Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
When I make it to the stage, Kate wraps an arm around my waist as if we’re old friends. “They love you already. By the way, if this band doesn’t tickle your fancy, I could use a pretty Guy Friday for an upcoming event or two. An anniversary and a possible engagement.”
“Neither of those sound like your brand.” I lean in so she can hear me over the commotion. “Is Queen Calamity going legit and turning into an actual party planner?”
“Maybe I’m tired of parties altogether,” she says mysteriously. “Anyway, Bex trusts you and she doesn’t appear to trust anyone but Brady and his man. Not even me.”
“Because she’s smart and you’re a professional heartbreaker?” I quip lightly.
Her eyes sharpen, but her smile stays firmly in place. “I hear we have that in common. Why don’t you think about it after you give us a carol then? Do you know that Ed Sheeran bop? It’s peppy but melancholy enough to end this the right way. It is an Irish pub, after all.”
“I know the song.”
When she hops offstage, I lift the microphone.
The moment I start to sing, the place goes silent.
The keyboard joins in and by the time I ask them to “ kiss me under the mistletoe ,” I’ve got everyone smiling, bobbing their heads to the beat and eating out of the palm of my hand.
To be fair, they’re all drunk and wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. Not exactly a rough crowd to please.
Except for that guy.
Holy shit, Ponytail Guy is gorgeous. Even when he’s impersonating The Grinch.
The man I’ve been trying to check out since I got here is scowling at me with an intensity that startles me so much I almost forget to start the second verse.
My world narrows, as if a spotlight has landed directly on him, blocking out everything and everyone else around us.
There are two reasons I don’t look away.
The first is that he’s legitimately stunning.
The second is—Why the hell is he scowling?
Like I said, I haven’t performed in a while, but when I do, everyone usually enjoys it.
I suppose he could be married to the pregnant vocalist he thinks I’m auditioning to replace.
Or he could hate music. If either is true, it would be a waste of truly mouthwatering packaging, but whatever.
Despite—or maybe because of—his glower, I double down, pouring myself into my performance, adding unnecessary sex appeal to the light holiday ditty and singing directly to him as if daring him to stop me.
I pull out some moves I haven’t used in years—it’s all in the hips—and even throw in an impressive run or two that the rest of the audience vocally appreciates.
I’m aware that this really isn’t that kind of song, but in my head I’m basically Maureen from Rent right now saying, “Take me baby or leave me.”
His reaction is to take a small step toward the stage before stopping himself, and that’s when I realize it isn’t anger in his expression at all. The answering tug in my gut is strong enough to shock me.
Arousal and awareness. Mutual and unexpected.
Understandable on my end, since he looks like the love child of a GQ cover model and the romantasy hero Bex and I drooled over at our last two-person book club meeting.
He definitely gives off grumpy dragon assassin vibes.
Not my usual type IRL, but apparently, I’m here for it tonight.
And it’s looking like he’s here for me.
He really is handsome. Not as big as Val—few people are—but he’s still tall enough to top most of the men around him.
Including Seamus Finn, the pub’s owner, who’s standing at his side and looking at him as if they were in the middle of a conversation that my dragon interrupted to try to burn my clothes off with the fierceness of his attention.
He’s not yours.
Not yet.
I take him in, studying the light-brown skin and sandy-brown hair pulled tightly back, highlighting strong features that look Italian or Middle Eastern.
He has thick eyebrows, a permanent furrow to his brow and his jaw is shadowed with darker stubble.
I bet his chest is hairy too. I wonder if he’d like me to help him out of his expensive clothes so I can find out and he can be free to wreak some fiery havoc on the nearest village.
I’m the village in this scenario.
Lucky for me, I’m nobody’s role model tonight. Just a guy who wants to get to the end of this song so I can introduce myself to the man I’ll be propositioning.
What about Val and Connor?
They’re grown men who can take care of themselves.
That almost shakes me out of my lust-induced haze, because it’s not something I’ve ever thought before.
Taking care of my friends is my thing. Part of my identity, along with loving musicals and telenovelas, and knowing odd facts about the founding mothers and fathers of our nation.
It’s this insta-obsession with a complete stranger that isn’t normal for me.
Still, I can’t stop staring. He seems so out of place here. It’s not only the way he’s not dressed for the Christmas party—in tailored dark-gray slacks and a formfitting white dress shirt that he’s wearing with the sleeves rolled up like a tease.
(Who doesn’t love a good forearm?)
It’s how he’s standing, as if he’s ready to repel any comers. The tightness in his shoulders. He looks more uncomfortable than Val usually does, so I bet he’s not a regular at any bar. At least, not any around here.
Maybe that’s part of his allure. I doubt I’ve ever run into him at the grocery store or that he has a kid in my school, which makes him more enticing.
The way he’s focusing entirely on me doesn’t hurt either.
I’ve always wondered what passionate and potentially aggressive sex would feel like.
I get the sense that I could experience that with him tonight.
And now I’ve turned a wholesome song raunchy and I have a hard-on. More firsts for me. Thank goodness for drunk audiences and oversized sweaters.
As I belt the last bridge, he reaches into his snug pants pocket for his phone without looking away from me and says something to Seamus, who nods and gestures toward the back. The stranger gives me one last blazing look, subtly tilts his head, and then disappears down a hallway.
Does he want me to follow him? Just like that? Without buying me a drink and having the kind of conversation I usually require to make sure my hookup can speak in coherent sentences? (A guy has to have a few standards.)
My mind is so preoccupied with his presumption I barely realize the song has ended until the music stops and the crowd starts shouting for an encore. I meet Kate’s eyes briefly and shake my head, leaving the stage.
“Incredible,” Kate says into the microphone behind me. “This man needs to come to every bash from now on. Our own personal bard. What do you think? Should I twist his arm?”
The audience goes crazy again, and everyone I pass pats me on the back or shakes my hand as I walk back to our table.
“Great song,” Val says with a genuine smile. “You sounded fantastic, as usual.”
“Are you okay, Win?” Bex’s smile disappears as she hovers at my side. “What happened?”
I huff impatiently. “I’m fine. It was a nice surprise and I had fun, so thank you. I saw someone I need to talk to, that’s all. I didn’t want you to worry.”
She lifts a knowing brow. “Is it someone you know or someone you’re never going to give your number to?”
Sometimes having friends who get you that completely is irritating.
“No comment. I’ll be back soon.” I ignore her smirk and follow the stranger.
Like a fool.
That head tilt could have meant anything. He had an ache in his neck. He was offering a silent acknowledgement of my vocal stylings or admitting defeat in our staring competition. He could really have a phone call, and I just misread the cues. But the tilt gave me some serious come-hither vibes.
Who says come-hither anymore?
Oh right. People who teach history and want to jump on the junk of guys that remind them of fictional dragon assassins. Also, it sounds classier than “probably wants a blowjob” vibes.
This isn’t the spot I would have picked for that kind of meeting. Frankly, I’m not sure why Seamus allowed him back here in the first place. It’s for employees and family members only, a fact I know because Connor occasionally gets lost on his way to the bathroom after he’s had a drink or two.
There’s a door that leads down to the in-house brewery and another to the owner’s office. That one is partially open.
“No trouble. But I haven’t seen anything interesting here tonight,” drawls a voice that instantly makes me think of sweaty sex and cowboys. I wasn’t expecting an accent like that.
And nothing interesting? Ouch.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t come here for you to handle me the way you do everyone else. The only ones who matter know where I am.” Another extended silence. “Did he? I’ll take care of it.”
I hear the tones of a number being dialed and then he immediately starts speaking in a different language. One that’s oddly familiar, though I can’t place it at the moment. All I know is he sounds pissed and now I’m depressed. Because I was wrong. He actually did come here to use the phone.
So why am I still standing here eavesdropping instead of leaving him to it?
Stalking a potential hookup is not behavior I participate in or agree with.
I’m a little disappointed in myself. I should forget the dragon and take Connor home before he passes out and gets rolled by those ladies Bex warned me about.
Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow night to find someone safe and easy.
Someone who doesn’t make me act so out of character.