Chapter 9 Sunday, January 1st
Cat
It’s just past midnight on New Year’s Eve, and rather than spending it at Shane’s mom’s beach house, we’re all gathered at Murphy’s.
“End of a damn era,” Shane sighs, looking around at us. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a forlorn sip of his whiskey.
Ronan chuckles. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like we won’t be able to hang out at the beach house again.” He runs his hand through his hair to muss it, only to put his black ball cap right back on.
Ronan and Shane have been working all evening while Tori, Steve, Zack, Summer, Vada, and I have been hanging out, eating, and celebrating.
Just before midnight, Ronan and Shane joined us at our table for the countdown.
At exactly midnight, I collected a deep, sensual kiss from the most perfect guy in this world.
The heat brought on by Ronan’s tongue sweeping over mine for a solid sixty seconds is only just dissipating from my body, and the grin is still prominent on my face.
“Not for an epic New Year’s party,” Shane laments. From what I understand, it’s the first time my friends have spent this occasion at Murphy’s rather than at Shane’s or his mom’s beach house. “God, I miss throwing parties.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s only been a few months since Shane threw a party with what I’d estimate to be over a hundred people.
“So plan one, then,” Steve says with a shrug.
Shane shakes his head. “No, I think the epic party days are behind me,” he says almost wistfully. “We’ve all graduated.”
“But Lauren is a senior,” I say of Shane’s sister. “I’m sure you’d still get a great turnout.”
“Baby, please don’t encourage him to be one of those dudes who still wears his letterman jacket with his beer belly hanging out when he’s forty-five,” Ronan groans.
That earns an offended huff from Shane. “I will never have a fucking beer belly.” He flexes, causing the fabric of his already fitted long-sleeved shirt to strain against his chest and biceps.
Tori pats Shane’s butt. “Of course you won’t. No dad bod for you, Daddy.”
“Oh god,” Ronan groans while Vada and I dissolve into fits of laughter.
Shane shrugs. “But regardless, it’s not like there’s a ton of time to throw parties anymore. Not now that I’ve taken on full-time responsibility for Murphy’s. And definitely not on New Year’s Eve. It’s one of our busiest nights after St. Patty’s. I have to be here for that.”
“And so do I, apparently,” Ronan grumbles.
He’s dressed in almost exactly the same attire as Shane, the only difference being the small black apron tied around Shane’s waist—Ronan never wears an apron—and the black ball cap covering Ronan’s dark-blond, freshly-trimmed hair.
Other than that, they blend in perfectly with all the other Murphy’s waiters and the four bartenders.
“I told you, Ran, it’s all hands on deck tonight.” Shane nudges Ronan’s shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” Ronan mutters, looking worse for wear. He’s been on his feet since Murphy’s opened for brunch, and he won’t be done for at least another couple of hours. He’ll for sure be sleeping until past noon tomorrow. I can see it in his face. He’s beat.
“I know it’s a long day, man, but at least the tips are good, right?” Shane asks. “I scored a solid Franklin on top of a sixty-three-dollar tap.”
“Don’t get cocky, Shay. Jack tried to beat me yesterday, too, and at the end of the night his take-home was over two hundred less than mine.
” Ronan swipes his left hand over his right palm as though he’s sending dollar bills flying.
“I have every intention of walking out of here victorious tonight.”
Steve chortles. “Alright, before you boys start whipping out your dicks to measure whose is bigger—”
“Mine,” Shane says.
“Yeah, okay, wishful thinking, Shay.” Ronan pats Shane’s shoulder before he turns to his brother and raises his scarred left eyebrow. “Tell us about your new girl!”
Steve throws his hands up. “For fuck’s sake. Why are you so convinced there’s a girl?”
“Uh, let’s see.” Ronan taps his index finger to his lips, making a contemplative face. “You never come home. You’re super fucking secretive. And whenever anyone asks you if you’re seeing someone, you’re evasive as all hell. You never just straight up say ‘no,’ which is as good as saying ‘yes.’”
“Yeah, that and the fact that you came back home with a giant fucking hickey on your neck,” Vada says so drily—and unexpectedly—that instead of sipping his drink, Zack inhales the liquid and begins coughing violently.
“I did not!” Steve grumbles, clapping his best friend’s back in a half-hearted attempt to aid his intake of oxygen while both Tori and Summer screech with delight.
“Actually, you did,” I giggle.
“Traitor,” Steve throws at me, making me laugh out loud. “I thought you of all people would have my back, Cat. Guess I was wrong about you.” He tsks loudly, then folds his arms over his chest.
“Case in point!” Ronan shouts at his brother. “E-fucking-vasive.”
Steve looks anywhere but at Ronan.
“Stop the bullshit,” Ronan says with a chuckle. “We all know you’re seeing someone.”
“Come on, Stevie,” I say. “Why aren’t you telling us about her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says, still refusing to make eye contact with, well, anyone.
“Holy shit, dude, at this point she better be married with three kids and a mafia boss husband,” Shane says.
Everyone’s eyes are on Steve, looking for the tells he’s unable to hide, try as he might.
I bump him with my shoulder and smile. “If we promise not to ask for specifics, will you at least tell us whether you’re seeing someone?”
There’s a long moment of silence—well, as silent as it gets, considering we’re in a crowded Irish pub with hundreds of patrons loudly talking and singing along to the music playing on the speakers. It’s honestly a surprise the eight of us are still managing to hold a decent conversation.
Steve exhales deeply, his shoulders sagging. “Fine. Yes, I’m seeing someone.”
Zack chuffs in offense. “Are you serious? You fuck, why haven’t you fucking told me?”
“Sorry man, it’s just… it’s still really, really new and…
it’s…” Steve trails off, but his eyes snap to his little brother, a dark determination hardening his face.
Something settles in his jaw, and his voice lowers.
“Stop, Ran. I can already see it in your face that you’re trying to figure this out, okay?
I know you’re trying to read me and shit, and I’m asking you right now, as your brother, to please respect me when I ask you not to.
All I’m willing to share with you guys right now is that there’s a girl.
I’ll even tell you that her name is Ember and that, yes, I’m fucking head over heels for her, but that’s all you’re getting right now.
If you love me at all, Ran, please don’t prod, don’t…
think. Don’t do the thing where you piece the puzzle together, okay?
I promise, I’ll tell you everything once I’m ready. But that’s not now, so… please.”
Ronan’s expression mirrors his brother’s, his brow and jaw set. I too can practically see Ronan’s wheels spinning, his eyes narrowing as his gaze drills into Steve’s head.
“Yep, definitely a mafia husband,” Shane concludes with a chuckle.
“Fine,” Ronan grits out. “I do love you, and I—” He pulls his phone from his back pocket. It buzzes in his hand, and his expression neutralizes.
“You’re not doing anything dangerous though, right?” Zack asks Steve, visibly upset at his best friend’s failure to tell him about this new girl.
Ronan leans toward me, his lips close to my ear. Goosebumps erupt down my neck and back with the warmth of his breath feathering against my skin. “I’ll be right back. It’s Randi.” He places a soft kiss on my temple.
He turns and begins to walk away from the table I’m occupying with Steve, Vada, Tori, Summer, and Zack.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Shane calls after Ronan, who just points at his phone. “Break’s over in five minutes, Ran!”
There he goes, leaving me to talk to Miranda in private. Again.
I hate that this is starting to feel familiar.
Ronan
“Hey there, Rony,” Miranda says. “Happy New Year!”
“Yeah, you too! How come you’re awake?” I ask her, pushing open the steel backdoor to Murphy’s to step into the narrow alley behind the building. It’s the quietest place I could think of.
Murphy’s is always lively, but occasions like New Year’s, St. Patrick’s Day, and the Super Bowl and Stanley Cup games are a whole different level of crazy.
It’s still noisy out here with the sounds of typical New York traffic and the bangs of distant fireworks exploding in the night sky, but at least I can understand Miranda without changing the call to a video conference and attempting to read her lips.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Miranda says.
“I figured. I didn’t think my grandparents’ roaring New Year’s Eve party kept you up,” I chuckle. I shrug my shoulders up. It’s chilly out here without my jacket.
“Well actually, your grandma is out here bumpin’ that nineties R it’s kind of cute.”
“I bet ‘cute’ is exactly what he was going for,” I say, making Miranda laugh again.