Taming Irish

by C. M. Seabrook

“That wouldn’t be polite,” I say teasingly, even though it was my initial thought as well. But, I’m starving.

  “Neither is blocking someone in,” she mumbles.

  I chuckle and place an arm over her shoulder, but this time when I do, it isn’t a casual gesture, it’s more possessive, a sort of claiming that, for the moment, she’s mine. I almost release her when I realize what I’ve done.

  Almost.

  Because having her this close feels like fucking heaven. And all the worries I had a moment ago disappear. That’s the effect she has on me.

  “Come on. Ye haven’t lived till ye try Tommy’s black pudding and sausage casserole.”

  Her nose scrunches up. “I’ll stick with coffee.”

  The restaurant is packed with families just coming from church, most wearing their Sunday best. I see a few brows raise when Makena and I come in looking like we just tumbled out of bed after a night of shagging.

  “Everyone’s looking at us,” Makena mutters.

  She’s right. But we don’t have the opportunity to duck out, because Tommy sees us from across the bar and waves for us to take a back booth.

  “No one will bother us.” I place my hand on her lower back and lead her through the tables, wincing when I see a few cellphones come out.

  The booth is shadowed, and I make sure that she’s seated with her back to the curious onlookers.

  “Doesn’t look like the two of ye got much sleep.” Tommy says, placing two coffees in front of us.

  Makena gives a tight smile as a blush reddens her cheeks.

  I hand him the basket that he’d let me borrow the day before. “Two coffees and yer breakfast special.”

  As soon as Tommy walks away, a teenage girl with a silver hoop through her eyebrow and black eyeliner that looks painted on approaches the table.

  “Sorry to bother ye, but I was wondering if I could get ye to sign this.” She holds out a piece of paper and a pen.

  “Of course,” I say, scribbling my signature, then handing it back to her.

  The girl shifts from one foot to the other, her gaze drifting to Makena. “Would ye mind if I got yers, too?”

  Makena’s eyes widen for a moment, before her brows drop and she frowns. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “Aren’t ye Makena Hollister?”

  Color drains from Makena’s face.

  Hollister.

  She told me her last name was Fraser, but maybe it was her married name.

  Suddenly, it hits me.

  Chad Hollister.

  Hollywood’s newest heartthrob.

  Shit. He’s her ex-husband.

  I met the man a couple months ago at a Gala in New York. Owen forced me to go since we’d given a large sum of money to the cause and were being honored at the event with a recognition for the donation. I’d been pissed drunk most of the night, but I remembered the bastard. Hadn’t liked him then. Now that I know what he did to Makena, I hate him even more.

  “I saw yer picture in Starz magazine this morning,” the girl continues. “I can’t believe ye were actually married to Chad Hollister.” Her voice rises and is more of a squeal when she says, “He’s so gorgeous.”

  “M-magazine?” Makena stutters. “This morning?”

  “Didn’t ye see it?” The girl pulls out her phone and starts scrolling, then hands it to Makena, who takes it with shaky fingers. “There was a full article about yer break-up. I don’t believe half the stuff they write in there, and ye seem perfectly sane to me-”

  “Thank you.” Makena hands the girl back her phone, her face a mask of composure. The slight quiver to her bottom lip is the only evidence of the emotion she’s trying to hold back. She doesn’t meet my gaze when she scoots off the bench and says, “I’m not feeling well. I’ll meet you by the car.”

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  I shouldn’t have brought her here. Not with this crowd.

  After I find the owner of the green Volkswagen that’s blocking my car, and apologize to Tommy for leaving so abruptly, I make my way outside.

  Arms wrapped around herself, shoulders slumped, Makena leans against the passenger side door.

  “Are ye all right-”

  “Can we just go?”

  I sigh and unlock the doors.

  We both get in, sitting in silence while the driver of the Volkswagen pulls the car a few feet ahead so I can get out. But this silence isn’t the kind I enjoy. It’s filled with tension, and I can feel the anxiety rolling off Makena. I’m not sure what she’s more upset about. That the girl recognized her, that she was caught with me, or about the article.

  “Do ye want to talk-”

  “No.”

  More silence.

  Shit.

  “I can’t believe ye were married to that asshole,” I mutter, even though I know I should keep my opinion to myself.

  “You know him?” She glances over, her eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion there.

  “Met him a couple months ago. He’s a real prick.”

  She sighs, and a sad smile tugs at her lips. “But the world loves him.”

  “And ye?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

  “What about me?”

  “Do ye still love him?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not sure I ever really even knew him. Not sure you can ever know anyone. Not really. There are always secrets.”

  I don’t disagree with her, because I know I have my own.

  Her cellphone rings and she jumps a little.

  “It’s my cousin,” she says, frowning at the number that pops up on the screen. “I should…”

  “Go ahead.”

  With a tight smile, she nods, then answers the call. “Hey, Quinn.”

  A woman’s shrill voice, loud enough for me to hear, reverberates through the receiver. “Whatever you do, DO NOT go online. Promise me-”

  Makena sighs. “If this is about the article, I already saw it.”

  I don’t pick up most of the girl’s rant, but what I do hear makes me like her.

  “…I’ve talked with Kade and Jasper…they won’t let him get away with it…he deserves an ass kicking…”

  “Please don’t get your brothers involved.” Makena rubs her temple and closes her eyes.

  “Too late.”

  “Quinn-”

  I can’t hear what the woman says next, but whatever it is makes Makena laugh.

  “I love you, too.” When she hangs up, her gaze drifts back out the window.

  Taking her hand in mine, I bring it to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “Ye okay?”

  She glances over at me. I feel her tremble, but I’m not sure if it’s from my touch, or because of the anxiety she’s obviously feeling.

  “Just wish I could crawl under a rock.”

  “That’s why ye came to Ireland. To hide from all this?”

  She nods. “My marriage was over years ago. I knew it. Just didn’t want to admit it. Part of me even knew he wasn’t faithful. But it was easier to just keep pretending like everything was okay. I’m not even sad, not anymore. I’m just…”

  “Pissed off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ye know what a really good outlet for anger is?”

  “What?”

  “Sex.” I grin at her.

  She laughs, and a genuine smile tugs at her lips. “It really is the only thing you think about.”

  “When I’m around ye, definitely.”

  Her eyes roll, and she shakes her head. “I had fun yesterday,” she says when I pull to a stop in front of Colleen’s cottage. There’s a finality to her words, like she expects that this is the last time she’ll see me. It makes my chest tighten.

  She leans over and places and hand on one cheek, while kissing the other, then opens the car door.

  “Makena.” I take her hand.

  She glances over her shoulder.

  “What are ye doing tonight?”


  Her lips tug up slightly, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever you’re doing. I knew what this was. Who you are.”

  I hate that her expectations of me are so low. “I’ll be here for a few days. No reason we can’t continue to be friends.”

  I see the battle that rages behind her eyes as she chews on her bottom lip. “All right.”

  “Good. I’ll be here at six.”

  She’s still frowning as she gets out of the car. Like she’s just accepted an invitation with the Devil himself.

  Maybe she has.

  Chapter 15

  Makena

  After a long, hot shower and a nap, I do the one thing Quinn told me not to – I go online.

  At the Shamrock, I’d only had the chance to read a few lines of the article. I probably should have left it alone. There’s nothing I can do about what people say about me. Or the fact that Hollywood’s new Golden Boy just happens to be my sociopathic ex-husband, who for some reason, wants to ruin my life.

  “Tell your story,” Quinn had begged. “Let the world know what an asshole he really is.”

  “Then I’d be no better than him,” I’d said, knowing I could never hurt someone the way he’d hurt me. “And I don’t want the world knowing my secrets. Knowing I couldn’t…I can’t…” I’d swallowed hard on the confession that had broken me more than finding out Chad had been unfaithful.

  But reading through the article now, seeing the way my bitter truth had been twisted into an altered reality fueled a rage inside of me that had my entire body shaking. The majority of the article was about his recent shotgun wedding. But what was written about me was cruel and untrue.

  It was Chad’s quote, “I just hope she’s finally getting the help she needs,” that made me nearly toss my laptop across the room.

  I had suffered from depression.

  After three years of trying to have a baby, and two false positives, I’d received the devastating news that I’d probably never have a child of my own. I’d taken it hard. Growing up as an only child to a single mom, and watching my cousins in their big, dysfunctional - but loving - family, being a mom had always been something I’d dreamed about.

  And when that dream was taken from me, I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. It was Quinn who helped me through the depression. She’d pushed me to start designing, to create something. My shop, and the outfits I poured my heart and soul into, became my baby.

  Chad had fought me on it. Called it a reckless pursuit. Until it started making money. Then, he’d pushed me to work harder.

  And I had. Until I’d nearly burned out, and I was too tired to see that my husband had lost interest in me.

  With a sigh, I start to shut my laptop, then stop, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to type Shane Hayes into the Google search bar.

  Don’t do it, my brain warns. But why not? I’m sure he went home and did a search on me. Or worse, read the most recent article in Starz.

  I type out, then delete, his name twice, before finally pressing Enter.

  A groan bubbles in my throat when the first thing that pops up is his Wikipedia page. Of course the man has his own page. He’s famous.

  Most of the posts are about the band. A few fan-girl pages pop up. Clicking on images, I sigh when a pair of sage eyes sparkle with mischief at me from my laptop. It’s a professional picture, one that was probably part of a magazine shoot. And the photographer captured his personality perfectly.

  With a half grin that pulled at one dimple, he glances slightly sideways at the camera like he’s about ready to fuck whoever is on the other side of it, giving the impression to the viewer that he’s looking straight at you.

  God, the man is gorgeous.

  “What am I doing?” I shut my laptop on the photo and toss it on the opposite side of the couch.

  This is not going to end well. Not for me.

  “Just friends,” I mutter the words he’d used to get me to go see him again, then say on a sarcastic sigh, “Right.”

  I pace the cottage for most of the afternoon, fighting with my demons and typing out a dozen messages to Shane, cancelling dinner tonight. I never send them. I should, but I don’t.

  Finally, I call Quinn back, needing to hear a familiar voice.

  “Are you okay?” she asks when she answers. “I can’t stop thinking about what that asshole said-”

  “I’m fine. I’m not calling about that.”

  There’s a few seconds of silence before Quinn chuckles and says, “Only one way you could be fine, and that’s if you finally had a good fuc-”

  “Quinn.”

  More laughter. “You did.”

  “I did,” I admit on a sigh. No point dragging it out, when it’s the reason I called her.

  “It’s about freaking time. How was it? Who was it? Tell me. I want all the details.”

  “It was…” I close my eyes, shivering at the memory. “Perfect. He’s perfect.”

  Silence.

  “Quinn?”

  She sighs, and says warily, “You like him.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “I just know you. When you give your heart, you give it all.”

  “You’re the one that told me I needed to meet someone.”

  “I told you to have sex. Not fall in love.”

  “I’m not in love. I barely know the guy. We’re just…friends.”

  “Mhm. And I’m Mother Teresa,” she says knowingly.

  “Maybe her alter ego,” I tease.

  She chuckles. “So, what’s this guy’s name? And do I have to send one of my brothers to make sure he behaves?”

  “No.” I hesitate before answering. “And his name’s Shane.”

  “Last name, please. And date of birth, if possible. I want to make sure I do a full Google search.”

  “Seriously, Quinn.”

  “And you haven’t?” When I don’t answer, she exhales loudly. “Rule number two from my dating handbook, don’t leave the house with the guy until he passes the Google test.”

  I roll my eyes. Sometimes, I think she has more trust issues than I do.

  “Yes, I Googled him,” I admit.

  “And?”

  I inhale deeply before admitting, “His name’s Shane Hayes.”

  There’s that blasted silence again.

  She finally lets out a low whistle. “As in Wild Irish’s Shane Hayes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy shit.” She sounds impressed. “Well done.”

  I laugh at the approval in her voice. “It was only one time.”

  That’s not exactly true. But it was just one night. I won’t have sex with him again.

  “So, you’re not going to see him again?”

  “Well…”

  “You are.”

  I start to pace. “He asked to see me again.”

  “And you said yes?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have.” I make my way down the hall towards the bedroom and flop on the bed. “I know what he wants. A fling. But at least he’s being open and honest about it.”

  “Do people still say fling?”

  “Do you have a better word?”

  “Be honest, the Irish hottie wants a sexcapade with you and you’re worried about falling for him.”

  “Maybe.” Or, maybe I already have.

  “Just be careful. From what Collen told me about him, he’s a decent guy, but he has no intention of settling down.”

  “Neither do I.”

  She huffs. “Even with your heart broken, you still believe in fairytales and romance.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You do,” she insists. “And I’m glad. Because you deserve someone who will sweep you off your feet and give you the happy-ever-after that you’ve always dreamed about.”

  I can hear her unspoken words. Just don’t get your hopes up that this guy is your Prince Charming.
/>   And I know she’s right.

  “Have fun,” she says. “Just keep your emotions out of it.”

  “I’m starting to think you and him would be a much better match.”

  She chuckles. “I actually have my own date tonight. He’s no Shane Hayes, but he’s cute in his own way. And Kade hates him, so that’s a bonus.”

  Quinn seems to enjoy driving her older brothers insane with the men she chooses to date. Not that they’d ever be satisfied with anyone their little sister chose. They were overprotective to a fault, especially with Quinn.

  After I hang up, I glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  “What are you doing?” My reflection shakes its head back at me, but there’s color in my cheeks and a twinkle in my eyes that hadn’t been there a couple days ago.

  Sex with no strings attached - I can do it. Guard my heart, and when the time comes, I’ll walk away. Or, he will. Either way, it won’t hurt, because he’s just a guy and I’m just a girl who have nothing in common except the pleasure we can bring each other.

  It’s simple.

  Except when I hear the harsh rap on the door, my stomach does a three-sixty.

  Shane is leaning with his forearm on the frame when I open it, his perma-grin tugging at one corner of his lips, his dark green gaze roaming down my body. Just like that, I’m caught, a captive to him, drawn like a moth to the flame, knowing I’ll be burned but unable to resist.

  “Ye look good,” he murmurs in the sexy Irish brogue that makes my knees go weak.

  I don’t correct him, even though it’s my natural inclination to. I’m just in jeans and a t-shirt. My hair was unruly, so I’d tied it up in a bun, and what little make-up I put on earlier is nothing compared to what the woman I’d seen him with in those pictures online wore.

  “I Googled you.” I regret the words the moment they come out of my mouth.

  One brow arches, and I see a mix of humor and concern flash in his eyes. “And?”

  I shrug and tease, “Typical playboy photos. Wouldn’t have expected any less.”

  He doesn’t seem to like my answer, because his lips tug down and he grunts. “I can’t help the photos people take.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing.”

  “Just judging.”

  “No. Maybe…” I sigh. “Tell me you didn’t go home and Google me.”

  “I didn’t.”