Page 10 of Shamrock Kisses

She devilishly laughs, extending her hand to take the beer from me. After a long sip, she looks up at me. “If you make this, I’ll kiss you.”

Whoa.Her words hang between us, and I’ve never been more motivated in my life. I look into her eyes, then down at her lips, and back up again.

I take a deep breath to focus.I have to make this.

8

Staring at Patrick, I really want him to make this. It’s the perfect excuse to kiss him. I know we just met, but who cares? I want it.

His brows furrow slightly, like he’s putting everything he has into this shot. He’s so nervous. It’s cute—more than cute, actually. Then, suddenly, the Irish music from the speakers stops, and the change in sound catches both of us off guard. We glance toward the DJ booth, now replaced by a four-member band starting their sound check. The moment feels suspended, like everything is waiting for something to happen.

“You got this,” I whisper. He smiles back at me, and I am seriously crushing on this guy.

Patrick tosses the ball.Land in the cup!I’m praying like I’ve never prayed before. It feels like the entire room holds its breath with me.

But it misses.

“Airball,” the guys across the table taunt, but their voices barely register.

I grab his shirt, pulling him down to me, and our lips crash together. It’s tentative at first but then his hand cups my face, and everything changes. The noise around us blurs as the kissdeepens. I feel on fire as his tongue meets mine, and I don’t want this to end.

“But I didn’t make it,” he whispers, pulling back slightly.

“I still wanted to kiss you.”

He presses his forehead firmly against mine, and a swirl of emotions floods through me. It’s so tender. Too cute. This kiss. It’s the beginning of something, and suddenly, I want more. So much more.

The rest of the game passes in a blur. Neither of us is really paying attention. Our hands can’t seem to stay off each other, fingers laced together, soft kisses pressed to knuckles before each shot. We laugh as we try to Irish jig to the music when it’s not our turn, both of us stumbling awkwardly but not caring.

I should feel tipsy from the Irish coffee and the beer, but it’s not the alcohol making my head spin—it’s him. It’s the way we’re completely caught up in each other, the way Patrick’s touch sends little sparks through me every time his hand brushes mine. I’m drunk on this flirtation, on the way we keep finding excuses to be closer, and I don’t want it to end. For once, I’m not thinking ahead, not worrying about what comes next. I’m just here, with him.

“Last place champs!” I high-five Patrick when we officially lose the game. The smack of our hands echoes, but then his fingers slide between mine, pulling me toward him for another kiss. Our lips collide, softer this time, but it’s no less intoxicating.

“I’d say I won.”

I smile into another kiss, feeling my heart swell.

“Lovebirds.” Nicholas’s voice pops our little bubble. “Lunch was dropped at your table.”

As we walk back, hand in hand, I can’t stop thinking about how much I’m liking this guy, how natural this is between us. We barely know each other, but it feels like there’s something realhere, something so different from the dumpster fire the apps have brought me.

9

“I’m having so much fun with you,” I say after taking a bite of the cheesy fries, unable to hold back the smile glued to my face. She’s forward, and I like that. I can’t believe she kissed me. “Do you want another drink or …”

Or?What am I even asking? It’s not even 1:00 p.m. Am I seriously suggesting that she come back with me already? I can feel the heat rise to my face, regretting the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.

“A Guinness please.” She smiles, saving me from my own awkwardness. Her eyes flick toward the tattoo pile. “When you come back, you’re getting another one.”

I nod and head toward the bar, feeling a weird mixture of relief and nervousness. Standing there, waiting for Aaron to notice me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I glance around and spot Nicholas making his way over. He’s older than the girls and Aaron, closer to forty.

“I’m Patrick.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it, but there’s something off in his expression—like he’s sizing me up.

“How do you know Rachel?”

“We met … yesterday.”

“You live in the city?” he asks, but it’s less of a question and more of a statement. He already knows, and I guess information between the friends travels fast.

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