by Amy Olle
She waved off his confession. “You’re a guy. It’s okay for you to be emotionally unavailable. But I’m a girl. We’re supposed to be in touch with our feelings. We’re supposed to fall in love and dream about proposals and big weddings, and babies.”
“I hate those girls.”
A giggle escaped her, light and lyrical, and throaty. “Yeah, me, too.”
“Maybe you’re cautious.”
He could see her mind latch on to the thought. She sat up a little straighter. “Nothing wrong with being cautious.”
He bit back a smile. “It’s smart. Mature.”
“Did I mention how good I am at rationalizing my issues?” She hit him with a full-blown smile.
He hid his reaction to it behind his pint.
“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been enjoying all the sex.”
The swig of Guinness nearly shot out his nose. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth—and then he caught the playful gleam in her eyes.
She was fucking with him.
His laugh erupted on a whoosh of relieved breath. “So, you’re using men for sex while you wait for The One?”
She blinked at him innocently. “Is that wrong?”
“Not at all. Being used as a sex object might be the number one fantasy of every guy over the age of sixteen. Myself included.”
A startled laugh burst from her.
“So, in all these years, Mr. Right never crossed your path?”
She toyed with the label on the neck of her beer bottle and flashed him that stay-back smile. “No sad stories, remember?”
Damn. “Fair enough. I’m content with the subject of sex.” For now.
“We could do more than talk about it.”
But for the twinge of vulnerability in her voice, it might’ve been the hottest thing a woman had ever said to him.
“As I recall, you still owe me a talk about what happened that day on your dining table.”
Her nose scrunched up. “I thought you’d forgotten about that.”
He gave his head a small shake. “Not a chance in hell I’ve forgotten about that.”
“So here’s the thing.” Large doe eyes gripped him by the balls and squeezed.
“There’s a thing?”
“It’s been a long time since I... since I wanted... since the sex was good, and I know with you it’s good. Really good. So I want to do it again, as often as possible while you’re here.”
Okay, that was the hottest thing a woman had ever said to him.
“So, it’d only be sex between us, then?” His words emerged as little more than a croak.
She hesitated. “And friendship.”
He shifted, trying to adjust so his stiff cock wasn’t quite so painful. “We’re both carrying a little baggage. What do we do about that?”
“Baggage is fine. We’re friends. We can share if we want, but we don’t have to,” she rushed to add. “And none of the... emotional stuff.”
She was the perfect woman. His dream girl. Every man’s dream girl, most likely.
“Emotional stuff?”
“No tears.”
His lips curled in disgust. “Agreed.”
“And no fighting.”
“Define fighting. Can I correct you when you’re wrong? Who’s going to keep you in line?”
“Disagreeing is okay. Yelling and throwing things is not. Oh, and no name-calling.”
“Agreed,” he said and wondered about her past relationships. “Anything else?”
She fidgeted a moment but then drew herself up. “Fidelity. If you want a break or some space or you’re ready to move on, just say so, but no sleeping with other people. At least not while we’re…”
“Fucking?”
Pink stained her cheeks, but she inclined her head.
“I can live with that.” He lifted his glass.
She snatched up her beer, clinked her bottle to his pint, and pulled a long swallow.
He heard the catch of her breath. The heat from her blush of arousal shot straight to his groin. His erection pressed against his jeans. With a desperation bordering on needy, he wanted to give her what she wanted. He couldn’t get inside her soon enough.
“When did you become so naughty?” he teased, mostly to distract himself from his raging hard-on. “What happened to the sweet, innocent girl I once knew?”
The color drained from her face. “I was never that girl.”
He disagreed, knowing for a fact she tasted as sweet as a peach and came with the abandon of an innocent virgin. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but something in her pained expression stayed him.
Then he spotted the vulnerability hanging around her eyes, and the way her hands trembled even as she spoke to him about the idea of a full-blown, no-strings-attached sexual affair.
Damn, but she grew more fascinating with every encounter.
Then movement over Mina’s shoulder caught his notice.
“Brace yourself,” he said. “My brothers are here.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mina scooted closer to the wall, and Noah settled in at her side while Luke and Jack filed into the booth across from them.
Luke plopped his elbows on the table. “They released the schedule this morning. We play Friday night at ten,” he said. “I can’t remember which team we play first.”
Jack clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Doesn’t matter. They’re toast.”
“Hockey,” Noah leaned close to her to say. “We joined an amateur league.”
“Ah,” Mina said. “How long has it been since you all played together?”
A trio of thoughtful frowns popped up around the table.
“We’ve never played together, have we?” Jack asked.
Luke made a gesture to include Jack and Noah. “Didn’t you two play on the same traveling team?”
“We were on opposing teams.” Jack’s eyes danced when he asked Noah, “You remember the brawl in Pentwater?”
Luke snorted. “What’s this?”
Jack pointed an accusatory finger at Noah. “He cross-checked me.”
“It was a clean hit,” Noah insisted.
“Bullshit,” Jack said. “The refs swallowed their whistles.”
“And Jack, being the pansy that he is, took exception,” Noah said easily.
“Damn right I took exception,” Jack said. “Naturally, we discussed it with our fists.”
“There was a long history of bad blood between the teams,” Noah said. “When we started going at it, the benches cleared. Then that bastard, Murphy, sucker-punched you.”
Mina’s brow crinkled. “Sucker-punched?”
“Kid hit him when Jack wasn’t looking,” Luke explained.
Noah released a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t stand for that.”
“He was your teammate,” Jack pointed out.
“Yeah, well, you fight like a pussy, you get your ass kicked liked one.” Noah’s dark eyes gleamed in the soft lighting. “Soon, it was Jack and me fighting against everyone else. From both teams.”
“Did a pretty good job on them, too.” Shea appeared at the head of the table, their waitress at his side with an overburdened tray.
“Sorry I couldn’t get away sooner.” He helped unload two platters of food, two pitchers of beer, and numerous pint glasses onto the table. “We’ve been getting killed all night.”
“Have you hired anyone yet?” Luke asked.
A frown pulled at Shea’s wide mouth as he swung a chair around from the nearby table and straddled it. “Another one quit.”
Mina straightened. “You have a job opening?”
Striking topaz eyes landed on her. “Yeah, I need a server. You know anyone who might be interested?”
Mina chewed her bottom lip. “I might be interested, but I don’t have any experience working in a restaurant.”
“I’ll take anyone who’ll show up for their shift. On time, if it isn’t too much to ask. Can you do that?”
Mina
smiled. “I can do that.”
Shea looked up at the waitress. “When are you working next?”
“Tuesday.” She tucked the tray under her arm.
“You mind if Mina tags along?”
“Not at all,” she said. “Hi, I’m Heather. Meet me here around seven?”
And like that, she had a job. A real job. She had started to doubt she’d ever find another one of those. “See you Tuesday,” Mina said.
“Now, was that so hard?” Luke said to Shea.
Jack lifted his pint. “A toast—”
Jack froze with his pint suspended in midair, and he and Luke both zeroed in on something behind Noah.
The others twisted in their seats to find a woman hovering at the edge of the group.
“Emily! When did you get here? I didn’t hear my phone.” Mina shoved Noah out of the booth and motioned for Emily to sit.
Emily tucked a strand of her strawberry-blonde hair behind one ear and slid in next to Mina. “I can’t get any r-r-reception on m-m-my cell out here.”
Their communications over the years had been sporadic, and typically via text and email, so Mina had forgotten Emily stuttered.
“I’m so glad you found us,” Mina said as Noah squeezed in at the end of the bench. “Everyone, this is my cousin, Emily.”
Mina went around the table and introduced each brother by name. She started with Luke, who studied Emily over the rim of his pint with sea-green eyes. By the time Mina finished introductions, Emily had stolen a number of glimpses of Luke.
“She needs a drink,” Jack said. “Someone get the woman a drink.”
Luke reached for a pitcher and filled an empty glass, then slid it across the table to a flushed Emily.
Jack raised his pint. “To family and—get yer glass up, Shea—fresh starts.”
Glasses clinked, and they grew quiet as they drank.
Noah shifted forward in his seat. “Speaking of family, where’s Leo?”
Tension whipped around the table, moving from one brother to the next like a cascade of dominos.
Until it reached Noah. “What the hell is going on?” he barked.
Jack grew fascinated by the ring of condensation his glass created on the table.
“He’s not coming,” Luke said.
Shea cursed. “You talk to him?”
“He texted about an hour ago. Didn’t give any details.”
Shea turned somber eyes on Noah. “He’s been MIA for the better part of a year now. Ever since he was discharged.”
“Discharged?” Noah said.
Shea’s shoulders sagged. “Leo joined the military right out of high school. Special Forces.”
Noah’s dead-eyed stare pierced Shea. “You’re shitting me, right? First a cop and now this? What the fuck happened to you guys?”
For some reason, this only seemed to amuse Noah’s brothers.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jack said. “He probably found a new girl and hasn’t come up for air yet.”
“I hope you’re right,” Shea said as Heather reappeared over his shoulder.
“Hey, guys, you playing tonight?” She addressed her question in the direction of Noah’s brothers. “We’re getting a lot of requests.”
Jack smacked the flat of his hands against the wood table. His gaze swung to Noah. “You still play?”
“Of course I play. I’m Irish, for fuck’s sake.”
A flash of movement erupted around the table. Shea stood and swung his chair back around to an adjacent table.
“Who’s got the drum?” Luke bounded from the booth behind Jack.
Noah spoke low, next to her ear. “Do you mind?”
Gooseflesh rippled over her arms. “How could I deprive the public of the Nolan Brothers’ reunion concert?”
The foursome disbanded to head off in different directions.
Emily sagged in her seat and fanned herself with her napkin. “Wow.”
Mina laughed. “Sorry. I hope you don’t mind.”
Emily shook her head. “Not when they’re so pretty.” Her smile coaxed a dimple to her cheek.
“It’s so good to see you. How long are you in town?”
The line of Emily’s mouth pulled taut, and a deep, aching sorrow slashed across her face. “Only a few days.” She snatched up her glass and drank several long gulps.
“What brings you all this way?” Mina nudged.
Emily’s lips trembled, and she pushed a hard puff of air through her lips. “I’m here to... to... to bury m-my m-m-mom.”
A shocked gasp burst from Mina. “What? Oh, Emily. What happened?”
Emily’s hands twisted in her lap. “She was sick for a long time. Several years.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. When did she die?”
“Three weeks ago yesterday.”
A heavy silence hung over them.
“She wanted to be buried here?”
“W-we haven’t visited since I was a kid, b-b-but that was her w-wish so...” Emily scrubbed her forehead, as though trying to snuff out an ache. “I found a priest who agreed to say a prayer for her at the cemetery later this week.”
Mina’s heart wrenched for her cousin. “Would you mind if I come?”
Emily’s throat worked and tears filled her brown eyes. She nodded. “I’d like that.”
Applause broke out, and they turned as the brothers took the small stage at the front of the pub.
“Good evenin’,” Shea’s deep voice and thick accent boomed through the pub, and a cheer went up.
A guitar slung over his back, Shea took a long drink from the pint on the barstool at his side. “Welcome to Lucky’s. If ye’d all be obliging, my brothers and I’d like to play you a couple o’ tunes.”
A watery laugh escaped Emily at Shea’s obvious attempt to ham it up, and the crowd, in an obliging mood after all, sent up another cheer.
Noah stepped on stage, a guitar in one hand and a violin in the other, and took a spot behind a microphone next to Luke. Luke pulled a banjo from its case while Jack settled in with an Irish drum.
For the next twenty minutes, the brothers played a compilation of raucous Irish tunes. With each song, the crowd grew more animated, singing along, shouting requests, and dancing in small groups between tables. They stomped and clapped with the beat Jack drove, and when Shea’s gravelly voice broke over the words, words of love and loss, loneliness and longing, Mina spotted a couple of tears among the mesmerized audience.
Their first set finished to chants for an encore. Noah and his brothers sipped on their pints and chatted amongst themselves, seemingly unaware of the crowd, until the calls grew louder and longer. Shrill catcalls and whistles joined the robust foot stomps and reached a deafening, fevered pitch before the brothers moved to the microphones.
Noah strummed the first chords of a somber ballad, and the crowd quieted. He played a few more notes of the opening refrain, and a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd as they recognized the tune. For their encore, they’d chosen a Top 40 pop ballad being sung by a heartbroken teenage girl on every radio station every hour of every day. They’d stripped the tune of all the synthesized electronic sounds, distilling the song down to an acoustic lament.
This time, Luke sang the lead vocal. He leaned up to the mike, and his clear, smooth voice poured over the audience. A teardrop quiver hung on every note.
A soul-baring, gut-wrenching, show-stealing performance, which somehow managed to be hilarious and moving at once.
Luke reached the crescendo and Emily lurched to her feet.
Mina’s surprise turned to concern when she looked into her cousin’s face. “Emily? Are you okay?”
“I’m tired and—” The song ended and applause drowned out her next words.
Mina found herself wrapped in Emily’s warm, flowery embrace, and then she was gone, disappearing into the mob of people faster than Mina could say “boy band.”
Mina blinked after her a moment, confused.
She turned
back as Drew slid into the booth across from her.
Chapter Sixteen
Mina repressed a groan.
The pale blue Fendi dress shirt Drew wore turned his light eyes brilliant. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
There was a time she’d worried about his opinion of her. Now, she couldn’t give a shit what he thought.
“More foolish than a woman whose fiancé was caught cheating on her by a national tabloid a month before their wedding?”
Drew’s expression morphed from annoyed to pitying so fast Mina felt dizzy. “You’re enamored with him.”
He poked at her insecurities, and her face heated. “Who are we talking about?”
“You are aware he’s only using you, right?”
“Oh, Drew, you’re such a charmer.”
“Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you.”
She sighed, and then, because she wanted to hear how ridiculous her own doubts sounded when spoken aloud, said, “Okay, I’ll play. What could he possibly be using me for?”
He gaped at her a moment. “You’re a Winslow.”
“God save me.” She plucked her drink off the table and took a long swallow.
“Some people think the Winslows still have power and influence.” His mouth twisted with bitterness. “Attaching himself to one would be a real coup.”
“Speaking from experience?”
He didn’t even bother to feign insult. “You didn’t want to marry me, either.”
He was right, of course. If only she’d realized that at the time. She’d let herself forget that, to Drew, she was a business arrangement. A political merger of the Winslows and the Alexanders, two decades in the making. Practical and economical. Even the sex had been... mercantile.
Though that was probably her fault as much as Drew’s.
“Do you honestly believe the Winslow name is anything to him?” she said. “He isn’t a politician. He’s a scholar. A world-renowned scholar. The Winslows and this town are nothing to him. Myself included.” A pang sliced her heart to recognize her statement was likely true.
Drew’s expression turned derisive, as if she were a silly schoolgirl dreamily doodling Noah Nolan’s name on her Trapper Keeper.
“Are you okay?” he said. “You’re not acting like yourself.”