Page 111 of Go Luck Yourself
Not that I’ve taken interludes from writing this morning by doing impromptu push-ups in my room.
There’s a lot of denial floating around.
I tug the shirt on. It’s bright cherry red. With a candy cane in the center. And the wordsI’ll Lick It For You.
I start to pull my hair up, but then leave it down so it hangs past my jaw. My black jeans are appropriately tight, too—I want this fucker to suffer.
But that’s all I can do. I’m not as into styling as Coal or Iris, so I stand in the bathroom and survey myself and hope it’s enough to make Loch stew, because I know whateverhewears is going to make my inner thoughts be the equivalent of a keysmash.
My phone buzzes, rocketing my heart nearly out of my chest, but it’s Iris.
If Loch hasn’t responded to what I said by now, he isn’t going to. Just. Accept that.
PEEP, MINI CANDY CANE, AND THE BEST CLAUS
IRIS
WE’RE HERE GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO THE FOYER
I grab my coat and race out the door. I have no reason to be nervous. But if Loch is down in the foyer first… or, god forbid, Siobhán…
It feels like two worlds are colliding and the idea of that fallout isterrifying.
In the foyer, Coal, Hex, and Iris are there with Colm.
I should have asked Coal and Iris to dress me. Hex, too. They’re all decked out as befitting a night of pub hopping in Belfast. Iris is in a sequined purple dress with knee-high boots, heels so sharp I legitimately fear for her ankles; Hex is in one of those corset vests that Coalwill not shut up about;and my brother has chosen to wear gray on gray with a gray scarf, understated but giving appropriately pub-happy vibes.
While I’m injeans and a T-shirt,the fuck was I thinking?
Iris squeals and jumps on me. Colm excuses himself from talking with Coal, who then leaps into the hug, nearly shoving us all to the floor.
My chest releases, stress unable to keep its stranglehold on me with them around.
“Good god, you guys, it’s not like I’ve been off at war.” I’m grinning as I disentangle from them. But I have missed them—I’ve missedthis,this easy friendship.
I nod at Hex, who looks potently relieved not to have been part of the tackle-hug situation.
Iris hooks her arm through mine. “Based on your texts, I wouldn’t be so sure. It’s been a bit of a battlefield here, hm?”
“Battlefield?” I blink innocently. “What? No. All I do is lay around and drink whiskey and regret it immediately. It’s been smooth sailing—”
“Kris! Introduce us!”
Finn and Siobhán are at the threshold of the hall. Siobhán is dressed similar to Iris, in a short pink dress and boots, while Finn is in ripped jeans with a thick black sweater sporting strategic holes to show a shiny silver tank underneath. Her more casual outfit helps balance out the scale of fashion on my side and I relax a little.
Until she eyes me, head to toe. “I see why you called in reinforcements now.”
My eyebrows slide up. “What?”
“You’ve given up your sham of professionalism and need someone else to represent your Holiday.” She waves at my shirt.
Siobhán elbows Finn. “Be nice. Kris, you look”—her veil of cordiality wavers—“very, ah, comfortable.”
“We’re goingpub hopping.It’s hardly—” But I stop.
Finn’s right.
We’ll be photographed; I’m here as a guest of St. Patrick’s Day.
