She'd be his rebound chick, gladly. She was too busy for a boyfriend, besides. Although she had a feeling once she got another taste of him, she wouldn't be so keen on giving him up. But she'd cross that bridge when she came to it, she decided. First, she just had to get him to be nice to her.
A white guy in a Mets cap stepped out of the graffitied door of Murphy's Pub, blinking his eyes in the bright sunlight. Lighting a cigarette, he watched her as she walked to the door and then stood there, holding the pie. She looked from the door to the man. He made no move to help her, the old bastard. Apparently, chivalry really was dead.
“Excuse me sir, can you get the door?” His scowl never changing, he yanked the door open begrudgingly. “Thanks so much,” she said with a bright smile. Geez. She saw where O'Donovan got his social skills if this was the crowd he was hanging with. She stepped into the dark bar, her eyes taking a moment to adjust.
A few men sat around the long oak bar, the televisions above blaring soccer matches. The bartender, a grizzled, middle-aged guy, stared at her like she had three heads. She scanned the room, looking for her man. And she found him, at the end of the bar, his big shoulders hunched over his drink. She confirmed it was him by his twin towers tattoo, peaking out from under his ratty t-shirt. Feeling a thrill run through her, she took a deep breath. Be strong , she told herself. Then she crossed the space between them and plopped her ass on the barstool next to him.
“ Sebastian O'Donovan, fancy meeting you here,” she said, setting the pie on the counter. He shook his head, a day's growth of beard on his face. Damn, did he ever know how to rock a beard.
“ Jaysus, what have I done, oh Lord?” he said, his Irish accent thicker than she'd ever heard it. He slammed his palm on the bar. “What have I done to deserve this?”
“ The lord ain't gonna save you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You smell like you've been bathing in the stuff.” She reached around him, taking his empty glass and sniffing it. Whiskey. “How much have you had to drink?”
“ Shit, Antoinette,” he growled, his voice back to normal. He signaled the bartender for another round. “One more.” Then he motioned in her general direction. “And whatever she wants.” Toni smiled. O'Donovan was chivalrous, at least. For whatever that was worth.
“ I'll have what he's having,” she said. The bartender nodded but didn't look her in eye.
“ Jameson? You man enough for all that?” O'Donovan asked, giving her the side-eye. “Don't you want some girly white wine or some shit?”
“ Whiskey's fine,” she said, cocking her head, taking his challenge. He chuckled, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
“ So is this what you normally do on your days off?” Toni said, looking around.
“ So what if it is?”
“ Whatever floats your boat,” she murmured, as the bartender slid two whiskeys across the bar. O'Donovan caught them and handed her one.
“ If you're going to have the pleasure of sitting beside me, you're going to drink with me.” He lifted his drink and she mimicked him. “Down the hatch.” He tossed his head back and downed the drink in one gulp. She shrugged. Her parents, and Annata and Christophe, for that matter, were firm believers in cocktail hour. Drinking hard liquor wasn't such a foreign concept. She followed suit, downing the whiskey in two gulps, but it stayed down. She slammed the glass on the bar top. He laughed, a husky sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
“ You think you're just the tits, don't you?” He looked at her then, like he was really seeing her for the first time. He dragged his eyes from her head to her toes, taking in the skinny jeans, silk camisole, cashmere cardigan, and expensive ballet flats. “You know what I hate about girls like you?” he asked, his eyes finally back on hers.
“ I highly doubt you know any women like me,” she said.
“
A white guy in a Mets cap stepped out of the graffitied door of Murphy's Pub, blinking his eyes in the bright sunlight. Lighting a cigarette, he watched her as she walked to the door and then stood there, holding the pie. She looked from the door to the man. He made no move to help her, the old bastard. Apparently, chivalry really was dead.
“Excuse me sir, can you get the door?” His scowl never changing, he yanked the door open begrudgingly. “Thanks so much,” she said with a bright smile. Geez. She saw where O'Donovan got his social skills if this was the crowd he was hanging with. She stepped into the dark bar, her eyes taking a moment to adjust.
A few men sat around the long oak bar, the televisions above blaring soccer matches. The bartender, a grizzled, middle-aged guy, stared at her like she had three heads. She scanned the room, looking for her man. And she found him, at the end of the bar, his big shoulders hunched over his drink. She confirmed it was him by his twin towers tattoo, peaking out from under his ratty t-shirt. Feeling a thrill run through her, she took a deep breath. Be strong , she told herself. Then she crossed the space between them and plopped her ass on the barstool next to him.
“ Sebastian O'Donovan, fancy meeting you here,” she said, setting the pie on the counter. He shook his head, a day's growth of beard on his face. Damn, did he ever know how to rock a beard.
“ Jaysus, what have I done, oh Lord?” he said, his Irish accent thicker than she'd ever heard it. He slammed his palm on the bar. “What have I done to deserve this?”
“ The lord ain't gonna save you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You smell like you've been bathing in the stuff.” She reached around him, taking his empty glass and sniffing it. Whiskey. “How much have you had to drink?”
“ Shit, Antoinette,” he growled, his voice back to normal. He signaled the bartender for another round. “One more.” Then he motioned in her general direction. “And whatever she wants.” Toni smiled. O'Donovan was chivalrous, at least. For whatever that was worth.
“ I'll have what he's having,” she said. The bartender nodded but didn't look her in eye.
“ Jameson? You man enough for all that?” O'Donovan asked, giving her the side-eye. “Don't you want some girly white wine or some shit?”
“ Whiskey's fine,” she said, cocking her head, taking his challenge. He chuckled, running his tongue over his bottom lip.
“ So is this what you normally do on your days off?” Toni said, looking around.
“ So what if it is?”
“ Whatever floats your boat,” she murmured, as the bartender slid two whiskeys across the bar. O'Donovan caught them and handed her one.
“ If you're going to have the pleasure of sitting beside me, you're going to drink with me.” He lifted his drink and she mimicked him. “Down the hatch.” He tossed his head back and downed the drink in one gulp. She shrugged. Her parents, and Annata and Christophe, for that matter, were firm believers in cocktail hour. Drinking hard liquor wasn't such a foreign concept. She followed suit, downing the whiskey in two gulps, but it stayed down. She slammed the glass on the bar top. He laughed, a husky sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
“ You think you're just the tits, don't you?” He looked at her then, like he was really seeing her for the first time. He dragged his eyes from her head to her toes, taking in the skinny jeans, silk camisole, cashmere cardigan, and expensive ballet flats. “You know what I hate about girls like you?” he asked, his eyes finally back on hers.
“ I highly doubt you know any women like me,” she said.
“
Similar Books
