Page 8 of Shamrocked
Need roared to life in me. It'd been so long since I'd had a man in my bed, and my ex hadn't been all that great in the sack, either, at least the last few years. I had a feeling that Doran was going to blow my mind, and I couldn't wait. I lay back and tugged him closer, pulling him down with me.
He lifted his head, eyes glittering in the moonlight. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Please. Make love to me, Doran."
With a rough groan, he buried his face against my throat and breathed deeply, dragging my scent into his body. I didn’t know how, but I could feel my scent ease something inside him. Like ice on a sore muscle, heat on a throbbing ache. He rolled his eyes up to look at my face, and slid lower on my body. He nibbled on my tank top, giving it a playful tug with his teeth, and I groaned, arching my hips up. I'd love it if he seized the material in his hands and just ripped my clothes off.
His eyebrows rose, and his hands fisted in my shirt. I held my breath, my eyes flaring, braced for the sound of ripping cotton.
A scream tore through the dream, and I bolted up like someone had goosed me with a taser. "What? What's wrong?"
Vivi pointed at the side of the bed. "It's him. How'd he get back in here?"
I turned to look and froze.
The gargoyle statue we’d locked outside stood on my side of the bed. Very close. Leering.
"Fuck."
4
Vivi marched down the sidewalk that ran along Perez Parkway, my hand clutched hard in hers. She dragged me down to the intersection where I'd lost our friends that night. The dance club was dark and empty on the other side of the road. No surprise, since it was fucking eight o'clock in the morning. All sane people were still in bed this early on a Saturday. But after we'd found a freaking gargoyle statue staring at us—that we'd deliberately locked outside—we hadn't been able to get back to sleep.
Just as I'd done Monday night, we turned up Eighty-Eighth and started walking. It was freaking snowing again and the wind sliced through my parka.
"How much further?" Vivi asked through chattering teeth.
"Not far. I kind of remember that tattoo shop. There were a bunch of motorcycles parked out front that night and loud music blasted out. It was pretty cool. Maybe I should have gone in there instead of the bar."
Vivi snorted. "You're too much of a baby to get a tattoo."
"Hey," I growled. "I resemble that remark."
Finally, I saw the four-leafed clover sign, though in broad daylight, it didn't draw my attention like that night. In fact, the whole building looked pretty sad. The roof sagged and the sidewalk was cracked and buckled. The building itself was a plain brick square with a glass window front, which was, of course, cracked.
"Are you sure this is it? I thought you said it was nice."
I'd been in lots of bars and clubs that looked fucking fantastic at night and sad and lonely during the day, but this old falling down structure took the cake. In fact, I was pretty worried the roof might come crashing down on us. In the dream last night, Doran had told me it'd be a waste of time to come back during the day, but I hadn’t expected it to look so completely different.
The front door was unlocked, so we went inside. The odor of moldy wallpaper and ancient dust burned my nose. Cracked linoleum covered the floor, not the beautiful black and white marble tiles. Everything was coated in grime. The gorgeous, shiny wood of the bar was caked in old paint and a thick layer of dust. The fireplace hadn’t seen a fire in decades.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “This is nothing like I remember.”
“But this is the place?”
“Yes, but not like this. Not abandoned and crumbling and dirty. It was beautiful.”
Fucking sick to my stomach, I followed Vivi back outside. She didn’t voice her doubts, but I knew what she had to be thinking. Something had to be wrong with me. I was either on drugs, or suffering some kind of delusion. Maybe the bartender had roofied me that night. But surely any drug he could have given me would have worn off already.
“May I help you, ladies?”
I looked up and relief flooded me. “It’s you! The bartender. See, Vivi? I’m not crazy.”
He inclined his head politely, but kept his gaze locked to my face. “I am known to occasionally tend bar.”
“Is your name Warwick?”
“You’ve heard of me, then.”
