Page 43 of Tempting Irish

Chapter 12

Bree

“Bree, wait.”Emer stops me outside therestaurant.

Humiliation warms my cheeks and I don’t want to stop, but I do. “Please don’t say anything. I just want togo.”

“Let’s get Shane to drive ye back to the hotel. It’s not safe walkingalone.”

I exhale heavily. “All right. But I’m not going back inthere.”

Can’t.

Won’t.

I’m not just hurt by Owen’s words, I’m mortified that he said them toEmer.

Trouble.That’s what he thinks of me. He’s not entirely wrong.Butstill.

Emer gives a tight smile, then disappears back inside therestaurant.

A cool wind skates across my skin, causing goosebumps to form. I rub my hands over my arms, but the chill is bonedeep.

Why are men suchassholes?

All ofthem.

As if providence is emphasizing my point, a group of three clearly intoxicated men shout a series of cat calls from across the street as they start towardsme.

Great.

One of the men, a good-looking blond guy in his early twenties, stumbles as he steps off the curb of the sidewalk. His buddy, who’s having almost as hard a time staying upright, lets the guy wrap an arm over hisshoulder.

“Hey, beautiful,” the blond says when they’re a few feet from me, his accent filled with a deep southern drawl. “You looking for somefun?”

“No.” I glance over my shoulder towards the restaurant, but there’s no sign ofShane.

“Come on, darling,” the taller of the three, who’s currently holding the blond up, says. “We haven’t had a taste of Irish pussyyet.”

The other two men hoot withlaughter.

There are other people walking the streets, and even though the guys are being assholes, they’re not dangerous. If I thought they were, I’d go back in therestaurant.

“With that mouth, I doubt you getanypussy,” I say, crossing my arms and jutting my chin athim.

The men laugh again, but the blond frowns and steps closer. “I was giving you a compliment. You don’t have to be a bitch aboutit.”

“Come on, Derrick. She’s not worthit.”

The man doesn’t budge, just looms over me, his eyes glossy with alcohol, and his breath reeking of stalebeer.

“Yeah,Derrick,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Keepwalking.”

Normally, I would keep my mouth shut. I know bullies. Dealt with them all my life. Taunting never helps, but I’m pissed. At Owen, for not being who I thought he was. At myself, for believing even for a second that he was different. And at this drunk asshole in front of me, who thinks he can talk to me any way he wants because I’m awoman.

“Skank,” he sneers, starting to turn back to hisfriends.

“Asshole,” Imutter.

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