Chapter 2 – Rae
The upbeat tune carried over the street.
It was the first sound I heard the moment I shuffled off the bus.
Even the mutters and squeak of the suspension paled to the lively music.
Drawn like the thirsty soul I was I hurried to the unassuming pub, lifting my eyes in thanks at the gold letters scrawled over the entrance.
The Galway Arms boasted of authentic fare, live music, and cold drinks.
Which was exactly what I needed.
The twenty in my pocket was only going to get me so far, which was why I snagged a couple of small bills out of the envelope in my uncle’s nightstand.
If all went well, I would be able to replace them.
The last thing I wanted was for Theo to notice after he’d been so nice to me.
I turned on a megawatt smile, tugged down my tank top and tied the flannel shirt tight under the ladies.
They were fresh from the country and ready to earn me some drinks at the expense of these city boys.
The earthy, hoppy scent washed over me as I paused to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. A game-day Happy Hour was in full swing; the place was jam packed. I swept a calculating look over the crowd, feeling satisfied that this was the kind of place I could work.
A feather-light brush ghosted over the back of my neck. I resisted the urge to touch it, to mess with my hair, as I walked to the aged wooden pedestal to the right of the front door. It was just the excitement of the chase, the thrill of somewhere new to practice my tricks.
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess clipped out.
“Nope. Didn’t know I needed one,” I responded lightly.
The hostess gave me a once over, barely containing her disgust, before her professional grin curled up her lips. “Tables are full, there’s an hour wait for the bar seating.”
I instantly disliked her. “No worries, suga, I’ll stand.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but a cheer from the bar summoned me. I sauntered over, engaging with the group of suits and the ladies in pencil skirts or pressed pants. “Bet you the Braves load the bases with that pinch hitter.”
That sparked an immediate conversation. A cold beer was in my hands three minutes later thanks to the grey suit with slicked-back blond hair.
Introducing myself as Maggie—not a nickname I loved, but it technically wasn’t a lie—I worked the group, hustling a second round from them before my stomach growled in protest. I wasn’t above singing for my supper.
There was a kind of romantic justice working these corporate assholes over, making them spend their hard-earned pennies on my behalf.
The trick was to not get too close and slip to another group before any one individual took a particular interest in me.
It had to be the second beer that was making my skin prickle. I accepted a vacated seat at a table of frat boys and sank into the thick, solid oak chair. Until I got some food in my belly, I was going to have to go slow on this round.
I chatted aimlessly, smiled and laughed when necessary. Each face was like the next. Worthless hooligans, all of them. They had no idea I was using them for the order of breadsticks and golden butter. But if they did, I doubted they would mind.
The band shifted to a slower, more haunted melody. There was still an energetic undercurrent to the song, but the tones were more somber.
I rubbed the back of my neck, using the roar after a failed pitch to look around. Shadows haunted the back row of booths, nearly black by the sharp glow of the swinging kitchen door. A rush of something shot through me. I felt it. There was something there.
Careful not to seem too interested, I took my time moving to another group, a bachelorette party who’d flown into the room and took up residence at the bar. They no doubt had a reservation.
“Let’s see the ring,” I gushed.
The bride-to-be extended a soft, slim hand. “He picked it out himself!”
“Well, I’ll be.” I smiled. “Gorgeous, suga, just gorgeous! Like you.”
She blushed, which wasn’t hard since her cheeks were flushed from earlier rounds of bar hopping.
“I mean it, you’re pretty as a peach.” I let my drawl thicken and immediately folded into their group.
This time, more appetizers and a few entrees were ordered. They wanted to know where I was from with that cute accent.
“An itty, bitty town south of Atlanta,” I chirped.
“What brought you here?” one of the bridesmaids asked.
“Work!” I snagged some freshly arrived potato skins, burning my tongue in the process.
A jig started up and the girls hollered like a bunch of stray cats. I was sipping a coke at this point but accepted the shots of Jameson before being drug onto the dance floor. Suddenly we were dancing as if we were long lost friends.
The city didn’t seem too bad right about now.
By the time my thighs ached, my head buzzed, and my belly was full, the group was arranging an Uber to go to the next stop. The offer to join them was tempting, but I was ready to catch the bus back to the Chestnut Hill neighborhood.
“For you.” The bartender handed me a glass of what I assumed was whiskey and some kind of cola.
I frowned at it. “Thanks?”
The bartender, Pat, jerked his chin to the shadowed booths. “From a guy back there.”
A shiver ripped down my spine.
I was good and happy. There was no way in hell I was drinking anymore tonight, especially if it was purposefully sent. I knew how to walk the line between fun and stupid, and accepting drinks from strangers like this was definitely veering off that thin mark in the sand.
Without looking to the booths, I sidled up to the bride—whatever her name was, it didn’t matter—and offered her the coke. “One more, and blessings on your marriage!”
“Oh, thanks,” she slurred and sucked the drink back. “Dr. Pepper! My favorite!”
Her face had taken a definite green shade, and it was clear as day she was tipsier than a tick on a hound dog.
But I had no remorse offering her the drink.
Her friends would look after her. It was my way of thanking her for supper.
As I followed the party to the door, I chanced one glance over my shoulder.
And that was when I saw him.
Standing to the side of the booth, the shaft of light from the kitchen fell across one of the most beautiful faces I’d ever seen. To call those hard features beautiful seemed terribly inaccurate, but my scrambled brain didn’t have enough oxygen to find a better word for it.
Dark hair, and even darker eyes, set in a face carved from living stone.
His body was no less a work of art. A quick glance showed strong muscles under the tightly fitted black dress shirt that was rolled up his forearms and tucked into the waistband of black dress pants.
Something expensive flicked on his wrist as he tucked a hand into his pocket.
I was overwhelmed with the sense that this man was the unforgiving type, and I was the little hairbrained idiot who’d refused his offering.
I gulped.
It wasn’t my fault. It would be a terrible mistake to have accepted, to have consumed the drink. Yet there was a small part of me, a sinful, wicked part that wished I had.
If only to give myself an excuse to go and talk to him.
The man was hot. So sue me.
“Hey, Maggie, um, the guy over there asked me to tell you he’d like his turn having a drink with you,” Pat stuttered.
The bartender was a beefy guy. With a fuzzy red beard and shaggy blond hair, he looked like he would fit in the defensive line of a college match. But to see him uneasy to deliver the request confirmed my initial urge not to venture into the shadows.
“I’m good, thanks.” I tore my eyes away from the specter and focused on the bartender. “Thanks for everything tonight, Pat.”
The bartender shifted. He rubbed a thick bicep with his opposite hand. “It wasn’t a suggestion. I’m sorry, Maggie.”
Panic twanged through my gut.
“He’s not up to anything!” Pat rushed to add. “And I’ll watch from the bar. But could you please, um, just go over and say hi? My boss would really appreciate it.”
“Your boss?” I repeated and frowned. What the actual fuck?
“Yeah, that’s one of his…friends. A special guest,” Pat stammered. “I’ll bring another round of drinks and stop by the table often to check on you.”
The poor bartender was a good person. I didn’t want to get him into hot water. But more than that, there was a derisive urge in my mind to see this thing play out.
Plus, the bachelorette party was long gone.
It was the huff of the hostess, fluffing her pretty gold hair and tugging at the emerald dress to make her fake tits look bigger, that settled me.
I marched across the pub, weaving through tables, eyes locked on the stranger in black.