the brat had gotten whatever he wanted when he used that look. “We have to do it, Seamus. We can’t leave tomorrow without experiencing something like that.”
Seamus turned to scan the room for Gillian, but she was leaning over the bar in deep discussion with a smitten old regular. She’d never miss them. “Sure. Why not?”
Sure? Why not? Three reasons, idiot. And they’re all named Bellamy. You know, the guy you think is an asshole? The guy you can’t stop thinking about? The guy who seems more interested in your ability to throw a punch than your collection of children?
Actually, that part was kind of…nice? Was he a bad father if he admitted that?
“Good man.” Bellamy got up and put a strong hand on his shoulder, squeezing and sending another jolt of desire through his system. “You can’t spend your entire vacation watching Gill make and serve beer. It can’t be that different from how you do it at home, can it? This is exactly what you need to get that adrenaline pumping.”
His adrenaline had started pumping the second Bellamy touched him.
Owen talked about their travels for most of the cab ride, which was good because Seamus was too busy wondering if Bellamy was pressing his knee against him on purpose, and hoping his brother was too drunk to notice the erection that was getting impossible to hide.
They finally got to the narrow, darkly lit bar and Bellamy nodded at the bartender as if he knew him, and then led them all directly into the back room. It was packed with men in various states of undress. The smell of smoke, blood and sweat permeated the air.
“Holy shit,” Owen said, stunned at the chaos around them. “Is this a fight club or an orgy? Is the price for a ticket a piece of clothing? Because I’m in.”
Seamus chuckled, feeling nostalgic and surprisingly comfortable. “They’re shirtless, not naked, Owen. And don’t take yours off or someone will think you’re asking for a fight.”
“That’s my cue.” Bellamy sent Seamus a sizzling look that made his ears hot. He pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a short swig. “Hold my things?”
He pulled his shirt over his head, handing that over along with the liquor, and then raised his hand as he met the gaze of someone across the room and nodded.
“I’m next,” he said without glancing over again.
“You’re fighting?” Seamus hadn’t expected him to participate. Didn’t rich people place bets and watch safely from the sidelines as poor men, roosters or whatever strange thing they felt like putting a wager on entertained them?
You need to stop falling asleep to British television.
“I have to do something to impress the sexy, saintly father of all orphans, don’t I?” Before Seamus could respond, he lowered his voice and added, “Don’t bet against me or I’ll take it out on your ass later.”
He didn’t have a clue how to respond to that, unless it was to say Yes, please. And that didn’t feel appropriate.
“He’s taking off his shirt? What is happening right now?” Owen wondered loudly behind him, making Seamus tense until Jeremy spoke and he realized they hadn’t heard Bellamy.
“Bloody fisticuffs? Shirtless man-on-man wrestling? Imagine we’re at our club, Owen, only there are rounds instead of safe words and no one cuddles after.”
“Oh, there are safe words,” Bellamy drawled, waggling his eyebrows at the newlyweds. “Mercy is one. Shit, you broke my nose. That’s my favorite.”
Seamus couldn’t hold in his laughter, but he kept his eyes on the other men in the room so he wouldn’t have to admit he was enjoying Bellamy’s company.
This felt like something right out of an old movie. Young and old were equally represented here. A man with a face covered in freckles held ice wrapped in a bar towel to his black eye, laughing at a burly black man who, judging by his expressive hand gestures, was clearly telling a knock-out story of his own. Most of the men were currently focused on two fighters dancing around each other in the center. They were either on the last round or they were taking a nap on each other’s shoulders.
“Do you see any Finns here tonight, Demir?” he shouted over the din of jeers and encouragement directed at the two exhausted fighters.