Page 6 of Beautifully Complicated

One that drinks whiskey and looks like he’d rather curl up with a good book than go dancing.

Not that he couldn’t fit in at a club. Button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, a subtle diamond pattern woven into the fabric that you can only see at certain angles. Dark wash jeans that are slim enough to hug his lean legs without appearing too tight. Trendy white sneakers.

It’s not a flashy outfit, but it wouldn’t be out of place at a lively bar. It’s not out of place here either, much like my own similar ensemble, minus my staple sport coat to go over the shirt.

Timeless.

Yes, I feel an instant closeness to the man who in many ways reminds me of myself despite the fact we’ve barely said ten words to each other. But while he’s an old soul he’s obviously barely legal, and I’m not that guy.

I thank him for the napkins and start to mop up the drink I knocked over when I first caught sight of him and misjudged the distance to the bar trying to set my glass down.

Flustered.Me.

In my defense, he really is quite beautiful, and lost in thought with a pensive smile on his face that hinted at intelligence as well as beauty… Well, as I said, I’m not that guy. I won’t—

“May I buy you a drink?” His voice is more assured than I expected it to be given the soft nature of his features, and aside from the slight pink in his cheeks that betrays his nerves, he holds himself with an air of confidence that’s surprisingly sexy. Paired with those full lips and…damn.

He’s a vision.

I really shouldn’t, but my own glass is nearly empty now, and I can’t deny I’m curious. Some innocent conversation would be nice, and… The man licks his plump lips, and all my objections evaporate. “I’d like that.”

He motions to the bartender, and I order another IPA.

“Aiden.” He holds his hand out.

“Kier,” I reply, noting—and loving—the firm grip he uses to shake my hand.

“That’s a very Irish name, but you don’t look or sound Irish.” Aiden regards me thoughtfully, like he’s trying to puzzle me together the same way I did him earlier.

“I’m not. My adoptive parents are though.”

“So, if I asked you to choose between the Rovers and the Bohemians, you’d know what I’m referring to?”

“Of course I would.” I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, intrigued.

“And?”

“Neither. Those are Dublin teams, and my parents are from Northern Ireland.” My eyes track over his inquisitive face, fascinated.

“Hmm.” A small grin plays on Aiden’s lips, which are so impossibly pink and lush it takes a fair amount of restraint not to stare at them.

“Hmm?” I lift my brow as the bartender sets a beer in front of me. “Which of those was the wrong answer?”

“Neither.” Aiden swirls his glass with a coy smile. “But my brother-in-law would be disappointed in me if I’d bought a drink for abloody Bohemian.”

“Ah.” Another puzzle piece clicks into place. “Is it safe to assume this brother-in-law is responsible for your taste in Irish Whiskey?”

“It is.”

I’m tempted to ask when that occurred, since he can’t be much older than twenty-one, but since this can’t go beyond a little harmless flirting, I decide his age doesn’t matter.

“So, if I asked you to recommend a good one, you’d say…”

“Knappogue Castle.” His eyes find mine over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip.

“Is that what you’re drinking?”

“God no.” He sets the tumbler on the bar. “This is Jameson. I don’t have Knappogue unless my brother-in-law is buying.”

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