Chapter 10 #3
And fuck it. The accent really is hot.
"A lock-in?" I repeat, several glasses in and well past the point of professional appearances. Though neither of us seems in any hurry to call it a night.
"Aye, usually at weddings or funerals, but they happen whenever the mood is right.
" He leans in, lowering his voice. "Basically, if you're in with the owner of the pub, at the end of the night they'll clear out the patrons so the inner circle can stay. Usually involves some music, and shutters down since it’s kinda illegal. But it's a grand time."
"Sounds like a blast," I laugh. "I've always wanted to visit Ireland."
"Well, Ace, say the word and I'll show you a good time in Dublin." He looks at me over the rim of his glass, his gaze turning dangerously warm.
"Oh?" I arch an eyebrow. "I'm sure I could handle things without a tour guide."
He laughs, eyes lighting up. "Aye, but I wouldn't want you wandering the streets of Dublin, lonely, without me."
Lonely? That's adorable. I set my glass down and lean across the table, giving him my sweetest smile.
"See, that's exactly where you're miscalculating, Cillian," I murmur. "Because trust me, I know how the men look at me. I wouldn't be lonely for very long."
He leans in closer, the amusement gone, replaced by a look so heavy it feels like he's stripping me bare where I sit. The restaurant carries on around us, forks and low laughter and a cork coming out of a bottle somewhere, and none of it reaches our table.
"I've no doubt about that, Ace," he says, low. "I'd just very much prefer to be the one keeping you occupied."
And there it is. The line we've been circling all night, said out loud in plain English. I reach for my wine and take a slow sip, because for the first time all evening I have absolutely no idea what to say, and judging by the smile starting at the corner of his mouth, he knows it.
For one reckless second, I think about kissing him right here.
Leaning across the bread plates and finding out exactly what that mouth is like, professional reputation be damned.
Which is exactly the kind of lapse in judgment I promised myself I'd avoid.
No athletes. No flings. It's a well-worn road that ends with me packing my dignity into cardboard boxes and crying into a pillow.
"Yes, well, if we're ever in Ireland together, we can revisit the subject.
" I clear my throat, desperately fishing for a topic that doesn't involve the shape of his mouth.
"In the interest of getting to know each other.
Any other hobbies? Besides hockey, obviously.
You mentioned in some interview, like, the GAA? The Irish sport is what I mean."
He looks amused. "The GAA is the governing body, Ace. And I wouldn't call it a hobby since I haven't played in years, but it's Gaelic football, hurling, and handball."
"Right." I laugh, waving a hand. "Forgive my ignorance. So, anything else you'd add to the list?"
"Let's see." He leans back, considering. "I enjoy being outside, so a hike is always fun. I'm partial to a good afternoon with a book, though my schedule doesn't allow for it much these days."
“Are you attempting to impress me, hockey boy?” I tilt my head, dubious. "With the reading hobby?"
"Aw, come on, Ace.” He gives me a look of feigned injury. “Are you accusing me of inventing a more cultured personality just to seduce you?"
"I am," I admit.
He shakes his head, blue eyes bright with amusement. "Well, you're going to be disappointed, then, because it's the truth."
I narrow my eyes at him trying to figure out if he’s pulling my chain, when my mind drifts back to one of our early briefings at the estate when he'd thrown an Oscar Wilde quote in my direction.
"Your father really was a literature professor, then?" I ask, taking a slow sip of my wine.
He grins widely, dimples flashing, and leans forward. "And here I was under the impression you were too busy being pissed at me back then to actually listen to a word I said."
I feel a sudden prickle of heat that he remembers the details of our initial friction just as vividly as I do. "If I recall correctly, you kicked things off by informing me I had a stick up my ass."
He winces, looking actually sheepish. "Aye, I'm sorry about that one. You just got under my skin a bit, Ace."
"Yeah, well. I got under yours, you got under mine. I suppose that makes us even."
"Even, then." He chuckles. "And yes, my dad's a literature professor, and my mam's an avid reader, so the house was always full of books. Stacked on the stairs, on the radiators, everywhere. I used to bring whatever I was reading on the road between games. Helps pass the time in hotels."
"You are absolutely full of surprises, you know that?"
"Alright, enough about me." He leans across the table, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse skip. "Now I get to find out all the things about you that I've been dying to know."
A flush of heat crawls up my neck, and the rest of the restaurant simply ceases to exist.