Before I could answer, one of my da’s men glanced over from a few stools down. “Best be moving on, girly,” he said, giving her a hard look. “He’s spoken for.”

The girl started to pull her hand from my arm. Before she got far, Mick leaned in from my other side and called out over the noise of the bar. “Wasn’t his doing,” he said, the drink thickening his Irish lilt. “Don’t start acting like he’s married already.” Then he turned back to the girl beside him, his arm going around her waist as he finished his drink.

His words were nothing new. Mick said something like that whenever we were out and a girl took an interest in me, always ready with the same reminder before I could think too hard about it. The future waiting for me hadn’t been my choice.

After that, the rest of the night blurred together. More drinks. More laughing. The girl stayed close, finding reasons to touch me as she talked, and I pretended to listen even though I barely heard half of what she was saying. Then she leaned in, lips grazing my jaw as her hand slid up my thigh. Her fingers kept moving higher until her palm settled right over my cock. That got my attention. “So,” she whispered huskily, “you want to come home with me tonight?”

When I said nothing, she began to stroke me through my trousers, slow and deliberate, trying to tease a yes out of me. “Not tonight,” I said at last. “I’ve got an early morning.”