Page 62 of On The Rocks

“What?” I demanded, taking in their pointed looks.

Bowie slapped his hands onto his knees and hauled himself to his feet. “Beer break’s over. Those walls won’t paint themselves, and the lighting will take a few hours to position and wire.”

“Thanks for the help, Bo,” I told him earnestly. “Would’ve taken me two weeks to do all this by myself.”

“Told ya, anything you need, just ask,” he replied, looking around the place. “It’s already looking much slicker than before. If these new drinks of yours take off, I reckon you’ll be okay.”

I studied the long, polished oak bar as old memories of me and my da started to play like a movie reel in my head. So much of my life was tied up in this building, not just financially but emotionally too. The spot under the window was where I—and later my brothers—did our homework every night while Ma helped Da get the bar ready for opening. The long table in the corner was where Mam insisted we eat as a family whenever Da was too busy to come home to see to his wife and boys. It was where my dad taught me life lessons, and where I later learned for myself that hard work had its own rewards.

The Shamrock was where I became a man.

If my bar was ever taken from me, it would be like losing a part of myself. It was where I belonged, the only place I’d ever felt comfortable and at home. The only place I could be who I was always meant to be.

Losing it wasn’t an option.

If I did, I’d lose myself.

Then, who would I be?

My muscles screamedin protest that evening as I trudged upstairs to my apartment.

It had been a productive day. The walls were repainted, the new flooring had been laid, and the lighting was in and wired up to the new security and control system Colt had designed and shipped over from Virginia. We had next week to finish off all the personal touches and take delivery of the tables, chairs, and couches. We’d already started promotions not just for the opening party but also for the new drinks, which had drummed up a lot of interest.

We’d decided to make our opening night ticket only. A small proportion were given to our friends like the Demons, Mack, and some local businesses; the others, we’d sell to the public.

This strategy had proven popular and created demand because we’d already sold out with still over a week to go before the bar’s reopening. Some people would be disappointed, but it also worked in our favor as I knew whoever missed out would be back the weekend after to see what all the fuss was about, along with the people who’d had a blast on opening night and wanted to come back to do it all over again.

As much as all the improvements to the Shamrock had inspired me, I was exhausted. Even walking up the stairs made me ache in places I never knew existed. I’d worked from early morning until well into the night for a week nonstop. Then, when I did eventually fall into bed, I found myself tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about a certain little redhead who I couldn’t seem to eradicate from my mind.

Maeve was always there in every thought and conversation, even when she wasn’t in the room. I’d find myself making decisions based on what I thought she’d want, even when it came down to décor and furnishings for the bar. Shades of green went into the place because she suggested we tie it all into the branding of the new drinks, even though, in the past, I’d always thought it too obvious. Now, I was caught up in her enthusiasm and excitement about the relaunch and the new additions to the drinks menu.

Everything about my wife was infectious. Her smile, her laughter, her wicked sense of humor, and her quiet intelligence. I’d never really cared about anybody before except for my family. Now, I cared too much, not only about her but also what she thought about me. In fact, it was fucking unnerving how much I cared, especially as I was usually a no-fucks-given kinda guy. Butthere was just something about Maeve. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, and it was driving me goddamned loopy.

Whenever she left the room, a hollow feeling appeared in my gut, and I’d find myself jonesing for her until the moment I saw her again. In the apartment at night, I’d circle, waiting for an invitation to sit and watch a documentary. I even bought a couple of thrillers so I could crack one open when she was reading and use it as an excuse to do the same, just to feel the warmth of being in her presence.

Poking my keys into the lock of my apartment door, I pushed it open, half expecting to smell the aroma of cooking or hear the strains of music coming from her room, but the place was silent.

Maeve must’ve still been downstairs in the distillery.

I made the decision to grab a quick shower and order pizza for dinner from Giovanni’s. It had been another long, hard day. Neither one of us would feel like cooking—not that I had a clue how to, anyway. My ma still dropped food off for me on the regular.

Dropping my keys on the hall table, I made straight for the bathroom, pulling my tee from the waistband of my jeans as I went. Mind still on the pizza, I pushed the door open, only to be met with a loud, piercing squeal.

My cock kicked like a mule as my stare immediately caught on the most stunning pair of breasts I’d ever seen. They were big, round, firm, high, and tipped with pink, rosy nipples that pointed north.

My mouth began to water.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Maeve stared up at me suspended in time, open-mouthed, wearing only a pair of white cotton panties and a shocked expression.

I couldn’t have stopped staring at her if I wanted to. Stunned, I had to hold back from groaning out loud at the sight of hersmooth, porcelain skin covered in a smattering of cute freckles and toned arms, one of which was in the process of sliding across her firm but slightly rounded belly and dipped waist.

“Oh my God,” Maeve cried, scrambling to grab her robe.

“Oh my God,” I rumbled, wondering how my cock hadn’t punched a hole through the crotch of my jeans at the sight of my almost-naked wife, seeing as, by that point, it resembled a steel fucking pipe. I hadn’t fucked anyone in months, and now walking in and seeing Maeve’s hot little body had planted some dirty little fantasies inside my head that I had no business thinking about right now.

I covered my eyes with my hands to spare her obvious embarrassment, cursing under my breath as the memory of my wife’s beautiful, hot, sexy breasts popped into my brain.

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