Page 46 of Not Another Yesterday
“To the apartment?”
How Ronan is able to formulate complete sentences while giving me such unspeakable pleasure is beyond me. Unlike him, I don’t manage to form a coherent word and make do with a simple nod.
He stills, just for a second, as if the weight of the question hits him. Then his lips curl into a bright smile. “Fuck, yeah. Of course you can, baby.”
I don’t know if it’s my brain—high on all the sexy, feel-good hormones—or if he really is as excited about me having a key as I think he sounds, but I decide to take this as a win. I finally allow myself to melt into him, letting reason slip away, giving in to need, to love, to him.
Sunday, January 1st
Cat
It’s just past midnight on New Year’s Eve, and rather than spending it at Shane’s mom’s beach house, we’re all gathered at Murphy’s.
“End of a damn era,” Shane sighs, looking around at us. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a forlorn sip of his whiskey.
Ronan chuckles. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like we won’t be able to hang out at the beach house again.” He runs his hand through his hair to muss it, only to put his black ball cap right back on.
Ronan and Shane have been working all evening while Tori, Steve, Zack, Summer, Vada, and I have been hanging out, eating, and celebrating. Just before midnight, Ronan and Shane joined us at our table for the countdown. At exactly midnight, I collected a deep, sensual kiss from the most perfect guy in this world. The heat brought on by Ronan’s tongue sweeping over mine for a solid sixty seconds is only just dissipating from my body, and the grin is still prominent on my face.
“Not for an epic New Year’s party,” Shane laments. From what I understand, it’s the first time my friends have spent this occasion at Murphy’s rather than at Shane’s or his mom’s beach house. “God, I miss throwing parties.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s only been a few months since Shane threw a party with what I’d estimate to be over a hundred people.
“So plan one, then,” Steve says with a shrug.
Shane shakes his head. “No, I think the epic party days are behind me,” he says almost wistfully. “We’ve all graduated.”
“But Lauren is a senior,” I say of Shane’s sister. “I’m sure you’d still get a great turnout.”
“Baby, please don’t encourage him to be one of those dudes who still wears his letterman jacket with his beer belly hanging out when he’s forty-five,” Ronan groans.
That earns an offended huff from Shane. “I willneverhave a fucking beer belly.” He flexes, causing the fabric of his already fitted long-sleeved shirt to strain against his chest and biceps.
Tori pats Shane’s butt. “Of course you won’t. No dad bod for you, Daddy.”
“Oh god,” Ronan groans while Vada and I dissolve into fits of laughter.
Shane shrugs. “But regardless, it’s not like there’s a ton of time to throw parties anymore. Not now that I’ve taken on full-time responsibility for Murphy’s. And definitely not on New Year’s Eve. It’s one of our busiest nights after St. Patty’s. I have to be here for that.”
“And so do I, apparently,” Ronan grumbles. He’s dressed in almost exactly the same attire as Shane, the only difference being the small black apron tied around Shane’s waist—Ronan never wears an apron—and the black ball cap covering Ronan’s dark-blond, freshly-trimmed hair. Other than that, they blend in perfectly with all the other Murphy’s waiters and the four bartenders.
“I told you, Ran, it’s all hands on deck tonight.” Shane nudges Ronan’s shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” Ronan mutters, looking worse for wear. He’s been on his feet since Murphy’s opened for brunch, and he won’t be done for at least another couple of hours. He’ll for sure be sleeping until past noon tomorrow. I can see it in his face. He’s beat.
“I know it’s a long day, man, but at least the tips are good, right?” Shane asks. “I scored a solid Franklin on top of a sixty-three-dollar tap.”
“Don’t get cocky, Shay. Jack tried to beat me yesterday, too, and at the end of the night his take-home was over two hundred less than mine.” Ronan swipes his left hand over his right palm as though he’s sending dollar bills flying. “I have every intention of walking out of here victorious tonight.”
Steve chortles. “Alright, before you boys start whipping out your dicks to measure whose is bigger—”
“Mine,” Shane says.
“Yeah, okay, wishful thinking, Shay.” Ronan pats Shane’s shoulder before he turns to his brother and raises his scarred left eyebrow. “Tell us about your new girl!”
Steve throws his hands up. “For fuck’s sake. Why are you so convinced there’s a girl?”
“Uh, let’s see.” Ronan taps his index finger to his lips, making a contemplative face. “You never come home. You’re super fucking secretive. And whenever anyone asks you if you’re seeing someone, you’re evasive as all hell. You never just straight up say ‘no,’ which is as good as saying ‘yes.’”
