Page 3 of Kissin Irish by Morgan
“Somewhere more private would be perfect,” she said to the floor.
I reached for her hand, but she wasn’t about to let me lead her off.
“Meet me out back?” I tried.
“Outside?”
No, that wouldn’t do. But taking her all the way to my place wouldn’t do either. That would be too formal and complicated. Charlotte seemed more timid than I remembered. Like she’d change her mind if I asked her to leave the party with me. Besides, I didn’t want to miss it. Charlotte and I could have our reunion and come back here for a pint. Have our pint and drink it too, or was that cake?
“Meet me by the cage,” I said, aware she knew where I meant.
“Okay. I’ll go tell Joan so she’s not worried and run to the ladies to freshen up.” Charlotte winked back before she slipped away.
Grand, she knew I had no plans to talk, and I had time for another pint. Rushing to the bar, I greeted Paisley, “Hand me over some of that black stuff.”
“Well, shoot fire, Irish. Fuck you, too. What kind of a hello is that?” Paisley’s hands flew to her hips. Pale eyes shot daggers at me. One eye started a twitch while her nose crumpled, and lips puckered. Her shoulder length blonde hair was tipped in bright green for the occasion, but other than that she wore all black, down to her cowboy boots. Well, if you could call what she was wearing clothes. They sure left nothing to the imagination as I could see the pink edges of her areolas. The gash had to show off her body because she had a face like a smacked arse.
“Howeyeh,” I said slowly, remembering the last time I spoke to her. About a month ago when I crawled out of her warm bed. If I remembered right, she left Nashville for Knoxville because her sister had her baby early. That was the same day, I found out Charlotte’s husband died in his sleep. Neither of us even said goodbye. Why would we? One of our sweetbutts, Paisley, well… let’s just say she was throwing a sausage down O’Connell street. But that didn’t mean she didn’t expect more. All the whores dreamed of one of us falling in love with them.
Huffing, she practically dropped my beer on the counter. “Why haven’t you texted?”
Charlotte waited for me in the arena. I didn’t have the time or patience for this.
“Who’s that hussy you were talking to?”
“Hussy? Calling the kettle black, aren’t ya?”
“Hear she’s a gold digger.”
“Cop on, Paisley.” Maybe if Charlotte didn’t show up in my life again, I’d give it a lash. “Cop on to life. What we had was the craic, but Jaysus.”
Shaking her head, she started acting the maggot. “I don’t know what you even mean. This here is Tennessee. In America. The U.S of A. Speak English, will ya.”
Sometimes I forgot she was so thick she never retained anything I’d told her about my Irish phrases. “This is English. If I spoke Irish, you wouldn’t sip diesel.” Frustrated, I translated, “Why haven’t I texted? That’s just stupid. Snap back to reality, Paisley. What we have is fun, but it’s just fun. Do you understand?”
Picking up the beer, I tore my gaze from her to see none other than my President making his way to me. Thankfully, Kingpin had as much trouble making his way through the bar that I’d had with everyone stopping to fawn over him. Kiss his ring, literally. Our President’s rich twin brother had just gifted him a platinum ring with the Royal Bastard’s logo on it. Kingpin expected the women to kiss it like he was royalty. Not us men. He knew better than to pull that shite. The man got out of the clinker and built Royal Road out of a pile of shit and never let you forget it. My eyes met Paisley’s angry ones again.
She looked ready to eat my head off. But she was stoic. “Don’t you find it funny that she never wanted you before your wins?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know Charlotte won’t work to warm herself. But ya think, she offed her rich husband because of my winning streak, half of which happened afterwards? It was fate.”
“Fate, my ass.”
“Sure, look.” I raised my glass to Paisley knowing I had to cut this conversation short. “Irish dry stout, my favorite.” I chugged it and wiped my mouth with my arm. “Tell our Pres. I had to go to the Jacks, willya?”
“You mean the John.”
“Right.” I made my way out of the bar.
Chapter 3
Not even Paisley’s drama could lower my flute. Passing the bathroom for the back door, I headed straight for the arena. For Charlotte. My flute led the way. When I tried the doors, they were locked. Bleeding eejit I was. Of course, Villain locked up. I went around the building to try the back entrance to the locker rooms. I’d been the last one out. If I could get in, I’d unlock the main entrance in case Charlotte hadn’t tried them, yet.
Luck was on my side as the heavy door opened to darkness. I heard it shut behind me as I felt for a light switch. Not finding the light, I moved through the dark onto the next door. I knew the locker room like the back of my hand. Walking blind, I bumped into someone. Soft hair swept across my face, smelling of roses. Small, delicate hands seized my shoulders.
“Irish,” Charlotte muttered, sounding pure adorable.
Snatching her waist so she wouldn’t fall, I took my chance and seized the back of her head. I caught her sweet lips. Timid at first, her kiss was reluctant, almost protesting until I deepened it. Pressing her into a nearby wall, I turned up the intensity. Kissing her again was even better than I’d wished for. Coy and weak, she returned the kiss. Her hands grappled at the nape of my neck.
