Page 3 of Ronan (Lucky Irish 6)

“If my…” She let her words linger in the air.

He cleared his throat. “If your hair matches… you know…”

Fianna acted surprised, raising her voice intentionally. “Oooh. So what you’re asking me is what color my pubic hair is?”

An immediate hush fell over the nearest tables. With his mouth agape and eyes wide, Todd glanced over at the brunette and her date at the neighboring table. To her credit, the brunette arched a brow at Todd, indicating he’d brought this all on to himself.

“You’re crazy. Fuck this shit.” Todd’s scraping chair over the tile floor drew the attention from the other daters that weren’t already looking over.

“Good call, Todd,” Fianna said.

He grabbed the back of his iron chair and turned red in the face. “And you middle-aged cockteasers wonder why y’all still single.”

The nerve of this man. Middle-aged? At twenty-nine? What was this bozo on?

“Oh, I know why I’m still single. I’m not about to lower my standards to talk to a guy who flirts with everything that moves, talks to my breasts instead of me and asks me if my pubic hair is red or not—just in a few minutes’ time.”

She gave him a chagrin smile. “Thank you, Todd. For making me realize once again that my drawer at home has all the stuff I need to get off. I don’t need some—”

A small hand on Fianna’s shoulder startled her. She glanced up at Emmy who held one eye on Todd and said, “Come, Fi. Let’s get out of here.”

“Great idea.”

Fianna stood from her chair and glanced over her shoulder at Mae, who handed her date her scorecard before she joined them on their way out of the cocktail bar.

“I can’t believe you actually did that, Fi,” Mae said as they walked on the sidewalk in downtown Austin.

“Oh, you can’t be that surprised. It’s Fi we’re talking about.” Emmy chuckled.

Fianna’s ex had always warned her that one day, her big mouth would get her into trouble. But Ronan also added in the same breath how he loved her big mouth, though. She swallowed down sudden emotions clogging her throat.

A memory flashed before her eyes of the over six-foot MMA fighter tackling her to the sparring mat and kissing her stupid during one of their private self-defense classes.

They passed a few guys outside a restaurant, and their catcalls brought her back from her irritating memories. She shouldn’t let this horrible speed date distort her feelings about Ronan. Compared to Todd, everyone looked good.

“I hate guys,” Emmy muttered, and Fianna agreed.

Mae linked her arm with Gwenn on one side and Fianna on her other side. “My date wasn’t too bad. I actually gave him my number.”

“Really?” Emmy said.

“Yes. He was nice. I don’t have his number, though. So now the waiting game starts.”

“Lucky number seven, I guess,” Fianna said, referring to Mae’s table number at the cocktail bar.

“Okay. Where are we heading now?” Emmy said while tucking a shiny brown strand of hair behind her ear.

“Normally, I would suggest Lucky’s—”

Emmy interrupted Mae and said, “No. I’m not one of those weird people to check in at work on one of their rare days off. I love the pub and anyone working there, but we’re not going to Lucky’s.”

Fianna understood Emmy’s sentiment as the chef at her cousin Brennan’s Irish pub, the Lucky Irishman. Every time Emmy had a day off, she had to hear about old-timer Paddy making a mess of things the next day.

“We’re all dressed up, anyway. Let’s go to the Velvet Club,” Mae said.

A knot formed in Fianna’s stomach. The Velvet Club was Ronan’s stomping ground.

She hadn’t come near the place in years.

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