Page 112 of Go Luck Yourself
And I’m wearing a shirt with a blowjob joke on it.
Finn catches the horror my face must show and bursts out laughing.
My jaw drops. I don’t think I’ve made herlaughyet. At least, not without an underlying air of murder. Even Siobhán gapes at her.
“Christ, you’re easy to rile.” Finn slaps my shoulder. “It’s funny. If people canna handle your shirt, theydefinitelycanna handle today’s aspect of our Holiday. Getting proper shitfaced. Keep your depraved clothes.”
Siobhán rolls her eyes. “Make up your mind whether you’re plotting his grisly end or accepting him. I canna keep up with your mood swings, Finn.”
She ignores Finn’s responding mew of offense and turns to the group behind me.
“Welcome to Ireland!” she says brightly. Iris is closest, so Siobhán grabs her in a hug. “I’m Siobhán. That’s Finn.”
Am I imagining the way Finn’s face is red? It wasn’t red when she was laughing at me. So—
She does not go in for a hug with Iris like Siobhán. She extends her hand instead, board-stiff. “Ah, yeah. Easter? Iris Lentora?”
Oh.
Finn isblushing.
“Yes.” Iris accepts Finn’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Finn shakes her hand.
Again.
And again.
Iris squints at her.
Finn drops Iris’s hand and leaps back like she saw a mouse. “I, er—”
I wave at Coal. “And this is my brother, Coal, and Hex, from Halloween.”
Finn cuts her eyes to me in a look of bare relief at the shift in focus. It damn near makes me jump spastically too, but I smile at her.
Siobhán hugs them both, and even Hex relents at her effusive joy.
As the foyer fills with the jabber of introductions, an out-of-place jolt rushes up my spine, hips to hairline. I turn, seeking it out—
Loch is off to the side of the hall’s entrance, arms folded, a bag hooked around one wrist. He’s in another Aran sweater, this one a deep blue that sets off coppery undertones in his hair and beard.
Goddamn those sweaters. Like he’s a sexy, mysterious lighthouse fisherman.
I catch the pulse of him checking me out too, but his face sets with an intense throat-clear before I can figure out his reaction.
Everyone pivots to him with such a myriad of various intentions that I’m shocked he doesn’t tip over.
Siobhán rushes to him. “This is my brother, Loch—oh, you brought it! Excellent!”
She takes the bag from him and pulls out—paint bottles?
To my confused look, Loch’s eyes glimmer with mischief, finally a little more like himself.
“You did na think you could go to Belfast without being proper done up, did you?” He nods around the room. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you all.”
I point at everyone mechanically. “Coal. Hex. Iris.”
