Page 5 of Shamrocked
"Maybe it's new? Though the building was really old. Nice, but old. Dark, rich wood, and it had a gigantic fireplace alongside the wall. It was so cozy and warm, and the ladies' bathroom was clean and pretty. They even had a silver tray of lotions and fancy soaps."
Some of her frown lessened. We always judged an establishment by how nicely they treated their female customers in the bathroom.
"Were there other customers inside?"
I tried to remember. "Maybe a couple? I don't really remember. It wasn't loud like theCrown, thankfully, but there was some kind of Irish tune playing in the background. The bar ran along the length of the back wall, a real old-world polished look. I wasn't going to get a drink, but the bartender winked at me, and he was so cute. I couldn't help myself."
"Yeah? What'd he look like?"
"Shoulder-length black hair, adorable dimples in his cheeks and the greenest eyes." I sighed. "I thought, what the heck, one drink won't hurt, right?"
"What'd you order?"
"I asked what he recommended, and he told me it was a rule. The first drink you ordered in an Irish pub had to be Guinness."
She grimaced. "Ugh. I hate beer."
"I do too, normally, but I swear, that was the best beer I've ever had in my life."
She narrowed her eyes. "Maybe he roofied you."
"No, I don't think so. I mean, I felt fine. The mug was frosty cold and the beer went down really good. I even drank the last few swallows at the bottom." Usually, beer warmed too much for me to drink the whole thing. "Anyway, he wandered off to help someone else. There was a guy hunched in the corner closest to the fireplace. I didn't get a good look at him, but he seemed pretty grumpy. Even growled a curse at the bartender once, but he laughed and slapped down another drink for him. I was looking around, taking it all in. There were shelves behind the bar with all kinds of whiskey and bottles, with mirrors and lights to showcase the alcohol. But then I noticed him. The gargoyle."
I got goosebumps remembering. "My eyes ran over him and jerked back. It was like he was staring at me, silently willing me to see him. It was so weird. The bartender came back and saw me looking at it, and his eyebrows arched up. He got pretty solemn at that point. He'd been lightly flirting up until then, but after he saw me looking at the statue, he changed."
"Like worried, scared, mad, what?"
"I don't know. Like... solemn. He quit smiling but he wasn't rude. I asked him for another drink, but something different, and he jerked his head up at the statue and said ‘I'll give you a shot of his favorite.’"
"What was that?"
I snorted. "It wasn't even alcohol. It was a shot of espresso in a little cup. He brought it from the back."
"Espresso. At... what time was it? Midnight?"
I huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, probably. But man, it was so good. Thick and syrupy almost, but not sweet. Just straight, heavenly coffee. I saluted the statue and kind of laughed, and drank the whole thing. But the gargoyle kept staring at me, and it was weirding me out. I asked the bartender to cover it up, and he tossed a cloth napkin over its head. That was a little better, but I swear, I could still feel it staring at me."
I shuddered a little and sipped my tea. I really didn't care for herbals at all. What was the point if there wasn't caffeine in it? But the warmth did soothe away some of my inner turmoil.
"What happened after that?"
I set the cup down and shrugged. "I don't know. It's all kind of foggy."
"So he did roofie you!" She surged up and started to dial 911 on her phone. I grabbed her wrist.
"No, I don't think so. Honestly. I never got a bad vibe from him at all. Just that creepy gargoyle. I didn't have anything else to drink there." I didn't want to think the cute bartender could have hurt me. I tried to remember that morning I'd woken up here. I hadn't been completely naked. I wasn't sore. Surely if I'd had sex, even drunken sex, after so long, I would have felt a little tenderness? But I'd felt fine and there wasn't any evidence that I'd been hurt or assaulted in anyway.
I just couldn't remember.
"But you don't remember what happened after that? How did you get home? Did he call you a car?"
I closed my eyes, fighting down my panic. "I don't know. I can't remember walking into your house that night. I don't remember going to bed. I don't remember feeling sick or scared or bad. Just that fucking gargoyle staring at me, and then I woke up the next day and it was beside me."
"In bed?"
"Yeah." I cringed. "I don't remember bringing it home, but then I don't remember coming home at all. Maybe I stole it."
She set her cup down and marched toward my room. By the time I managed to hop down off the too-tall bar stool, she strode back with the gargoyle in her hands. She threw open the front door, set him outside, and then slammed the front door shut and locked it. "There. Now we're going to get some sleep, and first thing tomorrow, we're going to go find this bar and return him."
