Chapter Sixteen
Alicia
“Bridget, I have to go!” I yell over the music blaring behind her locked door.
Even though her ass was just saved from being expelled earlier this week, she still refuses to talk to me.
This is normal teenage behavior, right? I was too busy raising her and providing for us to actually have a full teen experience.
I didn’t have to sneak out because I was the only one there most of the time, so I could just walk out the front door.
I didn’t drink until after high school. I don’t do drugs.
I guess I did have sex for the first time when I was sixteen, but that’s a memory I’d like to lose.
Knocking a little louder, I try one more time to get a response. “Bridge, please open the door. Just for a second.”
Finally, the music quiets and I hear the thudding of feet before the lock clicks. It pulls open a fraction, and a single green eye glares at me through the crack.
“What?” Bridget growls the word, making my blood pressure rise. It would be nice if we could have just one conversation without her giving me attitude.
“I have to leave for work.”
“So? What else is new?” She starts to shut the door, but I shove my boot through the crack.
“Could you just not for a minute?” I plead with a heavy sigh. “I’m doing the best I can, B. What more can I do?”
She looks down at where my foot is lodged between the door and the frame. “I dunno.”
“Listen,” I start quietly. “Tonight is going to be insane at work, but if you want to come and hang out—just to get out of the house—you can sit at the bar, and I’ll make you a drink or two.”
Her emerald eyes shoot back to mine and widen in shock.
“Virgin drinks,” I clarify, earning an eye roll in return. “You know I can’t sneak you booze at my place of employment. If it were just the two of us at home, then maybe I’d make you a very weak margarita or something.”
“Nah, I’ll pass.”
My shoulders droop and I release another heavy sigh. “Okay. If you change your mind, the offer stands. Kat said she’d be home tonight if you need a ride. Otherwise, I won’t be home until really late.”
She raises a brow like I’m not telling her anything exciting or new, which I guess is true.
“There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge.”
“Okay,” she replies blandly. “Bye.”
I remove my foot, letting her shut the door.
“Bye,” I mumble, standing there for a brief moment before turning away.
The sound of her door opening has me spinning on a heel, my ponytail whipping around my face. She’s leaning against the frame, gangly arms crossed over her chest. I give her a questioning glance and wait.
“Um, have a good night.”
You could knock me over with a feather. My first instinct is to gasp and make some comment about her being able to actually respond in a friendly manner, but I know that will only make her dart back in her shell. So I give her a small smile and thank her. “Thanks, B.”
Maybe there’s a chance we can actually communicate now. My gut tells me to tread carefully, but my heart feels lighter than it has in months. It feels like finally releasing a breath that you’ve been holding for far longer than is safe.
* * *
Saint Patrick’s Day at O’Nelly’s is the busiest night of the year, for obvious reasons.
It’s been so swamped that I’ve barely uttered a word to anyone other than Pat.
He’s been taking orders while I fill them.
I’ve mainly been stationed at the Guinness tap for the last two hours, pouring pint after pint of the famous stout.
A loud cheer rings out as the front door opens and Eamon, Teagan, and Ro file in, dressed in green and instruments strapped to their backs.
Norah is tucked under Eamon’s arm, while Teagan has a hold of Layla’s hand.
The two couples are so disgustingly cute together I could puke.
I watch as they approach Pat, careful to not let my gaze linger on Rowan and the over-sized green top hat sitting on his head.
The Kelly green button-up and white bow tie he’s sporting look better than they ought.
I’m distracted not by the way his dark wash jeans stretch over his muscular thighs, but by the giant shamrock belt buckle that reads, “Kiss me, I’m Irish” in flashing light up letters.
I snort at how ridiculous it is, but am immediately swept back to our night in Galway when we showered together, and I dropped to my knees before him.
The way his hand knotted in my wet hair as I sucked and gagged on his cock.
I still get myself off to the memory of the way he groaned my name when he spilled his release down my throat.
Cold liquid spills onto my hand, jerking me from my dirty thoughts. “Fuck,” I mutter, dumping the beer down the drain so I can start the pour over. Tonight is not the night for me to waste Guinness, but it’s undrinkable if you don’t get the timing right.
“Alicia, love!” Pat’s voice calls over the noise.
Lifting my eyes to his in question, he waves me over to where Norah and Layla are standing. I finish the beer I’m pouring, passing it to the patron waiting patiently on the other side of the bar.
“Be right back,” I tell the guy next to him, giving him a flirty wink.
Am I attracted to him? Nope. Will it distract him enough to keep from getting upset at my sudden departure before he gets his drink? Hell yeah. He’ll spend that time checking out my ass as I walk away. I can feel his eyes following me as I make my way over to the girls.
“Hey babes,” I greet them cheerfully. “Erin go bragh and all that stuff.”
Pat harrumphs at my flippant tone, but he knows I’m just messing with him. I actually really enjoy the holiday, but teasing my Irish boss makes life more fun.
“I’ll forgive yer disrespectful nonsense if ye’ll go grab something’ outta the office for me.”
I raise a brow at him, then throw a thumb over my shoulder at the line of people waiting for their drinks.
“Little busy at the moment, Pat. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to get it yourself seeing as you’re just standing there and I still have ten more beers to pour?
No offense, girls.” I wink and they grin back at me.
Pat’s round cheeks flush, but he doesn’t relent. “Nonsense. I’ll pour the rest of the drinks. You need a break anyway. Music’s getting ready to start so it’ll settle down back here soon enough.”
He’s up to something. I don’t know if it involves Norah and Layla, but he’s definitely got something up his sleeve. Knowing I’m not going to get out of it, I roll my eyes.
“Fine. What am I getting and where in the office is it?”
“A mate of mine back in Ireland has a small distillery and he sent me a bottle of his newest batch. It’s in the box on me desk. I’d like to crack it open for our friends here.” He pulls the key to the office from his pocket and hands it to me.
Plucking it from his fingers, I take a quick glance around, checking to see if Rowan is missing.
Paddy is notorious for putting people into forced proximity when he’s playing matchmaker.
Eamon and Norah are proof of that. Fortunately, Ro is on the stage with the other two Irishmen, setting up their instruments for tonight.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn toward the swinging doors that lead to the back of house.
Paddy’s office is to my left, down a short corridor, across from a single bathroom.
I unlock the door, ready to snag the box and go, but there’s no box on the desk.
“Of course there’s not a box on the desk,” I mutter under my breath as I push the door stopper under the base with my foot, wishing for the hundredth time that he would fix this damn door.
Last month, Paddy installed some fancy doorknob that locks automatically once closed.
It has to be unlocked with the key no matter which side you’re on. I hate it.
I begin rooting around the various drawers and shelves, only finding boxes of coasters or business cards. Squatting down, I look under the desk, remembering there’s a hidden compartment. As I’m tapping around trying to find it, I hear footsteps.
“Paddy, I swear to God, if this was some kind of trick I’m quitting. Right this fucking minute.”
When I don’t get a response, I lift my head to look over the desk. Ro is leaning against the door frame, hands stuffed in his pockets, just watching me with pensive eyes. That absurd hat still balanced on his head. The silence stretches between us until I can’t take it anymore.
“Need something, Ro?”
His brows pinch together and lips purse before he declares, “Yeah. I do.”
I wait for him to expand on this thought, but he just keeps staring.
“Do you want to share with the class?” I prod.
In one swift movement, he’s kicking the door stopper out of the way and letting the door swing shut.
“Ro, no! The door…” I trail off as the lock clicks. “…locks automatically.”
He whirls around, gripping the handle, but it’s too late. The key Paddy gave me is still in the lock on the opposite side. I groan and he turns back to me.
“Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?” He jabs a finger at the doorknob.
“Who do you think? It sure as hell wasn’t me.”
“Is Paddy daft? Why would he do this? Is there not a spare key in here?”
It’s like a light bulb clicked on in my head. Of course. We hung a spare up on a hook by the filing cabinet. I stand, rounding the desk, and head for the cabinet to Ro’s right. My heart sinks when I find the hook empty.
“For fucks sake, Pat.” I growl, reaching for my cell phone only to find my pockets just as empty as the damn hook. “Ro, do you have your cell on you?”
He pats his pockets, only to discover he doesn’t have his either. He mumbles a curse under his breath. “I put it in my fiddle case during set up.”
“Great, so we’re stuck here,” I grumble. “Wait, why are you back here?”
Ro shrugs. “Eamon sent me to get an extension cord. Said they were in a box on the desk.”
Mother. Fuckers. They were all in on it.
“Well,” I say, moving back to the desk and flopping into the chair. “Might as well make yourself comfortable. I have a feeling we’ll be here for a while.”