Page 25 of An Irish Summer

Most of the staff were already gathered in the bar, pulling their own pints and distributing pool cues. I was beginning to recognize everyone, and people stopped looking at me like I was a stranger.

I followed Flo to the bar, watching gratefully as she mixed us two gin and tonics. Helen had said there would be discounted drinks when she pitched this job, but I hadn’t seen anyone on staff pay for one since I’d been here, so I was beginning to gather “discounted” really meant “free.” She should have led with that.

“It’s nice to see you with clothes on,” Collin said from over my shoulder, just loud enough for Flo to hear. She swallowed a mouthful of gin down the wrong pipe, and her coughing fit broke the tension.

I shot him a glare, but he didn’t seem to care at all. “We ran into each other on the way to the shower earlier,” I said to Flo as soon as she calmed down. “Traumatizing for all parties, really.”

“I’ll let you two work on healing, then,” she said, slipping out from behind the bar. I wanted to grab her arm and beg her to stay, but I knew she wouldn’t even if I asked.

I turned to face Collin at the exact moment he leaned over me for something behind the bar, bringing us nose to nose. He smelled like shampoo and fire, and it reminded me of a candle my dad used to burn around the holidays.

I was standing as still as possible, trying to appear composed, when he produced a pint glass filled with darts from behind my back.

“Fancy a game?” he asked, still only inches from my face.

“Depends,” I said. “Do you fancy losing?”

“Aye,” he said. “Think you’re jammy, do ya?”

“You think I need luck to beat you?” I asked, thankful I overheard that bit of slang from a guest last week.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, handing me half the darts. I hadn’t played much since college, but I used to be a decent shot. If only I could steady my nerves.

I stepped up to the line, squinting one eye and aiming for the board.

“I took off tomorrow,” Collin said just before I released the dart. I dropped my arm to my side and turned to face him. “I know you’re off tomorrow, and it’s almost been a week sinceGlendalough already,” he explained. “I think we’re overdue for our next adventure.” I wondered how he had time and energy to take me all over the country on his days off when that was quite literally exactly what he did on the days he was working, but I didn’t ask. If this was just an extension of his job, I didn’t want to know.

I narrowed my eyes, but I couldn’t suppress my smile enough to look intimidating “Are you trying to throw off my game?”

“Is it working?”

I squeezed the dart in my hand, wishing I could turn the point on him instead. “No,” I said, turning and throwing the dart straight into the board. It landed less than a centimeter from where I was aiming, and I threw a glance over my shoulder before I scored it in chalk on the wall. I still had it.

He clucked his tongue, taking a slow sip of his beer and watching me as I returned to the line. “Looks like it might be myself who needs the luck, after all,” he said.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Let’s put a wager on it, then, shall we?” He twirled the dart in his fingers like a drumstick, leaning against a high-top table. I’d only shot once but I was feeling confident, so I accepted.

“What’s on tomorrow’s agenda?” I asked, looking for inspiration for the bet.

“I,” he said, taking another swig, “am taking you to a hurling match.” I furrowed my eyebrows, wordlessly asking,What the hell is a hurling match?“It’s a traditional Irish sport,” he explained. “Kind of like lacrosse, maybe, if I tried to compare it to something you have in America. You’ll like it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He threw the dart, which landed nearly right on top of mine. “Do you trust me?”

“For now,” I said. He hadn’t given me any reason not to, and I couldn’t deny how good it felt to let someone else make all the plans for once.

“Good.” He smiled. “Everyone likes hurling. Even a pox like yerself.”

“I’m not a pox,” I said, despite having no idea what it meant. Although from his tone, I could tell it wasn’t good.

“Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

“Let’s go double or nothing, then,” I said, my irritation sparking my competitive edge. “You have to win darts and pick the winner of the hurling match to win the bet.”

“A proper competition,” he said. “I like the way you think. What’s the wager?”

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