Page 146 of On The Rocks

Romance wasn’t something I understood, purely because I’d never had to. I was in my late thirties, and the only woman I’d ever bought flowers for was my mam. Although Maeve smelled of flowers and would probably love to receive some, it seemed a little too cliché. My wife was emotional and nerdy. She found joy in everything—old shit included—and made no apologies for it.

So, I tried to think outside the box.

And all I could do was take a leaf out of Mam’s book and pray to Mary, mother of Jesus that it worked.

CHAPTER 30

MAEVE

NEW YEAR’S DAY

Anoise from the street must’ve woken me up because I didn’t remember setting my alarm. Then again, I didn’t remember much. Everything from the night before was a little hazy, like a dream just out of reach from my conscious mind.

I cracked an eye open and groaned out loud when bright sunlight penetrated my retinas. It felt like somebody had dug a sharp blade into the back of my skull, so I quickly closed it again and whimpered in pain. Then, I nestled deeper into the warm blankets, using their snuggly comfort to drown out the intense pain in my banging head.

I breathed deeply and smiled because the scent of my husband seemed to be all around me. His fresh laundry fragrance mixed with warm black pepper and spicy lemon enveloped my soul, and my throat clenched painfully because I missed him so much.

“You okay, babe?” a familiar, deep voice asked.

Shocked, I let out a little scream and opened one eye again before turning my head to see Callum O’Shea lying beside me, wearing just his boxer shorts and a sexy smile.

He was up on one arm, resting his head on his hand, facing me with his chest hair all spread out perfectly across his wide, tanned, gorgeous pecs.

“You’re so cute when you sleep,” he declared. “And you look so peaceful. Your hair spreads out on the pillow like a princess, and you make cute little snorts while you dream.”

“Did you watch me sleeping for long?” I inquired, voice painful and croaky from misuse, or was it overuse?

He dipped his chin in reply. “Been awake for around thirty minutes.”

My heart tingled because I couldn’t quite ascertain if I found that information romantic or creepy. Maybe a bit of both? When my book boyfriends watched their heroines sleep, it seemed wonderful. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so grand when you lay there praying to sweet baby Jesus himself that you hadn’t farted in your sleep while Callum O’Shea looked on.

My eyes fluttered closed again.

Why did this shit always happen to me?

And where the feck was my mother-in-law when I needed her? I could’ve done with her barging in right about now and ushering her son out the door to save me the embarrassment. But oh no, not Maureen O’Shea; she only showed up whenwankswere involved.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, confusion filling my tone.

“Don’t ya remember?” he asked.

Again, I thought back to the night before, my forehead furrowing with the effort of actually using my brain. “I remember cider, dancing on a table, Atlas, a mechanical bull, and slapping Jake Gyllenhaal around the face for his part in the “All Too Well” song.” My eyes squinted. “Or was that a dream?”

Callum threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Half and half, I think, wife. Cider, Atlas, and dancingon the table were involved, for sure. Don’t remember Gyllenhall being there, though, and we don’t have a mechanical bull.”

“Shame,” I mumbled. “That part was fun. Maybe you should get one.”

He chuckled. “You were having a lotta fun. Some might say maybe too much.”

I winced.

“Atlas, too,” he went on. “You two were a right pair. He had you bent over a chair at one point, and he was pretending to slap your arse all sexy-like in time to the music. When I tried to get him off ya, you got snippy, told me I was a party pooper, and informed me it was all part of your “Pony” routine.”

My chest filled with horror. “The Ginuwine “Pony” song? Did the DJ play it?”

He folded his lips together to stop himself laughing and nodded. “At your request.”

I felt my cheeks flame, and I mumbled, “Oh.” Then, a thought occurred to me, and the horror in my chest intensified. “Was Sophie okay? I mean, with the whole “Pony” routine and stuff?”

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