damn heavy suitcase into the middle of the street and watch it get demolished by the terrifying traffic that traveled on the wrong goddamn side of the road, my cell phone rang.
“This blows,” I announced as the backpack of shoes fell off my shoulder and dragged me by the elbow half into the gutter. I gave my suitcase a kick and it tottered a moment before it fell over—straight into a puddle.
Pedestrians gave me a wide berth, and once again I wished I had my steel-toed, spiked heels.
Instead, I dug into my purse, fatalistically convinced I would miss the damn call, and pulled out my phone. I pressed Talk.
“What?” I barked, and there was a strange silence on the other end, as if the person debated whether or not to gently hang up and say to hell with it.
“Where the hell are you?” The person on the other end obviously had no fear of death, but I wondered how he felt about death by disembowelment. Slow disembowelment.
I looked around at the unfamiliar street. A pharmacy. A men’s tailor. A shoe store. I knew I was not in a good mental space when not even the slightest desire to drift closer to the shoe store window passed through my head. In fact, I felt like throwing my backpack through the damn thing. Bad place. Stanzie was in a bad, bad place.
“I have no fucking clue,” I replied because I didn’t. Some street in Dublin. I smelled food—something thick and meaty like stew—and nearly wept, I was so damn hungry.
“Turn your ass around and come back to the pub.”
“Is that a direct order, Alpha?” I snarled. Paddy, who was on the other end of the phone, damn him, made a strangled noise halfway between laughter and a roar of outrage.
“You know what? Just shut up and frigging stand there. I’ll find you. You can’t be far, Colm said you didn’t have a car.”
“You have got to be kidding. A car? Everyone drives on the wrong side of the road, Paddy. I almost had a fucking coronary in the cab from the airport and had to put my head between my knees and close my eyes for most of the ride. The cab driver thought I was freaking insane, and there’s a distinct possibility he may be onto something. A fucking car. Please.”
“Are you gonna go ballistic if I start laughing now?” Paddy definitely struggled against hysterics, I could hear it in his damn voice. Fury, dull and hot, pounded through my veins and made my head hurt.
I heard traffic noises from his end and suspected he was outside. “Where are you?”
“Grouchy,” he commented. “I’m walking down the damn street, Stanzie, where the hell else would I be? I told you I was coming to find you. Do you suppose you could describe your surroundings? Give me a bit more than the cars are driving on the wrong side of the road?”
“Pharmacy, men’s tailor, shoe store,” I recited obediently, although I really wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him.
“Let me guess. You’re standing outside the shoe store and drooling over the Jimmy Flus or whatever the bloody hell they call them.”
“Choos,” I snapped. “Jimmy Choos. You’re fucking with me on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” he agreed, and I growled.
“Did you just growl at me?”
I did it again and gave my suitcase another kick. It was still on its side in the puddle, and I bet all my damn clothes were now soaked in dirty Dublin rainwater. Fuck. Me.
“Just for my own edification, what might be the name of the pharmacy? Or the men’s tailor? Or the bloody shoe store?” Paddy was the one who sounded grouchy, and a grim smile flickered across my face.
“Boots, John O’Toole’s Menswear and Shamrock Shoes. That’s the dumbest name I ever heard for a shoe store, by the way. What’s next? Emerald Isle Organic Market? Blarney Stone Cosmetics? Jesus. H. Christ.”
“Hey,” groaned my Alpha. “Don’t be making fun of my culture, woman. It’s not nice.” Then he snickered. “Blarney Stone Cosmetics. You horrible bitch.”
I almost
“This blows,” I announced as the backpack of shoes fell off my shoulder and dragged me by the elbow half into the gutter. I gave my suitcase a kick and it tottered a moment before it fell over—straight into a puddle.
Pedestrians gave me a wide berth, and once again I wished I had my steel-toed, spiked heels.
Instead, I dug into my purse, fatalistically convinced I would miss the damn call, and pulled out my phone. I pressed Talk.
“What?” I barked, and there was a strange silence on the other end, as if the person debated whether or not to gently hang up and say to hell with it.
“Where the hell are you?” The person on the other end obviously had no fear of death, but I wondered how he felt about death by disembowelment. Slow disembowelment.
I looked around at the unfamiliar street. A pharmacy. A men’s tailor. A shoe store. I knew I was not in a good mental space when not even the slightest desire to drift closer to the shoe store window passed through my head. In fact, I felt like throwing my backpack through the damn thing. Bad place. Stanzie was in a bad, bad place.
“I have no fucking clue,” I replied because I didn’t. Some street in Dublin. I smelled food—something thick and meaty like stew—and nearly wept, I was so damn hungry.
“Turn your ass around and come back to the pub.”
“Is that a direct order, Alpha?” I snarled. Paddy, who was on the other end of the phone, damn him, made a strangled noise halfway between laughter and a roar of outrage.
“You know what? Just shut up and frigging stand there. I’ll find you. You can’t be far, Colm said you didn’t have a car.”
“You have got to be kidding. A car? Everyone drives on the wrong side of the road, Paddy. I almost had a fucking coronary in the cab from the airport and had to put my head between my knees and close my eyes for most of the ride. The cab driver thought I was freaking insane, and there’s a distinct possibility he may be onto something. A fucking car. Please.”
“Are you gonna go ballistic if I start laughing now?” Paddy definitely struggled against hysterics, I could hear it in his damn voice. Fury, dull and hot, pounded through my veins and made my head hurt.
I heard traffic noises from his end and suspected he was outside. “Where are you?”
“Grouchy,” he commented. “I’m walking down the damn street, Stanzie, where the hell else would I be? I told you I was coming to find you. Do you suppose you could describe your surroundings? Give me a bit more than the cars are driving on the wrong side of the road?”
“Pharmacy, men’s tailor, shoe store,” I recited obediently, although I really wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him.
“Let me guess. You’re standing outside the shoe store and drooling over the Jimmy Flus or whatever the bloody hell they call them.”
“Choos,” I snapped. “Jimmy Choos. You’re fucking with me on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” he agreed, and I growled.
“Did you just growl at me?”
I did it again and gave my suitcase another kick. It was still on its side in the puddle, and I bet all my damn clothes were now soaked in dirty Dublin rainwater. Fuck. Me.
“Just for my own edification, what might be the name of the pharmacy? Or the men’s tailor? Or the bloody shoe store?” Paddy was the one who sounded grouchy, and a grim smile flickered across my face.
“Boots, John O’Toole’s Menswear and Shamrock Shoes. That’s the dumbest name I ever heard for a shoe store, by the way. What’s next? Emerald Isle Organic Market? Blarney Stone Cosmetics? Jesus. H. Christ.”
“Hey,” groaned my Alpha. “Don’t be making fun of my culture, woman. It’s not nice.” Then he snickered. “Blarney Stone Cosmetics. You horrible bitch.”
I almost
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