Page 3 of Troubles

Shit.

“That’s twice, I’ve rescued you now.” Aidan’s lips quirk up on one side, like he’s trying to suppress a smile as he helps me up off the floor. “Sorry, I was leaning on it—making sure no one walked in on you.” His warm hand envelopes mine, squeezing before I slide it away.

“So, what does that mean, I have the luck of the Irish?” I can’t believe that really just came out of my mouth. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to push my complete awkwardness away with the exhale.

“You’re Irish then?” His brow cocks up, disappearing under his black hair falling forward across his forehead. Dark blue eyes dance across my face as he pulls a curl from the collar of my new, way too big shirt.

“Absolutely.” I’m not the least bit Irish. Not at all. “Everyone’s Irish on St. Patrick's Day.”

“Well, then. Let’s get you a fresh beer and back to your friend.” His touch is hot, low on my back, guiding me away from the quiet and back out to the crowd.

Gracyn hands me a beer and looks up at Aidan. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles down at me before sliding back behind the bar. His teeth gleaming white against the dark scruff along his jaw. It’s perfect, warm and sweet, right down to the slightly crooked tooth, front and center. I miss the warmth of his hand as he falls right into the rhythm again, pouring drinks and smiling broadly at each person.

As we move across the room, my skin prickles again. Turning around, my gaze goes straight to Aidan—only to find him watching me. I smile and turn away feeling my stomach flip and flutter.

Gracyn finds some people we work with, people I know and feel comfortable with, but I feel eyes on me the whole time. That itchy, scratchy feeling that tells me I’m paranoid about Rob and his stupid friends. I know Francie threw those guys out, but I can’t help scanning the room, and each time I do, my eyes fall on him instead.

Aidan.

He and Finn are in constant motion. Working the bar like they’re dancing, playing to the crowd like nothing I’ve seen before. Aidan is older than me, for sure, but it shows more in his bearing, the way he moves—the way he commands attention, than anything else. Looking around the room, I see most of the girls are staring at him, or undressing him in their minds, I’m sure.

His green plaid button-down stretches across his broad shoulders as he reaches for the next pitcher to fill. The buttons strain across his muscled chest a little when he takes a deep breath, pulling on the tap. And just a touch of his flat stomach shows as he reaches up to push his black hair back from his face as the green beer fills the plastic pitcher. He surveys the room, brows pinched together like he’s searching for something.

I watch as he takes in every corner of the room—scanning the faces—until his gaze settles on mine and his features relax into a smile.

2

Aidan

In the past two weeks of working this pub, I thought I’d seen it busy. Not in the least. Right now, the place is packed wall-to-wall with university students and probably half the population of this small town—and the queue to get in still snakes around the building. If you'd asked me six months ago I would have thought I’d be spending the day in a pub with my brother, but plans changed and I needed to get out of Dublin.

Francie welcomed me with open arms and a cold pint when I showed up at his door. I’d known him most of my life. When he offered me a place to stay and a few shifts in his pub, I jumped at the chance to lose myself for a bit. I moved in with a couple of his bartenders and while it was nothing special—a loft space in their two-bedroom apartment—it was the distraction I needed; a good place to get my head together.

Tonight, though, McBride’s is anything but quiet. No time to think—just pitcher after pitcher of green-tinted beer, and bad decisions being made all about me. Francie warned me that St. Patrick’s Day is a bastardization of what it is in Dublin. Last week he painted the double lines on the road out front bright green. He’s been paying a huge fine to the city for years for the stunt, but smiles while the police write him his summons and calls the whole thing good advertising.

He’s a good man, Francie is, making sure one of his bartenders has the night off to celebrate—works his arse off to make up for the missing man, keeping supplies up and things under control with the patrons.

The stacks of cups coming from the storeroom grabs my attention well before I see Francie. At least people make space letting him through. Maybe it’s the realization that if they don’t, then the shite beer he’s tinted green stops flowing.

I reach for a wad of bills and the next pitcher, chuckling at Finn laid out across the bar top giving a peck to a girl. I’ve seen her in here once before, the night I arrived and laid my heart out for Francie.

She laughs at Finn and his moves, comfortable with him—but maybe not entirely comfortable in her skin with the way she’s tugging at her shirt. When her friend leans in—her lips puckered at Finn, I see him pause like a deer in the headlights. He fancies himself a ladies’ man, but generally can’t hide the bit of surprise when his plans actually work.

Time passes in a blur of people and pitchers, flirting and laughing—until it doesn’t. I don’t see the lead up to it, but some knobhead just shoved some blond thing, spilling her beer down the front of her friend. The poor girl is soaked.

I am over the bar and plowing through people before things can escalate—or because I can’t stand that shite and have to make him apologize for being an arse. It’s not until I turn to check on the poor girl drenched in beer that I see it’s her. And I’m about to mop the towel across her soaked chest. Thank Christ, I stop myself just before I have my hands on her gorgeous tits, overflowing from her tiny shirt.

She’s fighting tears, looking absolutely miserable. My heart clenches and I want to protect her—give her some cover. So, I pull her in tight behind me as we make our way through to the back of the bar.

“What d’ye do, give her the biggest shirt ye could find?” Finn quips as I pass behind him getting back to work after helping her.

“It was the first one I grabbed. Thought it’d do fine.” That’s not at all true. Something about her being exposed after all of that bothered me. She didn’t look particularly comfortable in the tight shirt she was in before it was plastered to her round, perfect tits. Jesus—I covered her up so no one would be thinking of her that way.

Reaching for the next pitcher, I get back into the rhythm of the bar. “What happened anyway? I didn’t see.”

Things have settled a bit and we’re able to stand side by side and chat for a moment. Finn’s cheeks go full red as I tell him what I saw and he starts cursing switching to Gaelic for the full effect. “—and Francie threw him out, yeah? Lissy’s okay?” His jaw ticks and eyes dart around the room.

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