The Irish Lottery: A Friends-to-Lovers Contemporary Romance (Irish Kiss)

by Sienna Blake

  I could barely stand to look at him. “Okay,” dropped from my lips.

  His face broke into a look of relief.

  I wondered if I was going to regret this decision. Did I just make it impossible to say goodbye to him?

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked, not moving.

  He offered me his hand. “Do you trust me?”

  Damn him. I glanced down at his muscular arm stretching across the canyon between us, to his strong hand. Of course I trusted him.

  I reached for him, my hand sliding into his and our fingers lacing. It felt like a homecoming. Like two puzzle pieces clicking together. Stupid, Aubrey. How will you ever let go of him now?

  “And you can’t see anything?” Noah asked, adjusting the blindfold on my eyes.

  “I can’t see anything,” I assured him.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tiny bit nervous about this whole elaborate set-up. In the car, Noah had blindfolded me before pulling the seatbelt across and clicking it into place. He’d driven us in silence to here, wherever here was.

  Noah got out of the car and opened the passenger door for me, helping me out.

  A moment later Noah’s hand slipped around my shoulder. He held me close to him as we walked across a hard surface.

  “Where are we?”

  “A few more minutes. I promise.” His voice vibrated with energy.

  I heard a door swing open and Noah led me through it.

  The scent of cut grass hit me along with a fresh breeze. Light came through the blindfold. The flat surface turned to grass under my feet. I could hear a murmur around us, but I couldn’t figure out where we were or what was happening.

  “Okay, stop right here,” Noah said.

  Goosebumps raced up and down my arms as he pulled the blindfold off my head. I blinked as my eyes adjusted.

  We were standing on the field of Aviva Stadium. Noah had taken me to the US versus Ireland rugby match here last year. One that Eoin had been playing in. We’d sat up in the VIP section thanks to Eoin, and Noah had patiently explained the rules to me.

  Jesus Christ. There were thousands of people here. Almost every seat was filled. Everyone held up handmade signs that read: #YesToHer.

  “What’s going on, Noah?”

  Noah was smiling. At least that gave me comfort. He pointed to the big screen in answer.

  The crowd cheered as Danny O’Donaghue came up on screen. From the background it looked like he was sitting in a sparsely furnished apartment, so this must be a recording.

  His brows furrowed over his blue eyes as he spoke directly into the camera. “Men have been allowed their sexual desires. After all, boys will be boys, right?” Danny’s lip curled. “Today, women are told they are equal, but let’s be honest…that is still a fucking lie. Because the four men that Aubrey had a consensual, adult connection with are heroes. While she is just a slut.”

  The crowd shouted and booed this statement.

  “Change starts by being conscious of the problem. By choosing not to accept it. To refuse to join in with the ones bleating like a bunch of mindless sheep. And by standing up for the thing you believe in. By spreading a new message. Change starts with Aubrey.” He paused as if for effect and the crowd went nearly silent. “My name is Danny O’Donaghue. And I’m saying yes to her pleasure, too.”

  The stadium roared as they lifted and shook their signs.

  I just stared around me, unable to believe what I was seeing, hearing.

  Gone were the disgusted looks, the jokes at my expense. In its place were smiles, encouragement.

  I never knew I had such support. It seemed that the critics with their judgments were screaming louder than the quiet voices of agreement. Except for today.

  Today, these quiet voices weren’t being quiet anymore.

  I turned to the man I knew had orchestrated this. To thank him. “Noah…”

  But he wasn’t done yet. He turned me gently and pointed back up to the screen. Danny’s face faded off screen.

  I watched, my mouth hanging open, as the screen began to cut to famous faces I recognized—musicians, actors, actresses—all voicing their support. All holding signs with #YesToHer.

  Holy shit.

  “You did this,” I choked out to Noah.

  “We did.”

  We?

  He turned me to face the players’ section behind us. There in the box closest to the field were Candace, Eoin, Michael and Darren. And a face I didn’t expect to see: Mrs. O’Sullivan.

  She shook her #YesToHer sign as our gazes locked.

  I began to choke on my relief, on the love I felt vibrating through this stadium. Like a lotus, something beautiful had grown out of mud. Gathering speed and volume, the sky filled with the chant of “yes to her, yes to her.”

  Ireland believed in me. Supported me.

  They believed in my right to enjoy the consensual, intimate night of passion that I’d had. They believed that no one had the right to shame me or judge me for it. They believed that a woman should desire without fear.

  I began to cry. Ugly cry. Tears streaming down my face, between my fingers. My chest constricting so hard that it hurt.

  Noah pulled me into his arms and held me tight, murmuring words over the deafening sound of the crowd. “You don’t have to leave. You don’t have to hide,” he said, just for me. “I know there will still be people here that don’t agree, but look at how many do. They’ve just found a voice. And they are louder than the hate. Because of you.”

  We were surrounded by strangers and family alike, but I’d never felt so close to him, like we were the only two people on the planet.

  I couldn’t believe he’d done this. All of this. It hardly seemed possible. A week ago, I was sure I couldn’t love him more. But he’d proven me wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back, his blue eyes darting back and forth between mine. “I didn’t do it right the first time.”

  Didn’t do what right?

  Noah took both my hands in his.

  As he lowered to one knee, my heart began to race in my chest, and every drop of saliva in my mouth dried up.

  He pulled out a little black box from his pocket.

  Somewhere in my brain, a scream like a steam engine whistle began to sound. Within the box was a beautiful ring with a diamond nestled between two trinity knots.

  The crowd rose up again, cheering and clapping, a thunderous roar. But all I saw, all I heard, was him. Noah. His blue eyes locked on mine.

  “I don’t care if we live here or the US or in a cabin in northern Iceland. You are my home. Marry me?” He looked so equally hopeful and terrified.

  This was the man, my man, the man I loved more than anything. He’d done all of this for me.

  I nodded, a yes bubbling out of my mouth.

  The dimpled smile that he rewarded me with made my heart feel full to bursting even as my tears started up again. God, he was gorgeous. To my eyes. And to my heart.

  He slipped the ring on my finger before standing up and pulling me into his arms. Our mouths met. Everything else faded away, the screams of the crowd, the cheering, the applause, it all dulled. I could see, hear and feel Noah. His lips on mine, the sweet mint taste of his kiss, the promises he was silently giving me.

  We could get through anything, so long as we stood side by side. I was sure of it.

  I was no longer afraid.

  Let the world come at me, judge me, try to bring me down.

  I’d face it all head-on because I had the ones I loved in my corner. And a cause worth fighting for.

  Later, in the quiet of Noah’s apartment, away from the crowds, from the crackle and roar of the wildfire we had somehow started, Noah and I stood facing each other.

  No masks.

  No secrets.

  No goodbyes.

  Our future stretched like a long road to the horizon before us. But the only thing that I focused on, was right now.

  Him and me.

  My br
eath shuddered out past my teeth as he peeled clothing off me, replacing the material with his lips. My fingers felt thick and unwieldly as I yanked at his clothes. He chuckled as he helped me, kicking off his shoes, undoing his troublesome belt, divesting himself of his jeans. Our lips—chests, skin, hands—clashing in a glorious mess. We tumbled to the bed. My legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in close, my hips shifting, his erection sliding around between us as I tried to find where we fit best.

  I was ready to beg if he pulled back, if he wanted to torture me with foreplay. God knows, four years was long enough to wait.

  These last few days of separation had created a distance that only one thing could fill.

  I didn’t have to beg.

  He tilted his hips and slid into me as naturally and easily as falling in love with him had been.

  Raw pleasure and naked love crackled through my body like two electrical currents waltzing around each other. My eyes stung, emotion like fast-blooming leaves off the branches of my lungs, choking me with its violent delight.

  “Noah,” I gasped, trying to speak, trying to convey the wordless feelings coursing through my body. Trying to tell him that I found heaven. Trying to tell him that I was his and always would be.

  His eyes, filled with more depth than the ocean, glossy as the midday surface of the sea, held my gaze. They told me, I know. I feel it, too.

  Every thrust was a promise, every kiss smoothing away the roughness of our secrets, both his and mine.

  He rolled us over until I was on top of him. I sat up, running my greedy palms over the ridges of his beautiful body, reveling in the new places he touched me from the inside.

  “Fuck,” shuddered from his mouth as he gazed up at me as if he was seeing the stars for the first time. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  And I believed him.

  His fingers dug into my hips as I rocked over him. Harder. Faster. Spurred on by the look in his eyes and the growing feeling in my core.

  I came hard around him, the force of it ripping apart any last shred of reservation. Any last piece of me that wasn’t his.

  And when I came to, I was lying on his chest, his arms around me like a shield, holding me closer than I’d ever been held.

  “The first of many,” he promised into my hair before he rolled me to my back.

  Epilogue

  Aubrey

  The #YesToHer hashtag spread like wildfire, blazing everything it touched. Everybody was talking about it—men, woman, teenagers and the elderly—everyone had something to say. Surprisingly, most of it was supportive, not hateful, as if the bright lights of many voices had shunned the mean ones into silence.

  A search of the hashtag on social media revealed result after result of women with similar stories, their truths, their experiences, shameful hearts getting to blood-let in the open.

  There was no border around women who’d been targeted. It was everyone, no “type” or specifics. Religion didn’t play into it. Class, money, where they lived; none of that mattered. Women of all ages, sizes, colors, backgrounds, were speaking out and people finally seemed to be taking heed and listening. This gave me hope.

  We were talking about it now. Acknowledging it. That’s where change started.

  #YesToHer no longer belonged to me. Although it started with me. It was ours. Together, we lifted each other.

  Around me, the disapproving looks turned to smiles, nods, winks. Mostly. There were still disapproving looks, but now I was empowered to lift my chin in response.

  It was a beautiful shift. One that made my heart feel full. Left me feeling connected and loved.

  Some people asked for my autograph and pictures with me. Random women and men alike thanked me and some apologized. I was suddenly an “inspiration”—which I didn’t agree with. I hadn’t done anything. Noah was the one who did it. Noah and his brothers. And Danny, who had spearheaded his famous friends into action. And Jason, who had been the first to broadcast this new message. There were good men in the world. They’d stepped up to help me when I needed it most. I would be forever grateful.

  I’d started to screen print tee shirts with the #YesToHer hashtag and sold them on a website built—and maintained—by Darren. It had grown almost overnight into a business that put me on track to earn more in a year than I had in all my life leading up to that point. It grew more and more every day.

  The business had exploded so quickly, I’d been able to apply for a self-employment visa. I’d done so, just to remove any doubt about why I was marrying Noah. I loved him and I was marrying him for one reason and one reason only…I couldn’t imagine life without him. He was my family, my home, my best friend. I wanted him there by my side every day for the rest of my life.

  I’d moved into his apartment immediately. Why wait? We’d known each other for four years already. “World’s longest foreplay,” he’d joked.

  With a happy sigh, I pulled my laptop onto my lap, still unable to really believe everything was going so well. It seemed like a dream; too good to be true. I found myself often having to pinch myself. I’d found my email inbox flooded with various opportunities to speak out in Ireland and throughout Europe. I was considering it. Nothing was set in stone yet.

  I could feel Noah looking at me and glanced up.

  He was standing in the doorway, looking as handsome as ever, in jeans and a light-blue long-sleeved pullover that brought out his eyes, his honey-wheat hair falling over his forehead.

  My heart skipped in my chest. Was this beautiful man really mine?

  “Are you ready?” Noah asked.

  I blinked. “Is it time to go already?”

  “Just about. We don’t want to be late.” He walked across the room to me, moved the laptop aside before pulling me to my feet and crushed me to his chest.

  His scent of fresh soap and man washed over me. Feeling so very at home and loved, I let out a contented sigh. I wound my arms around his neck and he lowered his lips to mine. I clung to him, deepening the kiss, my body igniting to wildfire.

  He pulled away with a groan, a smile on his lips. “If you keep doing that, we really will be late.”

  A short while later we pulled up before the O’Sullivan childhood home. Noah was quick to hurry around and open my door with a low bow. I giggled at his show of chivalry. From the back of the car, he grabbed the insulated bag containing the lasagna I’d baked earlier, still warm enough to make the car smell like rich beef sauce and melted cheese, and took my hand in his.

  A wolf whistle cut through the still suburban air.

  I grinned at Eoin over my shoulder.

  Beside me, Noah growled, “We’re engaged now, that shit won’t fly.”

  “You’ve got food in your hand, I’m safe,” Eoin said, walking right past us, up into the house carrying his own bag.

  “My hands aren’t full!” I called after him.

  “They should be!” he shouted.

  Then there was a yelp as Ma smacked him upside the head before chewing him out.

  Darren and Michael laughed from the armchairs in the living room where they lounged.

  “When will he learn?” Michael asked.

  Darren snorted. “He won’t.”

  “Part of my charm,” Eoin said as he walked into the living room, having escaped Ma’s wrath. For now.

  Noah shook his head.

  I giggled before heading off in search of Ma while the guys set the table like they’d done a million times before.

  All the fear I’d had about it being awkward with his brothers turned out to be unfounded. No one treated me any differently, there was no mention of it, and honestly, it was like it never even happened. Strange, but I found myself feeling grateful for all of it. Without that whole mess, Noah and I might have never gotten together. Without having our limits tested, we might have never realized how strong we could be or how important we were in each other’s lives.

  I found Ma in the kitchen that smelled like meat and herbs
from the various dishes that were reheating in the oven.

  Mrs. O’Sullivan looked up from the huge salad bowl she was throwing chopped cherry tomatoes into and rewarded me with a brilliant smile. “Hello, love.”

  “Miriam,” I said, giving her a quick hug, “you didn’t have to make anything.” Even though she was doing better than ever, we still all insisted that she didn’t cook for Sunday lunches.

  Mrs. O’Sullivan let out a snort. “You know these boys’ idea of vegetable is mashed potatoes. Someone had to add some greenery to the table.”

  I chuckled. “Need a hand?”

  “If you could sort out a few avocados for me, that’d be grand.”

  I spotted the avocados in the fruit basket and went in search of a chopping board and a knife.

  “Noah tells me your business is doing so well.”

  I flushed. “It is.”

  “He says you’re still pulling shifts at The Jar though.”

  “I love that bar,” I admitted, carefully running a knife around the first avocado. “It never feels like work.”

  I looked up to find Mrs. O’Sullivan beaming at me. She pulled me into her arms. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, clinging tightly to me. “Couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.”

  I hugged her back, feeling so loved, my heart was near bursting. I had joined the O’Sullivans and felt like the luckiest girl alive. I had brothers who cared about me, a mother who accepted me for who I was, and a tight-knit family I could count on for anything.

  I wanted to tell her how much her support meant to me, how much of a difference it made, but I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t even tell her how much I loved her because of the painful lump in my throat. I had a feeling she knew, though. Ma always seemed to know.

  “You know,” she said, pulling back once more with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I was a wild child once.” She winked at me. “How do you think I ended up with so many sons, after all?”

  “Table’s all set.” Noah appeared at the kitchen door. He looked between his ma and me. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “Nothing!” Ma and I said at the same time. Ma winked at me and we both burst out laughing.