16. Darcy
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
darcy
I have a feeling The Brass Bell on a normal Thursday is warm, low-lit, and the kind of place where everybody knows everybody.
On St. Patrick’s Day, it’s barely controlled chaos.
Tyler pulls the door open and I step inside between him and Mack, immediately swallowed by noise, body heat, and the unmistakable smell of beer and whiskey, fried food, and bad decisions that have been accumulating since noon.
Green shirts. Green plastic beads. Green cocktails glowing from every other table like radioactive waste.
Someone’s wrapped a garland of plastic clovers around the brass bell hanging from the center beam, and the Dropkick Murphys playing loud enough through the speakers that I can feel them vibrate in my chest.
Near the back, one booth somehow manages to be louder than the rest of the bar combined.
The second we come into view, a broad-shouldered guy with blond hair, blue eyes and a grin that practically announces that he’s been waiting for this all day is already climbing out of it.
“Daaaamn,” he says, looking straight at Tyler. “They actually brought her.”
Tyler laughs.
“Don’t make it weird,” Mack says.
“I haven’t even started.”
“That,” Tyler says to me under his breath, “is Coop.”
“Damn right it is.” Coop points between the three of us. “She made it. Pay up.”
“I never bet against her,” Tyler says.
Across the booth, a dark-haired guy in loosened police blues lifts his beer toward me.
“Nice to finally put a face to the name.”
I blink.
Tyler points at him immediately.
“See? That’s exactly the problem.”
Ryan just shrugs.
“No idea what you mean.”
A laugh rolls up from farther down the booth.
“That’s because you’ve never had a single ounce of self-awareness.”
The voice belongs to a man whose tattoos disappear beneath the collar of his uniform and spill down over his hands.
“Trick,” he says with an easy nod.
Then he looks me over once.
“Tourists never prepare correctly for this city.”
“Apparently not.”
“Hydration helps.”
He raises his beer and winks.
I can’t help the small chuckle that comes out of me.
Beside him, another man looks up from his drink with the calm, warm eyes of someone who’s watched this exact conversation happen a hundred times before.
“And that’s Marco,” Tyler says.
Marco smiles.
“You survived the parade.”
“Barely.”
“Every year,” he says sympathetically. “Still catches people off guard.”
I slide into the booth beside Tyler while Mack settles in on my other side.
Someone scoots over without being asked.
Somebody else steals fries off of one of the appetizer baskets in the middle of the table.
Coop’s already halfway through another story that everyone but me has apparently heard before, and nobody seems particularly concerned that I’m missing half the references.
Oddly, I’m not either.
“What do you think of the place?” Coop asks over the music as the second round arrives.
“I like it,” I say and mean it. “It has charm.”
“Best wings in the South End,” Trick points out.
“Five-dollar beer specials on Thursdays.” Coop chimes in.
“A functional heating system,” Marco counters.
“The heat’s fine,” Coop argues.
“The heat,” Trick says flatly, “is a liability.”
Ryan doesn’t even look up from his drink.
“The heat’s why we have the booth in the corner.”
I glance at Tyler.
“Is it always like this?”
“Pretty much.”
He takes a sip of his beer.
“You’re handling it well.”
“I’m adaptable,” I toss back.
Mack smirks at that, and I watch as Marco notices but says nothing like he’s filing it away in whatever internal database he keeps on everyone around him.
My eyes drift toward the brass bell hanging near the center beam, the metal unevenly polished from years of use.
“What’s the story with the bell?”
“You ring it, you buy the whole bar a round,” Tyler says with a knowing smirk.
“People actually do that?”
“Depends how drunk they are,” Ryan says.
“Depends on the company,” Tyler adds.
Mack’s attention settles on me.
“Don’t touch it.”
I tip my head.
“And what if I wanted to?”
A low chuckle escapes Tyler as the booth seems to collectively lean in.
Coop’s eyes light up with pure delight.
“Well,” he drawls. “This is new.”
Ryan finally tears his attention away from his beer.
“I’ve been waiting years for somebody to say that to him.”
Marco hides a smile behind the rim of his glass.
“She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, Mack.” Trick lounges farther into the booth, thoroughly entertained now. “What if she wanted to?”
Mack doesn’t so much as flinch.
“You don’t.”
“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
The silence hangs for just a beat longer before I smile into my beer.
Tyler breaks first.
“To be fair, the last time somebody rang it, we didn’t leave until well after closing.”
“The last time you rang it,” Mack corrects.
“Worth it,” Coop says immediately.
Ryan arches a brow.
“It wasn’t.”
I fail completely at hiding my smile.
Around nine, three women weave through the crowd toward the booth with the easy confidence that says they already know they’ll be welcomed when they get there.
Coop perks up immediately, sitting a little bit straighter like his favorite show just returned from a commercial break. Meanwhile, Ryan barely glances up.
“Relax,” he says around a sip of his beer. “They’re badge bunnies.”
Trick claps him once on the shoulder.
“Man’s gotta eat.”
Then he nods toward me.
“No offense.”
“None taken.” I lift my glass. “Do what you must.”
“Nice meeting you, Darcy.” Marco says before he stands.
The guys climb out of the booth as if they’re following a script they’ve practiced a hundred times. Ryan tosses a casual, “See you around,” over his shoulder, which I’m beginning to suspect is less goodbye than his default setting.
I watch them disappear into the crowd. Almost absentmindedly, Tyler and Mack each shift an inch closer from either side, closing the space the others left behind, just enough to notice.
A redhead saunters over with an easy smile, resting a hand on Mack’s shoulder too casually like she’s done it before.
Something completely unreasonable tightens in my chest. I take a sip of my beer like that’s going to help.
She looks like she might slide into the booth, but Mack doesn’t move to make room. Instead, he tips his chin up in acknowledgment, waiting for whatever she came over to say.
“You disappear on me again after the parade?”
“Was here the whole time.”
He gestures loosely between me and Tyler.
“Well, hi, stranger.” Her attention slides to Tyler. “You boys cleaned up nice today.”
Tyler tips his beer toward her.
“That’d be the uniforms.”
“They definitely don’t hurt.” Her eyes travel between them before settling back on Mack. “I was starting to think you’d both forgotten about me.”
“Something tells me you’d survive,” Mack says easily.
She nudges Mack’s shoulder with the back of her hand before turning fully back to him.
“We miss seeing you out.”
“Been busy. Overtime and all.”
“That’s your excuse for everything.”
“Usually works.”
Her hand lingers against Mack’s arm.
“You coming to the afterparty?”
“Nah.” His answer comes easily. “Got plans.”
His eyes flick to mine so quickly I almost convince myself I imagined it.
“What about you, Ty?”
Tyler glances.
“Nah.”
“No?” Both eyebrows lift. “Since when do you skip the afterparty?”
He shrugs.
“Thought I’d change things up.”
She studies him for a second, then looks between the three of us. Something unreadable crosses her face before she smiles to herself.
“Well,” she says, giving Mack’s shoulder one last pat as she steps back, “don’t be strangers.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd.
I stare into my beer, tracing a finger through the condensation gathering on the glass.
Plans can mean a lot of things—going home, going to bed, not wanting to spend the rest of the night with a redhead they clearly have some sort of history with.
None of that automatically means me. I know that. It just doesn’t do a damn thing for the tight little knot that settled somewhere between my stomach and my ribs.
I have no claim to either of them.
I’m here as…what?
A friend?
A neighbor?
The girl they accidentally adopted during a snowstorm?
“Don’t mind them.”
Tyler’s voice pulls me out of it.
I look up to find him already watching me.
“I don’t,” I lie smoothly. “It’s totally fine.”
“Mhm.”
He takes a sip of his beer, mercifully letting me keep what little dignity I have left.
“But…” I glance toward the crowd where the women disappeared. “Can one of you explain the bunny thing?”
Mack’s head dips, the closest I’ve ever seen him come to laughing.
Tyler, meanwhile, looks one sentence away from completely losing it.
“It’s, uh…” he starts.
“Someone who likes to fuck first responders,” Mack says evenly.
I look between them.
Then back at Mack.
Then—
Holy shit.
Am I a bunny?
Mack catches on before I can say a word. His gaze drops briefly to the table before finding mine again, the corner of his mouth threatening to betray him.
“Someone who likes to fuck people because they’re first responders,” he clarifies.
“Oh.” I let out a slow breath. “Right.”
Tyler drags his tongue across the inside of his lower lip like he knows exactly where my brain just went, and the sight of it sends a slow pulse of heat straight to the center of my thighs.
“I need another drink,” I announce, already climbing out of the booth before I embarrass myself further.
Unfortunately, the booth is not designed for graceful exits, which results in clamoring over Tyler’s lap while trying to wedge myself out with all the grace of a newborn baby deer.
His hands find my waist automatically, steadying me before I can make a complete spectacle of myself.
“Careful, Trouble,” he rumbles.
Definitely moving to another city.