After tossing and turning for a few hours, I’ve taken Seamus’ advice and come downstairs for a drink. What’s the point of staying in a pub if you can’t take advantage of it, right? I figure if I drink enough, maybe it will help me forget about that lying, cheating douchebag.
I haven’t changed my flight yet, and I keep putting it off. Going home so soon will mean explaining to everyone what happened, and I’m not ready to do that yet. Mom would be waiting with her ‘I told you so’ expression, and the disapproving look in Dad’s eyes would be enough to make me want to crawl under a rock. My parents warned me in the first place, so they’d love being proved right that things had gotten this messed up.
It’s just gone five in the evening, but it’s still quiet, which I guess is no surprise, considering it’s a Wednesday night. I’ve already been hit on twice, and both were old enough to be my father, if not, my grandfather. Although I could barely understand their thick Irish accents, acting out what they wanted to do with me is a universally understood language, and one that earned them my drink in their faces. Luckily for me, Maureen found it all very amusing and didn’t kick me out for disorderly conduct. They soon stopped hitting on me after that.
I’m working on my third drink when I hear the seat next to me scrape across the wooden floor. I glance over out of the corner of my eye and see a young guy sit down. I brace myself for another hit up, but he just smiles at me, then goes back to checking his phone. After ten minutes, he still hasn’t said anything to me, and I realize that I want him to. The fact that he’s ridiculously hot might have something to do with it, but I just want some normal, human interaction to distract me from my thoughts.
I study him as well as I can, without being too obvious. He looks about my age, with intense green eyes and a thick mop of reddish-brown hair that I want to reach out and touch. My heart beats a little faster, because the more glances I sneak, the more attracted I am to him. I know I swore off guys earlier in the day, but I also want to have some fun. Besides, this guy seems okay. Just like Garrett seemed okay? I frown. My bad luck surely couldn’t continue for much longer, could it? After Garrett and Jake, do you really want to take that risk?
“What would you know?” I mutter, annoyed at the stupid little voice who thinks it knows everything.
“Do you always talk to yourself like that?” the stranger says, looking up at me.
Mortified, I look over and see the hot guy gazing at me. I flush, positive I’ve just made myself look like a crazy woman.
“No,” I say, cringing he’d noticed. “Only when I’m annoyed at myself.”
“It’s the first sign you’ve been alone for too long. Trust me, I see it all the time.” He nods to an old guy across from us, who’s in a deep conversation with the wall beside him. “That’s where you’re headed if you carry on like that.” He raises his eyebrows and nods at my obviously bewildered expression.
“Don’t be silly,” is all I can think of to say.
“Trust me, sweetheart. It’s a real thing.” I frown at him, not sure how to respond, and he laughs, his eyes twinkling at me. “So, what’s your name? Haven’t seen you here before.”
“Amelia,” I say, my heart racing. Suddenly, I feel all hot and sweaty. I’m not sure if it’s him that’s causing it, or the alcohol.
“Amelia,” he repeats. He nods, while I try not to swoon at how toe-curling my name sounds rolling off his tongue. The thought of his tongue now has me thinking of other things, which makes me blush even more. “By your accent, you’re clearly not from around here. Where are you from?”
“New York,” I say, shyly. I don’t normally get tongue-tied, but I can’t seem to extend our dialogue beyond one or two-word answers, even though I want to. It’s like, after two and a half beers, I can’t hold a simple conversation. God, I don’t even like beer. I have no idea why I’m drinking it.
“Nice, so what brings you all the way over here to Ireland?” he asks.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I mumble.
“Ah, so it’s a fella then,” he concludes. “Let me guess. He turned out to be an arse?” He shakes his head. “What is it with women, and wanting men who treat them badly? What about the nice guys?”
“What, like you, you mean?” I retort. I hate the way he jumped to the conclusion that I came over here for a guy, regardless of whether he’s right. “And in my defense, I didn’t know he was an asshole.”
“So, what happened?” he asks, his voice more sympathetic. He signals Maureen over and orders me another drink. I try to protest, but he waves me off. “You’ll feel a lot better if you get it all off your chest, and the best way to do that is with alcohol.”
“Excuse me?” I say, indignantly. “I’m not pouring my heart out to a complete stranger. We’ve only just met.”
“Why not?” he shrugs. “I’m a good listener. Ask anyone, and besides, you’ll never have to see me again, so where’s the harm?” He grins cheekily at me and my heart melts. Damn this guy for getting under my skin.
“Fine,” I grumble. Maybe he’s right. Maybe getting everything out will help me move on. “I met this guy online. We hit it off and started talking regularly. First it was Facebook, texts, then Skype calls, which became nearly every day. He told me he was falling in love with me. He said all the right things and told me how much he wanted to be with me, and how he was looking forward to coming over to New York next year, so we could meet.” I frown, not feeling the benefits of pouring my heart out just yet. “So, I took a chance and came over here to surprise him.”
“And I’m guessing you surprised him, alright.” He lets out a whistle and a laugh. “See, there’s your first mistake. Never surprise a guy, or it’ll end badly. Don’t you watch those girly movies my sisters are always trying to force me to sit through? Always call ahead, and always make a noise if you’re entering your boyfriend’s apartment when he’s not expecting you.”
“Excuse me for not living my life based on a stupid movie that bears no resemblance to real life,” I snap. “And how is it my fault the guy forgot to mention he was married?” I growl, my face heating up.
“He had a wife?” He laughs out loud, slapping his hand down on his leg. “God, please tell me she answered the door.”
“I’m glad you’re finding this all so amusing,” I scowl. “Yes, she answered, and they had a major fight right there in front of me.”
“So, then what happened? Did he chase you down the street, trying to explain? Beg you to forgive him?” he asks.
“No,” I say, flushing again with embarrassment. “He left me standing there. He followed her back inside after she said she was leaving him.”
“Ouch. You got royally fucked over twice, then. No wonder you’re in here getting drunk.”
“I’m not getting drunk—” I glance down at my near empty glass and wince. “Okay, so maybe I am getting drunk.”
“All jokes aside, that’s rough. Nobody deserves that kind of treatment,” he says. I glance at him, looking for any sign that he’s joking around again, but he looks genuine. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s his loss. I can’t imagine his wife could possibly be any sexier than you.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that. I certainly don’t feel very sexy at the moment, but it’s nice to know that somebody thinks I am.
“Thanks,” I say, a blush creeping across my cheeks. “You seem like a nice, normal guy—apart from being an ass. You’re not hiding a wife at home, are you?”
“Not that I’m aware of, darlin’,” he grins. “Just a couple of rug rats.” I frown at him. He chuckles and puts his hands up in defense. “Jesus, I’m joking.”
“You’d better be,” I warn.
“Really?” he says, his eyes sparkling. “Why? What business is it of yours what I’ve got waiting at home for me? Unless you’re planning on having your wicked way with me all night.” My face heats up and he laughs. “I like you, Amelia. You’re really easy to wind up.”
I was about to
give him a sharp reply, when his phone rings. He glances down and makes a face.
“I better take this. I’ll be back in a moment, okay? Don’t go anywhere,” he adds.
I shrug, because where would I be going? As he disappears outside, he passes a group of girls sitting by the window who watch him intently. They giggle and point at him, whispering furiously amongst themselves. I frown, because they look young—too young to be drinking in a pub, and definitely too young to have a chance with this guy. I shouldn’t be jealous, but as I stare at their young, made-up faces and sexy outfits, that’s exactly how I feel. I glance down at my old jeans and faded sweater and wince.
Why would he go for me when he could clearly have any one of them? I snap myself out of my self-pity and go back to my drink. I’m jealous of a bunch of teenagers. When the hell did I get so insecure? It must’ve been right after my third boyfriend screwed me over. I send Clare a text, telling her about what’s happened so far on my trip. If anyone is going to understand, it’ll be my sister.
After a few minutes, he walks back in and sits back down with a sigh. I smile at him.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. That was just my boss following up on a project I’m working on,” he explains. “I’m a little stumped with it, so I’m taking a break.”
“Maybe you just need to get your creative juices flowing again,” I tease.
He smirks, his green eyes twinkling. “If you’re offering to help me with that, I won’t say no.”
“Ha, nice try,” I say, but my heart is racing at the thought. “Though your little fangirls over there might be willing to offer a hand…if you need one,” I add, raising an eyebrow.
He laughs that sexy laugh again. “I think I’ll pass. They barely look old enough to drink. Besides, I’m having way too much of a craic with you.”
“Okay, so what do you do?” I ask. “For work,” I add when he looks confused.
“I’m in the entertainment business,” he replies vaguely.
“You’re not a stripper, or anything, right?” I say with a frown. He definitely has the body for it. I shiver, imagining what he looks like under that shirt.
He laughs. “No, nothing like that.”
“Well, if you’ve got work to do, don’t feel obliged to sit here and babysit me,” I say with a smile. I don’t want him to leave, but I’d hate for him to get in trouble because of me.
“Nah, I’m having too much fun winding you up to leave just yet,” he chuckles.
“Good,” I say, smiling shyly at him. “Do you have a name? Because I just keep referring to you as the sexy redhead, to my sister.” My eyes widen involuntarily. I can’t believe I just admitted that to him. He glances at my phone and laughs.
“You’ve told your sister about me already? Interesting. Things are moving faster than I thought. Are we going to get married or something?” he asks, laughing. “Only I’ll need to get a new suit.”
I flush. “No, we are not. Calm down. I also told her about the two old guys with no teeth or hair that hit on me too, so don’t go thinking you’re special.”
“You think I’m hitting on you?” he asks. He smiles so widely that a little dimple appears. “Rory,” he adds. “My name’s Rory Maguire.” He watches me for a moment, like he’s expecting me to react.
What is he waiting for? Me to tell him I love his name?
“I love your name,” I say, just in case he is. Maybe it’s an Irish thing? He laughs and takes a sip of his drink, before turning back to me.
“Thanks, my mother will be pleased you approve.” I frown, not sure if he’s making fun of me or not. He picks up his glass and nods at mine. I take it, confused. “Let’s have a toast, Amelia. Cheers to new friends, and good riddance to the arseholes of this world.”
I smile and tap my glass against his. New friends and new experiences sound good. I can think of one or two I wouldn’t mind sharing with this sexy redhead.
Maybe Ireland isn’t going to be so bad after all?
Chapter Two
Rory
I stare at the pretty little brunette sitting next to me while the radio plays in the background and smile. It’s obvious she’s had a shite time in Ireland already. I feel sorry for her, but Jesus, what possesses a girl to drop everything and travel thousands of miles for a guy she’s never met before? I admire her spontaneity. That takes a lot of guts. I just wish she hadn’t left herself so exposed to getting hurt.
I’ve seen it happen before with my sisters and their friends. They go all-in to a relationship without knowing a person first, and it always seems to end in tears. They cry it out then do it all over again. I don’t get why people do that and expect different results. Me, I prefer to keep my distance. Can’t get hurt that way.
I glance over at the group of girls Amelia referred to. My fangirls, as she called them. She’s not far off the mark, which makes me wonder if she knows who I am? Nah, she would’ve said something if she did. They’re still staring at me, and when I make eye contact with one of them and smile, they all dissolve into a mass of giggles and whispers. I cringe and turn my attention back to Amelia, just as Maureen wanders over and places a vodka in front of me.
“I didn’t order this,” I frown. She knows better than anyone that I won’t touch vodka.
Maureen smiles. “You didn’t, but they did.” She nods in the direction of my fan club.
Sighing, I sit back in my chair. I’m used to this kind of thing. I can barely go anywhere these days without being recognized by someone. I guess that just goes hand-in-hand with being famous.
I know I’m lucky to be doing something I love, but I preferred the days when I was a nobody and just played my music in pubs and clubs without all the fuss. Nobody bothered me, or even cared that I was there. They appreciated my music and that was it.
My career taking off has created so many issues I hadn’t even considered would be a problem. The fame is the worst part of it for me. Playing music that people love is all I want to do, but sometimes I wish people would leave me alone. Attention from the fairer sex is great, but I want to be sure they’re in it for me, not because of who I am or what I can do for them.
I glance at Amelia again; suddenly confident she has no idea who I am. It’s so refreshing to just be me, for a change, but I stiffen, and my heart skips a beat when I hear the DJ mention my name on the radio.
“This one’s for you, Rory Maguire. We’ve had someone call the station and, apparently, you’re sitting in a bar in the middle of Dublin with a few admirers who wish you’d pay them some attention. So, come on, lad, show them some love, won’t you?”
And with that, my latest song comes on and I cringe, embarrassed. I feel bad for ignoring my posse, but all I want to do now is walk out of here and not look back. I glance at Amelia, who hasn’t reacted at all to my song. My mind ticks over. Maybe I can work this in my favor…
“My sister loves this song,” I say, screwing up my face. “Every time I go home, she’s playing it, over and over.”
She makes a face back at me. “Honestly, I’m with you. I can’t think of anything worse than country music. Ugh!” she groans.
“It’s not all bad, is it?” I say with a grin.
“Uh, yes, it is. They’re all so depressing,” she says, shaking her head. “I heard a song the other day and the lyrics went something like, “My wife cheated on me with every guy in my workplace, so I killed them all with a shotgun, and now I’m on Death Row and gonna hang for it. Boo-hoo me.”
I burst out laughing. I’m sure she made that one up.
“Generalize much?” I tease her.
“Nope, and to prove the point, let me ask you a question,” she says.
“Shoot,” I reply. “I mean, don’t shoot, not after what happened to that guy you just mentioned. Ask away.”
“Okay. What happens when you play a country music record backwards?” she asks, and I look at her, frowning.
“You know what a record is, right?” she continues
. “One of those big black discs the old folks used to play, even before CD’s came on the scene? So last century now.”
I laugh so hard at that. This girl’s wits are sharp like a knife and she’s funny with it. “Listen here, darlin’. I’ll have you know my grandpa still has a bunch of those at his house. We’re still most definitely in the old country here.”
“Oh, how…quaint,” she replies, insincerely. “Anyway, do you know the answer to my question?”
“I don’t know. I guess it would make a fierce din if you played any record backwards, wouldn’t it?” I offer.
“I suppose, but if you play a country music record backwards, the cowboy gets his wife back, his truck back, and his dog back,” she says, laughing uncontrollably at her own joke. It’s infectious, and I laugh with her, watching her smile and her pretty eyes sparkling.
“There are some good country songs out there,” I counter.
“Okay, Mr. Smartass,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest as she frowns at me. “Name one country song that isn’t as depressing as shit. I mean, listen to this one now. He’s whining about how his dog was killed by his neighbor.”
Yeah. Now, I’m sure she doesn’t recognize me at all. Either that, or she’s a cruel-hearted bitch from hell who doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings. She glances over at the group of girls who are becoming harder and harder to ignore.
“So, do you know them?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say. “I think they’re friends with one of my cousins. Best friend’s older brother, and all that. Anyway, how about we get out of here? Have you eaten?” I ask, keen to get her away before someone approaches me.
“Actually, thanks for the offer, but I’m pretty exhausted,” she admits. “I should probably sleep off some of this beer.”
The Claddagh Trilogy: Irish Affair - Irish Love - Irish Heart Page 2