𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 Boom Clap – Charli XCX
I GOT TAKEN down by a two-bit punk.
I cried like a girl.
I lost my pretty case with all the Japanese stationery in it.
I got kissed by Liam.
I was informed by said brave, brave, brave man that he’d spank me if I moved from the kitchen…
What else is the day going to bring?
Instead of the cops, is a glittery and bejeweled Sam Smith about to waltz in through the door?
Because hell if that wouldn’t round things out nicely!
Unfortunately for me, I get a Sam, but it’s a uniformed police officer—Samuel Brownhill—and not the singer.
As Officer Brownhill introduces himself and his partner, Adamson, to me, Liam works on cleaning the graze on my knee. It stings like a bitch, so I hiss a little when Brownhill, taking the lead, asks me to explain what happened.
After I manage to recall what went down in between more hisses, Liam presses a kiss to the top of my bandage once he’s done then stares up at me from his place on the floor.
He’s kneeling.
At my feet.
For the second time this year.
I mean, I’m not a Dominatrix or anything, but my gawd. What, with the kiss and the threat of a spanking and now this? My amygdala can’t handle any more. Seriously. It’s going to fritz out soon if I’m not careful. It’s supposed to be flight, fight, or freeze—not melt into a puddle of goo.
This is Liam goddamn Donnghal at my feet, kissing me and looking at me like I’m…
Fuck.
Like I’m everything.
That’s when it hits—we are on the same page.
We’re at the same chapter.
And we’re in the same damn book.
Hallelujah.
When Adamson starts talking, his gnawing voice grates on me.
I need them gone.
Stat.
“I recognized my attacker.” Not sure why, but now that I’m calmer and thinking about sex, my fight/flight/melt response has relaxed enough to remember details that were a blur before.
Brownhill frowns as he and his partner share a look. “Excuse me? I was asking about where the mugging took place?”
“Just at the end of the block.”
“Where did you recognize the guy from?” Liam demands, his hand settling on my thigh.
Oh, fuck.
His fingers curl inward, right at the seam between my legs. He might as well have hockey gloves for hands they’re that big, and he covers a lot of space on my not-so-long limb.
Focus, Gracie. Focus.
“He was with the jerk I got arrested—”
Brownhill, who’s starting to look like he thinks this is out of his league, mutters, “Who did you get arrested?”
I waft a hand. “He deserved it.”
“I mean, I assumed so. There’s protocol—”
Liam ignores him, and he seems to be looming over me more than before. Hell, he’s sucking up all the oxygen in here too. That glower, man, the intensity is thrilling. ‘Ten seconds on the clock and a penalty just about to be called’ thrilling.
That’s when I realize he’s speaking, “…there’s CCTV footage of the day when that guy threw the kid into the street—”
“You’re Kow Bukowski’s sister? Oh my God! I knew I recognized your name but hell, Gracie Bukowski’s not exactly unique.” His interest in a routine mugging deepens.
Adamson joins in, “You beat the shit out of that guy when he tried to stop you from helping that kid. I recognized Kow’s style. Did he teach you?”
Brownhill gasps. “And, wait. You’re Donnghal. DONNGHAL. Oh, man. Just wait until we tell the guys at the precinct that we met the Leprechaun and Kow Bukowski’s sister!”
As my lips purse in irritation, it’s Liam who snaps, “She was just mugged, officers, so could you dial down the fangirling?”
Brownhill blushes. “Sorry, sir.”
“Apologies,” Adamson mumbles.
They’re more professional after that, but only barely.
When the officers leave once Liam informs them his security will be in touch and he gives them the number he has for business calls, a cell he’s said I can use from now on, that’s the first time since the kiss that we’re alone.
At least, that was what I thought.
“Does that happen a lot, Gracie?”
I jump at Mike’s voice.
Twisting on the stool, I stare at the computer screen and find Mike’s watching us with a massive bag of popcorn on his lap.
At least we’re entertaining someone.
“All the time.”
“That must be tiring.”
I heave a sigh. “Very.”
“Gracie had to leave her last job because they exploited her family’s fame.”
Mike’s frown is reassuringly unimpressed by such behavior. “Some people will sell their souls for the media machine.”
“True dat,” I agree. “I worked there for a long time too. Thought they were my friends.”
“It must have been hard coming face-to-face with them in the aftermath.”
“I didn’t. I resigned, effective immediately, and then Liam sent his driver to get my things.”
“It’s handy having a hockey player around, hmm?”
“Stop with the humming,” Liam growls.
Absently, I pat his shoulder. “Think they’ll catch him?”
“It’s more than just a random mugging, isn’t it?” Mike inserts. “You were targeted by what sounds to me like a gang.”
Liam nods. “I agree. If they don’t figure out what’s happening, I will.”
“Take a chill pill, Bruce Wayne. You’re not a billionaire with a bat cave yet,” I mutter, gingerly prodding my knee around the bandages he fastened there while Brownhill was hovering.
“I won’t charge you for tonight’s show, Liam. You’re better than anything my wife would make me watch.”
“Happy to be of service,” Liam grumbles.
“If you need someone to talk to, Gracie, then Liam has my details.”
“I’m the one who found you for him,” I reply.
“So, you’re to blame, hmm?”
My eyes widen and I glance at Liam, wanting to see how he feels about his shrink ribbing him, but he smiles at me too. “Mike’s relaxed some since he agreed to speak with me outside of his office hours. I prefer this side of him for some reason.”
“For a man whose life is regimented down to what you can and can’t eat for breakfast, I think you enjoy the lack of structure in our sessions now.” Mike’s gaze is gentle as he directs at me: “Muggings can be traumatic events, Gracie. If you—”
“That bastard will be more traumatized than I am.” I sniff. “When I said I whacked him with my purse—”
Liam snickers. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. You carry about eighteen pounds of crap in that thing.”
“Exactly. I got him between the legs and managed to bite his ear. I think I did pretty well coming out of it with a graze or two.”
“You Mike Tysoned him?” Liam sputters around a laugh. “Jesus, Gracie! Kow told me you used to get into trouble for biting in school but—”
Mike hums. A-goddamn-gain. “You were a biter?”
I frown at his tone. “I’m not paying for any armchair psychoanalysis, Mike, though I appreciate what you’re doing with Liam.”
“I’m sure I could add it to your benefits if you need it,” is my hockey god’s soft response.
I cast him a look, can see that he means every word, and have to hide a smile. “I’ll think about it. You’ll be the first to know if I have any issues after today,” I assure him, leaving it to Liam to end the call.
Mostly, I’m pissed. About the mugging, about potentially being targeted by a gang, about losing my damn purse.
Today, however, could have gone down so much worse than it did.
My purse was snatched—my dignity alongside it.
The guy didn’t have a knife and I wasn’t dragged into some dark alley.
All in all, as muggings go, it wasn’t that bad.
Tonight could have veered down so many different paths and none of those alternatives would end with Liam kissing me.
So, I’m going to take my blessings, count them tomorrow, and in the meantime…
“Did you mean to kiss me?”
