Chapter Four
Rowan
By the time we arrive, O’Nelly’s is jammers.
Everyone is packed in tight like sardines, but spirits are high.
Marcos and I are stalled just inside the door, scanning the pub for a pathway through the crowds, when we spot Teagan and Layla in our usual corner.
My mate’s got an arm draped over the Hispanic beauty’s shoulders, whispering something in her ear that makes her blush.
“Fucking gross,” Marcos mutters.
“Ah, c’mon now, Diaz.” I jab him in the side with my elbow. “Don’t be a dryshite. Your sister’s gorgeous. Teag’s alright, I s’pose.”
Glaring at me, my teammate keeps his voice firm. “Bro, that’s my sister you’re talking about.”
I just laugh and raise a hand in greeting when Eamon and I make eye contact. As I start in his direction, my eyes sweep surreptitiously around the pub, telling myself it’s just to see who all is here and not searching for a certain dark-haired stunner with cerulean eyes.
Before making it even halfway across the space, a jolly Irish voice calls out. “Ach, there’s trouble if I ever saw it. Mr. Gallagher, did you think I’d let ya in me pub without even a proper greeting?”
That voice belongs to the older gent standing behind the bar, drying pint glasses.
He’s a cheeky codger, Paddy O’Nelly is, but I love the aul fella something fierce.
Even when he’s busting my bollocks. Especially then.
He hasn’t aged a bit in the four years I’ve known him.
Still portly with grey hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and rectangular, wire glasses covering mischievous eyes.
He’s normally sporting a flat cap, but tonight his head is bare of any covering, hair combed back.
His usual cable knit sweater is replaced with a hunter green button-up, maroon bow tie, and matching suspenders.
I’ve never once seen him dressed up, so I’m immediately curious.
Veering off my original course, I saunter in his direction, Marcos close behind.
“Paddy,” I greet him cheerfully. “You’re looking mighty fine tonight. Am I correct in thinking you’ve got someone to impress this evenin’?”
“Ach,” He says. “Go on ya, chancer! Can’t a man look his best just because he wants to?”
Paddy is properly flustered, his round cheeks turning scarlet. I’ll be fecked! I was just codding him, but looks like I struck gold. He doesn’t give me a chance to comment further as he glances behind me.
“Now, who’s this young fella here? I’ll forgive yer cheek, Gallagher, for bringing in a new patron as long as he behaves himself.” His threat is lifeless as he winks at Marcos.
“Aye, this here is Marcos Diaz.” I step aside for the man in question to approach the bar. “He’s my teammate, roommate, and oddly enough, Layla’s brother.”
“Is that right? Small world we live in, aye? Pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Diaz. I’m Paddy O’Nelly, owner of this fine establishment. Yer first drink is on me tonight. What’ll you be drinking?”
Marcos grins and extends a hand to Pat. “Nice to meet you, Paddy. Appreciate the warm welcome. I’ll have whatever Ro’s having, thanks!”
Paddy darts his eyes to me expectantly. He doesn’t know this, but after the night I met her, I only order a pint of Guinness when Alicia is behind the bar, because she actually does pour the best I’ve ever had outside of Ireland.
When it’s Paddy behind the bar, I order whiskey.
Glancing around, I casually scan to see if she’s out in the crowd serving drinks.
“She’s in the back, lad,” Paddy informs me, peering over the rim of his glasses. “We’re down a hand, so she’s bussin’ and washin’ tonight.”
“Who?” I ask, trying to play stupid.
“Ah, Rowan, my boy. I may be up there in years, but my eyes work just fine, they do.”
My spine straightens at the implication, but I’m not about to admit it. Especially not with Marcos listening.
“I was gettin’ ready to have her take over anyway so I can announce you young buskers,” Paddy adds nonchalantly before turning toward the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen.
He pushes one open and calls out, “Alicia, leave those dishes, lass. I’ve got to take the stage and need ya tending bar. ”
“Gladly,” I hear her say sharply. Her voice grows louder as she comes through the doors. “I fucking hate…” She freezes when she sees me. “Rowan.”
I nearly groan out when I finally lay eyes on her.
Fucking stunning, as always. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve seen her, but right now I want to fall to my knees and worship her.
The knot on top of her head is messy, but the sexy kind of messy.
Loose wisps of her onyx hair frame her angular face and those eyes.
Those bright blue eyes that seemed dull at first, spark to life when they lock on my face.
The giant hoops in her earlobes sway back and forth, and her nose ring glints in the lights.
She’s wearing a faded Flogging Molly t-shirt tied into a knot at the hem, showing off a sliver of skin just above the waistband of her black jeans.
The combat boots are standard for her when she’s working. She’s so effortlessly beautiful.
She won’t meet my eyes directly, but she’s taking in every inch of me just like I’m doing to her, and I don’t mind it a bit.
I know there’s a spark between us. No, not a spark.
A fecking line of electricity that burns and crackles the closer we are to each other.
It’s been there since day one. Part of the reason I constantly say and do things to rile her is because I want to be the one who fuels her fire, and there’s nothing sexier than Alicia when she’s ready to explode, in and out of the bedroom.
The first time I made her come was a religious experience.
I’m Irish, so that means I was born Catholic, but my family never practiced it.
I’ve only ever stepped foot in a church one time and that was for my Granddad’s funeral.
But watching Alicia’s face as she fell apart on my hand made me want to lay my sins at her feet, while simultaneously avoiding the confessional booth, because if giving her orgasms is an iniquity, then I don’t ever want to repent.
On the other hand, if it’s the key to heaven, then consider me a converted man.
I’ll attend Mass multiple times a day for the rest of my life.
The only problem is that she turned me away and locked the doors. Now, no other house of worship will do. I haven’t even gone looking.