Chapter 2
LIAM
Itwisted a mug of frothy, green beer against the sticky high-top table, my fingers absently tracing condensation that slid down the glass. The noise around me was overwhelming —laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional cheer from a group glued to the TVs overhead. The chaos didn’t help my mood.
I was tired.
Exhausted.
Three months into a bet with my brothers and I was no closer to finding someone to marry. If I couldn’t find someone, let alone make them fall in love with me by the end of the summer, I’d lose everything. Well, not everything, but the only thing that mattered.
I twisted the mug again, remembering how I thought winning would be easy. The rules were simple: find a pretty girl. Wine, dine, and woo her. Lock her in with a ring, and then bam!
But it hadn’t been that easy. Every girl I’d met hadn’t been right. There was something about each Tinder date and bar hookup that left me unsatisfied. Longing. Sounding like a fucking pussy.
A small, potentially psychotic, part of me was relieved.
I’d never admit it out loud, but I didn’t want the pressure of running the family empire.
Six restaurants and three bars were overwhelming.
I was happy with my slice of heaven, Abbott's, and if it wasn’t tangled up in the web of the bet I wouldn’t even be trying.
I spun the mug once more, grimacing as I caught a faint whiff of the crap this bar tried to pass as beer. It had a faintly metallic taste like it had been brewed in a tin can. It was probably the worst drink I’d had in months.
I sighed and stared at the two inches of foam on top of the green liquid. Tonight was supposed to be a break, one night away from the weight of the bet. No scouting. No wondering if this girl or that could be the one. Just one drink, definitely not this one, and maybe a conversation or two.
But even that seemed impossible. Instead, I’d spent the last fifteen minutes spiraling deeper into my thoughts, the idea of being a silent partner as a forty percent shareholder of the bar I built from the ground up gnawing at me.
“Maybe I should’ve stayed home,” I muttered, closing my eyes. My couch and a quiet movie night sounded like heaven right now. Hell, even going to bed before midnight felt like a better choice than sitting here drowning in self-pity and bad beer.
When I opened my eyes, a woman in a shiny green dress stood on the other side of my table. “You’re quite curious, you know that?” she said, her voice carrying a lilting tone of mischief. “I can figure out what everyone desires in this room, except you.”
I blinked, caught off guard because…what? The woman made no sense. She had to be drunk; it was the only rational explanation. I waited for her to smile, laugh, or give me some noticeable indication she was joking, but she just stared at me.
“Maybe that’s because you don’t know me,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended.
She didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she grinned and extended a delicate hand. “I don’t have to know someone to know what their hearts want but, if it helps, I’m Dahlia.”
Her hand was small and cool against mine as I shook it. I took her in, trying, despite swearing that I’d take the night off, to determine if she could be the one.
She had burgundy red hair that tumbled over her shoulders in long, straight strands, a smattering of freckles across fair skin, and green eyes more vibrant than the drink in her hand.
She was pretty and outgoing, and I had no reason to cross her off my list of potentials. Except she didn’t feel like the one.
“And you are?” Dahlia prompted when I didn’t respond.
“Liam.”
“Ah, Irish for ‘strong-willed warrior.’ Are you Irish?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” I quipped, but I’d been called a less friendly version of strong-willed on more than one occasion.
Nature of the beast when you own a bar and frequently play bouncer to kick assholes out.
Or when you have three older brothers who’d never looked at you like you were worth a damn.
I’d done many foolish things simply because I was too stubborn to lose whatever had been wagered.
Hence my current predicament.
“Hmm, pity. That would make more sense.” Dahlia sighed dramatically, taking a slow sip of her fizzy green drink through a black paper straw. “I can’t get a read on you and it’s driving me mad.”
I raised an eyebrow, curious despite knowing I should disengage and leave. “Because you can tell everyone’s desires?”
“Yup.” She popped the “p” with exaggerated flair. “It’s my blessing and my curse.”
“Prove it.”
Dahlia’s grin widened at the challenge and she leaned back, casually scanning the room. After a quiet moment, she pointed at the man across the bar with her straw. “Sex,” she said and then pointed to the next person and then the next. “Sex. Cookies. Sex. To leave. A nap. Sex.”
Despite myself, I snorted. This was crazy and yet I was sucked in, unable to walk away.
“What about her?” I nodded toward the brunette at the far corner of the bar chatting with a blonde man in thick-rimmed glasses.
To Holly Flynn.
I noticed her twice tonight, and both times, she was talking with someone new.
I couldn’t tell if she sought the men out or if they were as drawn to her as I was, but unlike them, I wasn’t in the mood to get shot down.
If I added her to the lot of women who couldn’t be the one for some reason or another, that would make her number…
I didn’t even know. I didn’t want to know.
Dahlia followed my gaze and when she found the brunette, her lips curved knowingly. “Oh, interesting,” she murmured more to herself than to me. “That one? She wants to have fun.”
“What kind of fun?” I asked, watching as she laughed at something the blonde man said. The sound carried like music over the chatter of the bar and it struck a nerve inside me.
It pissed me off.
I was angry—jealous even—which was stupid because we hadn’t spoken in years, not since college. Not since I blew my chance with her.
“The kind where she gets to play games without worrying about strings.”
“She’s not going to find that here,” I said, frowning, unable to tear my gaze away from her.
She was magnetic.
Beautiful in a subtle kind of way that slapped you in the face.
Holly wasn’t in an over-the-top, sexy outfit like most of the women out tonight.
Just jeans and a white T-shirt with gold letters.
If she wore makeup, it was subtle—natural looking.
Long brown hair fell in loose waves to the middle of her back, but she twisted one strand through her fingers. Was she nervous or flirting?
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dahlia leaned in conspiratorially. “Perhaps you could help her.”
Unlikely. Glasses-guy was giving Holly bedroom eyes and she…
She leaned closer to him. Her arm brushed against his and I was no expert, but I was pretty sure that meant she was into him. “She seems happy enough with that guy.”
“Ugh,” Dahlia groaned dramatically. “Trust me, that won’t last more than five minutes. But you two… You could be great—if you know the rules.”
I tore my gaze away from Holly to fix Dahlia with a skeptical look. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s playing a game,” Dahlia said pointedly.
She waited for me to put the pieces she’d laid out together, but they made no sense.
When I didn’t respond, she added, “Tell her a secret, and she’ll grant you a wish.
That man is almost to the end of his game, but you could outsmart her.
Wish to spend the night together—no sex, no tricks. Just a night of fun.”
Her game. Right. I was surprised Holly was still doing that after all these years.
Then again, back in college, she always said this was her favorite holiday.
I had the chance to play once and blew it.
Holly rejected my wish for a date, before even hearing my secret.
“And why would she agree to that? She doesn’t know me. ”
Dahlia’s grin widened. “Because I know my sister. Holly won’t be able to resist.”
“Sister?” I said, frowning, the single word enough to pull me away from the temptation of crossing the bar. My gaze flicked from Holly to Dahlia and then back again. “You two look nothing alike.”
“Half-sister, but that’s not important,” Dahlia said, her tone turning serious for the first time. “Trust me, she’ll love you.”
I shook my head, smirking faintly. Now, things were making sense.
Dahlia was playing matchmaker. It was flattering, if not a little odd.
If only she knew I’d already tried once, during freshman year, and struck out.
“And here I thought you were trying to hook up with me.” I touched my chest and pretended to be sad. “I’m heartbroken.”
“You’ll be heartbroken if you don’t act fast.” Dahlia plucked the mug of warm beer from my hand and shoved me forward. “Now, go!”