Chapter Two

Norah

I whirl around to see the blond Neanderthal from the soccer team looming behind me.

"Um…yeah," I say nervously, looking down at the floor. God, please let one of my friends come to the bar. It's not that I'm terrified of all men, just the entitled ones who don't take no for an answer. Blondie is giving off those vibes right now.

"Do you really like Guinness, or do you drink it just to attract attention?" he asks, grinning wickedly.

My head whips up, and I gape at him. What the fuck? Did he really just ask me that?

Myra appears suddenly, sidling up next to me.

"Hi, handsome. Norah here really does like that nasty tar. I'd be the one looking for attention. Now, why don't you buy me a drink?" She winks at me before looping her arm through his and leading him to the other end of the bar. My hero. I turn back to the bar to find Alicia holding my beer with a worried look on her face.

"You good? Was Mac giving you a hard time?"

"Oh. No, I don't think so. Just looking for some action." I roll my eyes.

"Well, don't let him scare ya. He acts intimidating but is all talk. He likes to think that because his name is Mac Flanagan it makes him Irish. The jackass is as far from Irish as they come!"

I laugh and sip the foam off the top of my drink.

"Now, Eamon, Rowan, and Teagan are another story. They truly are Irish." Alicia looks pointedly over my shoulder. I turn my head to peek, not so subtly. Coming up behind me are the three that played so beautifully on stage. And tall, dark, and handsome is even better up close. Holy shit. I might be drooling.

"Alright, Alicia?" asks the ginger-haired one in a lilting voice.

"Yeah, Ro. You? Good job up there tonight," she replies, cheeks turning pink. Can't say that I blame her.

"Thanks." He winks. "How about a pint of the black stuff, love?"

"You got it!" she replies quickly, whirling to the tap.

"Dammit, Ro! You did it again!" The shorter, brown-haired one curses. "You always make her so flustered that she forgets to ask Eamon and me what we want. It's absolute bollocks!"

My eyes immediately dart to the dark-haired guy. Eamon. I take a drink of my Guinness, trying to study him covertly. He's standing with his sinewy forearms resting on the bar, fingers intertwined and lips tipped up in a smirk as he listens to his two friends bicker back and forth. He's breathtaking. Taller than Teagan, but not quite as tall as Ro. Broad, muscular shoulders connect to biceps that look like they're about to bust out of the sleeves of his black t-shirt. The fabric stretches across the expanse of what I can only imagine is a sculpted chest and tapered waist. I'm taking a huge gulp of Guinness when his gaze lands on me. His brilliant blue eyes instantly lock with mine, and I stop breathing—then immediately start choking on my beer. Fuck . Nothing is worse than being caught ogling and then making a spectacle of yourself. All three men are now staring at me with wide eyes. Ro chuckles while Teagan continues to look at me with concern. To my absolute horror, Eamon reaches over and starts thumping me on the back like I'm a child.

I am completely mortified.

"Hey!" Alicia snaps as she sets Rowan's beer in front of him. "What are you doing to poor Norah?"

"I'm okay," I cough out. I'm pretty sure my face is actually on fire.

"No worries, Alicia. Just trying to keep your friend here from choking to death," Eamon says in what would be the most beautiful voice I've ever heard if not for the words that come out of his mouth next. "Looks like the Guinness is a little strong for her. Maybe you should give her something a bit watered down next time."

Bristling at the insinuation that I can't hold my drink, I turn to tell him exactly what I think of that comment when Alicia cuts in.

"You've never seen our girl drink, then. I reckon she could give you a run for your money, Eam."

The Irishmen swing their attention back to me, doubt marring their faces. Assholes. Trying to regain some of my dignity, I turn back to the bar and say something really stupid.

"Line ‘em up, Alicia."

She stares at me for a moment before raising her arm in the air to beckon my friends. All of them rush over immediately.

"What's happening? Are we doing shots?" Myra asks hopefully.

"Looks like Eamon here has slighted Norah's honor and she feels inclined to demonstrate just how capable she is," Alicia informs them, one side of her mouth quirking into a smirk.

"Nor, are you sure you want to do this? You did say that you have to work tomorrow," Charlie says, her eyes begging me not to do this.

"Shut up, Charles!" Amelia says, calling her by the nickname she knows Charlie hates. "This is the most exciting she's been in months! Alicia put her drinks on my tab!"

What the hell am I thinking? I haven't done this since I came back from Ireland, and it was not my finest moment.

"Uh, my apologies, lass, for questioning your drinking ability. I was only slagging you. Please don't feel like you need to prove yourself," the gorgeous Eamon drawls.

I glare at him. "Let's see if you can keep up, Irishman."

Three shots of Jameson and three Guinness draughts later, Eamon and I are surrounded by everyone in the pub. The supporters are divided equally with the women cheering for me, while naturally, the men are encouraging Eamon. So far, we're evenly matched in terms of drink consumption. I'm definitely feeling it, but I'm determined to show this cocky Irish bastard that I'm no prissy girl. My head is swimming, and Myra is making all sorts of remarks that have me laughing so hard my sides hurt. Alicia is pouring round four when Pat walks up and grabs the beer glasses from her.

"Now, listen here, you two," he says, looking at us disapprovingly. "I don't know what the feck is going on, but this isn't like either of you. You know I'm all for a lively drinking game or two, but when my two most sober customers are up here drinking like fish, it's time for me to step in. Now, go sit down and drink some water. Alicia, grab them some chips to soak up the alcohol. You eejits." He walks away shaking his head, and I suddenly feel like a child being scolded for tracking mud through the house.

While the crowd groans in disappointment, I'm thanking my lucky stars. Glancing over at Eamon, he doesn't even appear tipsy.

Damn Irish.

"Do you really feel that way, then?" he asks, eyes wide in amusement.

Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

"Yes, lass. You did," he chuckles.

Awesome.

"Uh, sorry. Must be the booze talking." I flush and look down at my feet.

He laughs loudly. "Eamon Kennedy."

I raise my head to see his hand outstretched in front of me. I gingerly take it and give it a quick shake. His grip is warm and firm, and I'm immediately imagining those hands on me in a less formal way. What is wrong with me? I clear my throat and introduce myself.

"Norah Grady."

"Sounds Irish to me," he says with a shrug. "No wonder you're able to keep up with me."

I snort a laugh and roll my eyes.

"Come on, Nor. I think it's time to head out," Charlie says, putting an arm around my waist and turning us toward the door. Amelia slaps some cash on the bar and gives Eamon a quick once over.

"She really would have kicked your ass, you know." Tossing her straight blonde hair over her shoulder, she turns and walks away.

I really do have the best friends.

* * *

The alley is dark and cold, and it reeks of piss and garbage. I'm sprawled on the pavement, eyes shut tightly. My face hurts, and I can't move my arms. Something's pressing me down. No. Not again. I start struggling, determined to get out of this with as little damage as possible. I manage to roll to my back and will my eyes open only to discover three large forms towering over me.

"What do you think, Eamon? Keep her or toss her?"

I scream.

"Norah! Norah! Wake up!" I hear a voice yelling and feel my body being shaken. "Nor!" I bolt upright and find Charlie sitting next to me, her hazel eyes filled with concern.

"You were having a nightmare. Are you okay?" she asks while shoving a cup of coffee into my hands. Bless her.

"Ugh. I feel like I've been hit by a truck." I groan, rubbing my forehead in an attempt to soothe the alcohol-induced ache.

"Well, considering you drank the equivalent of a keg of Guinness and downed a few shots of whiskey, you should be feeling pretty awful."

I cringe at the reminder. "What the hell was I thinking?"

"Methinks your pride and a pretty Irishman are to blame." Charlie grins at me.

"Well fuck. I was hoping that part wasn't real. I'm such an idiot. He probably thought I was crazy." I sigh, then quickly add, "Not that it matters what he thinks."

She gives me a curious look while twisting her brown hair into a topknot on the crown of her head.

Just then, a knock sounds at the door before it opens. Layla walks in with a bottle of aspirin and a brown paper bag that smells very much like a cheeseburger. These two girls know me so well. Nothing cures a hangover better than a steaming mug of coffee and a greasy cheeseburger.

"Good morning, sunshine. Or rather, almost afternoon. I heard you might need these today," Layla says, setting everything down on the kitchen island.

"Why are you girls so good to me? You always know exactly what I need."

I start to ease myself off of…the couch? Odd. My house is small, and my bedroom is just a few feet down the hallway.

"Why am I on the couch?"

"Oh, about that…" Charlie grimaces.

The bedroom door opens and out creeps Myra, her hair disheveled, in just a t-shirt and panties. My jaw hits the floor.

"Please tell me you're alone in my bedroom…"

"Um…yes?" she says sheepishly.

"Who the hell is in there? It's not that Neanderthal is it?" I rage at her.

"Neanderthal? What are you talking about?"

I quirk an eyebrow at her. "You know exactly who I'm talking about. That big blond jerk, Mac, from the pub last night. You brought him back to my house and took him to my bed?"

"Slow your roll, Nor. Sheesh." Myra rolls her eyes. "I'm just messing with you. Amelia and I shared your room last night since we both couldn't fit on the couch. You were too passed out to know the difference."

Amelia walks out of my room, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You two are jerks." I glare at them. "I'm only in this state because of you two to begin with."

"Aw, Norie, you know you had fun. You certainly made an impression on that dark and sexy Irishman! What was his name? Evan? Ethan?" Amelia asks as she saunters into the kitchen and grabs a mug out of the cabinet.

"Eamon," I answer too quickly and immediately regret it. All four of my friends are giving me looks with varying degrees of mirth.

"Stop," I order, holding up a hand. "I know what you're thinking. He insulted my drinking abilities, and I had to prove him wrong—no matter how much I may be questioning my sanity now."

"Tell me more about this mystery man," Layla demands, curling up on the other side of the couch. "I missed all the fun and now I need the details. Did you really drink him under the table?"

"You should have seen her!" Amelia exclaims while pouring herself a cup of coffee. "She had already shared a flight with me, and then she challenged this guy, who is gorgeous by the way, to the Whiskey Guinness chasers! I've never been so proud! But then old man O'Nelly put a stop to it before they could get to round four."

"Round four? Dios mio , you really were trying to impress him!" Layla laughs.

"No." I shake my head and then wince from the movement. "No, I was not trying to impress him. I was proving a point. Proving that just because I'm a woman does not mean I can't enjoy a good beer or hold my own against said man."

"Oh, Norah. Whatever you say," Myra retorts from where she's perched at my kitchen island. "It's been too long since you've set your eyes on a man. I'm happy for you".

"I have not set my eyes on anyone. I don't even know him, and I'll probably never see him again. It was just a moment of pride. Now," I say, rising from the couch. "I need a shower."

I march to the bathroom to wash off the humiliation of last night and take a moment to myself. As much as I love these girls, sometimes I just need peace and quiet to process. Last night was a mistake. Thrilling, but a mistake.

My mind flashes back to my last mistake almost four years ago. Having just returned from Ireland I headed straight for the nearest Irish pub needing to feel that magic again. Normally a sunshine and warm weather-loving girl, I missed the overcast skies and constant greenery. I walked into the pub and looked around slowly. It was exactly like the numerous pubs I had visited around Temple Bar. The shining wooden bars had stained glass on the front faces of them, and Irish ditties were playing overhead. At the bar, wiping the water drops from clear glasses, stood Pat O'Nelly. With a tweed cap on his head, round glasses sitting on his nose, and a friendly face covered with a white beard, he was just what I needed. I walked up and sat on the stool in front of him.

"Good evenin', lass. What can I do for you on this warm summer's eve?" he asked in a thick brogue.

"Guinness, please. A proper Guinness," I told him quickly. "I just got back from Ireland, and since I can't jump on a plane and head back, this is the next best thing."

"Ah! The Green Isle! And how did my homeland treat you?" he asked jovially.

"It was…a dream come true. So magical. Everything was perfect. I've never been to a more wonderful place," I prattled.

"Aye. It is a land of magic, lass. Did you go for holiday or studies?"

"Holiday. One day, I'll go back," I promised, "and find my husband!"

"Ach! There's not a better place to find a husband if I do say so myself! If only you could talk to my dear Ellie. She'd confirm it."

"Does she not work in the pub with you?" I asked, looking around.

With a hint of sadness in his eyes, Pat told me the story of his voyage to America after the passing of his wife. The love they shared seemed to be genuine and everything I wanted in a partner. Someone full of affection and a little bit of mischief, to hold and protect me and make me laugh. I sat there for an hour, listening to his stories until the pub started to get busy. People were filing in and crowding around me. Everyone was anxious to get their drink and visit with Pat. Before I knew it, I had downed a couple of Guinness and a shot of whiskey. Towards the end of the night, I found myself surrounded by a group of guys cheering me on as I downed more alcohol. One in particular stuck close to my side throughout the night, and against my better judgment, I welcomed the attention. With my inhibitions lowered, I ignored not just the warning bells ingrained from past trauma, but also the looks Pat was giving me and let myself be reckless for just one night. I like to think that I had handled my Mom's death in a healthy way, but sometimes the pain of losing her hit hard and I just wanted to be someone else for a while.

When I finally decided to call it quits, my new friend, whose name I will never remember, offered to walk me home. As we cut through the park close to the pub, he put his arm around me and I didn't object. When we rounded a corner that put us in a more secluded part of the park, he stopped abruptly and turned me toward him before kissing me harshly and groping me. Terror flooded my veins and I froze. When he realized I wasn't responding the way he wanted, he got angry and accused me of being a tease. Tearing myself from his grip, I began backing away. He attempted to grab me, and I screamed loud enough that he stopped his advances, spat some ugly words at me, and left. By then, the panic attack had begun. I felt completely helpless as I stood there gasping for air and shaking violently. It was several minutes before I was able to calm myself enough to call Charlie.

My thoughts drift back to the present as I finish showering. The hot water soothes away the memories from that night leaving me feeling only slightly better than when I woke up. The cheeseburger waiting for me in the kitchen should help with the rest before I go apologize to Pat for last night's debacle. I hate the idea of him being disappointed in me.