Page 81 of Twist of Fate
“We traveled to a lot of places. Remember the vlog I told you about.”The one you said you watched.
“Yeah, of course,” he says absently. “Well, you haven’t seen the city with me, and that’s all that matters, right?”
“I’ll see you in a week,” I manage to say before Shea peeks her head in, and I tell Theo I have to go.
“What’s up?” I glance at my watch and frown. While I wasn’t particularly looking forward to another meeting with our CEO, I still wondered, “Where is everyone? It’s ten past.”
“Didn’t you check your email?” She plops down in the chair next to me and casually places her boot-clad feet on the edge of the desk, one over the other.
Rebel.
“Um, no,” I answer, my face turning red with embarrassment at being caught out of the loop. “I was on the phone with Theo.”
“Well, our meeting was canceled,” she explains. “Finn had to head out early.”
“Oh.” I frown. Finn never leaves early.
“Anyway.” Her boots hit the floor with a heavy thud as she rises to her feet. “I’m going out. Wanna come?”
I look up at her. “What? It’s not even five yet.”
She laughs softly and tucks a short strand of jet-black hair behind her pierced lobes. “You’re so adorably American. Come on, let’s go.” She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door. “And when we get to the pub, you can tell me what you and the footballer were talking about that made your cheeks so red.”
If she only knew…
* * *
I’ve been living in Ireland for nearly three months, and I’ve been to more pubs than I can count. College Ash would be seriously proud if I weren’t still ordering Diet Coke like it’s my drug of choice.
Since that drunken night at Finn’s, I haven’t touched a single drop of alcohol. Not only does my liver need the reprieve, but I clearly can’t be trusted to make good choices when I am inebriated.
Especially when men are involved.
“I’m thinking about proposing to Torey,” Shea says, making me nearly choke on my soda. We’ve just settled into our booth, and I figured she would start with something like the weather or work gossip. Not a freakin’ proposal.
“Really?” I manage to say after regaining the use of my vocal cords.
She nods, a besotted smile curving her lips. “And I’m not even legless this time, so you know I really mean it.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you meant it then, too.”
“Yeah, same here.”
“So, what’s your plan? Are you going to take her out to dinner? Oh! Are you going to ask her parents for their permission?”
“God, no.” She grimaces. “I fancy her parents would rather she marry anyone but me. Well, anyone with a penis, that is.”
“Oh,” I say with a frown. “I’m sorry. That can’t be easy for her. Or for you.”
“It’s not, but she has her siblings. Lots of them—four sisters, two brothers.
“Jesus.”
“Him too, I suppose.” She laughs, then explains when she notices my confused expression. “Big traditional Catholic family. Lots of rules. Lots of expectations.”
“I assume your family wasn’t like that?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “My folks are both artists. My da has a studio where he sells pottery to tourists, and my ma teaches painting at the University of Galway.”
