Page 3 of Naughty Irish Fate
“Your coin toss. Saw it earlier. Dual sided coin so the lady always gets her way?” My breath stutters as he leans closer as if we are sharing a secret.
Tugging the coin from the pocket I keep it in, I slam it on the bar top. Flipping it front to back, I prove pretty-eyes wrong. His fingers come out to touch it, brushing mine when I go to snatch it back. As he laughs and our fingers tangle, I can’t move. Or think. Hell, I can’t breathe.
Heated sparks sizzle through the brush of his fingers with mine.
Like something out of a bad romance or corny chick flick, I swear for just a moment in time, the world fades away. I am positive later I will deny this moment if asked about it. But for just this moment, I indulge.
For just a few moments in the smoky darkness, I gaze into his pretty eyes as they sparkle down at me. I let the sizzle burn through me as he hooks his thick fingers around mine. He tugs gently as if he feels it too and is testing whatever is causing this. It’s not until I feel the cool press of the coin in my palm that I draw my hand away.
“No tricks here, sailor. Just luck. Can I get something for you?” I tuck the coin back where it belongs and pat it gently.
“Not sure about luck, little lady. Fate, sure. Life happens just the way it is meant to.” My chest goes tight as my skin prickles when he mentions fate.You too, huh, sailor?
“Always talk in riddles, do you, sailor?” Feeling his heat pressed close and smelling his clean scent and what I think is his shampoo, I find my hands fidgeting with my hair.
“It makes things interesting. Not a sailor exactly, little lady.” I dart a glance around the bar and pause at the table still full of his boat mates.
“Not exactly a lady; little or otherwise.” I shoot back as my chin comes up and my eyes blaze into his.
After a lifetime of being drowned by doom and gloom I live by a strict set of rules. Rules meant to steer me away from making the mistakes my mother had. And rules I refuse to break unless I get an itch and flip that coin and fate decides otherwise.
Never go home with anyone after I've had more than two drinks. Never start something with a regular I’d have to face at the pub. Never stick around once they start making promises I know they will never keep. And never, ever fall for a man who came to town on a boat.
“No? Not sure I agree; you damn sure look like a lady. Name’s Rooker. Tell me yours.” Pretty eyes has lines. Bad ones. But still, something about him, those eyes, and that gravelly rusty voice draws me into a warm bubble with him.
“Bronwyn.” Twisting his wide body towards me, Rooker trails those green eyes over me before locking them with mine.
“Beautiful baby,” That rusty voice sounds sweet and soft suddenly as he rests his elbows on the bar top, “Different. Beautiful and different just like you, I think.” Not going to lie. I am drawn in by his terrible attempts to flirt. His slight brogue. I swoon a little.
Only a little though.
A mighty laugh erupts from somewhere, the ancient jukebox in the corner scratches on the same record it always does, and a glass shatters off the corner of the bar top. I take it all as a sign.
“Duty calls, Rook. Do I need to top you up?” I snatch up a towel from my apron as I back away from him cautiously.
Rooker smiles at me again. When he smiles, it involves his entire face. His eyes sparkle as they crinkle, his dimple flashes, and his full lips crook up. With a shake of his head he nods towards the distractions.
“I can wait.” I pause after just a few steps and tilt my head at him.
Wait. For what? For me? Why would he wait for me?
I am still wondering this as I round the bar to head for the jukebox. I hit it with my hip before I bend to brush up the broken glass. After cutting off Bryan and his buddies—who caused all the rowdy laughter, broken glass and skipping record—I survey the crowd.
Trudi is in the corner still, laughing with the bearded man I suspect will be scratching her itches later. I guess he’s cute. Dirty, maybe a bit rough, but she smiles down at him like he serves her purpose.
Besides that corner table most the crowd has thinned out. After I cut off Bryan—who apologizes as he squeezes me in a hug—it seems the crowd follows them out. Once I make it back behind the bar, I glance up to find Rooker waiting just like he said he would.
Still not sure what he is waiting for, to be honest.
Suppose I can guess what a guy might be waiting for in a pub.
Because of my rules, it hardly matters what he might be waiting for. I do not break my rules for anyone. Not even someone as striking as Rooker. Besides, it’s a Tuesday for Christ’s sake. No one is looking to get laid by a pub girl on a Tuesday.Right?
Made my rules a few years after Paps died and I was left taking care of his pub. As a youth Grams and Paps let me run a little wild. Just long enough for me to make a fool out of myself. After I took over the pub, it would have been easy to become reckless again.
I made a promise to my Grams not to be like my mother though. Learned a long time ago not to believe in promises. Except from the two people who had never broken theirs to me. So, I would never break the few I had given them.
At least the most important one. Don’t wait on rotting docks for aone daythat was never going to come.
