Chapter 12

12

MADDIE

I kiss him because his ex-fiancée is watching, because she stomped all over his heart, and because, damn , I want to. Because he’s hot, and he’s been kind to me, and the way he looks at me sometimes melts my underwear right off.

He doesn’t pull away. Has he been waiting for us to do this again, like I have? I’ve lived that hallway kiss over and over again, countless times a day. Has he, too?

Lordy, his lips are warm on mine, and I lean further into the kiss, sliding my hands from his cheeks onto the sides of his head, burying them in his hair like I’ve fantasized about.

He breathes into me and kisses me back, pressing our lips together while turning his head, as if he wants better access to my mouth. A hand slides on my thigh, already pressed up against his, and an electric current shoots up my leg into my hot center. A flick of his tongue between my lips and the breath leaves my body. My whole soul might be gone with it as well.

I let out a soft moan and I feel him pause and smile against me.

“What?” I whisper.

“Maddie. What are you doing?”

I can feel the words against my lips. And the answer is that I’m doing much less than I want to. I want to pull him into our dark hallway and let him do dirty things to me. I want to?—

Shit. We’re in the middle of the pub. His pub.

I pull back and catch my runaway breath. Patrick’s eyes are hooded, and his lips remain parted, eyes locked on mine. Flames dance in his pupils.

“You kissed me.”

“Mmm-hmm. I did.” I suck in my lips, which are tingly. “You kissed me back.” There’s a slight edge of defensiveness in my voice.

“Trust me, I’m not complaining. But why?”

I sigh lightly. His Irish accent is more pronounced with a pint in him. And maybe, after kissing me. I could drown in his lilting words. I rip my gaze from his and glance back at the bar in time to see Cara swing her head away, face crumpled.

He looks over at Cara, then back at me, then snorts out a laugh. “You kissed me so she would see?”

My eyes widen. Is he mad? Offended? He might be. That was petty. Maybe he still has a thing for her. Exes are weird.

I should know, I have a lot of them.

But not an ex-fiancé. That might be different. What if he didn’t want to kiss me in front of everyone at his place of employment? What if he didn’t want to kiss me again at all?

But given his response, I’m pretty sure he did.

Still. I crossed a huge line.

“Yeah. I did. Is that okay?”

He’s examining me, a weird look on his face that’s a combination of a smirk and a grin and maybe a grimace, when both Ian and Saoirse come back at the same time.

“All is good!” Saoirse plops back down. “Just a question about how many books sneaky Niamh gets before bedtime. You know how she is.”

Patrick nods, eyes on me. “She wants about ten.”

“She gets three, though. But I bet you give in to her.”

“Sure do.”

Oh, sweet baby Jesus, the way this man is looking at me. I press my lips together.

“I brought shots,” Ian states.

“Really, Ian?” Patrick finally turns his head toward Saoirse and Ian, who has a spread of filled shot glasses on a tray.

When I look away from Patrick, Saoirse is watching me with a twinkle in her eye. Did she see us kiss? Between this and her little speeches to me about her brother, I’m getting the feeling she’s supportive of whatever just happened.

“Really.” The tattooed redhead doesn’t flinch from Patrick’s glare.

“I’m not a big liquor person.” I attempt a protest.

“Objection denied.” Ian cheerfully slides a glass across the table to me.

“Aren’t we too old for this?” I try again, pleading with my eyes to not have to drink the clear liquid.

“What does age have to do with shots?” Ian shakes his head.

Saoirse shrugs in agreement, and Patrick chuckles. The three of them knock the shots back and I follow suit, concentrating on not gagging at it burns its way down my throat.

An hour and another round of pints and shots later, everyone is trashed. Or at least I am, because three pints and two shots will do that.

“Anytime, lass, come on down and I’ll get you sorted with a beautiful tattoo.” Ian’s face is lit up.

“Both my sisters have tattoos already, and I feel like I’m slacking. I mean, if responsible, perfect Reese did it, surely I can, too?” I concentrate on not slurring my words.

“Exactly.”

“And your tattoos are just beautiful. What are those?”

“My kids’ names.” Ian holds out his right arm, pushing up the short sleeve on his biceps. “Eileen is seven, and Jack and James are both five.”

Celtic swirls and knots surround the script names, masking the words beautifully.

“I love it.”

“They are my everything. Well, them and Saoirse.” He casts an intense glance at Patrick’s sister, and she reaches over and touches his hand, even though she’s in another conversation.

I bet they don’t have a ton of messy complications. But another look at his tattoos contradicts that. Five children between the two of them, two ex-spouses... Maybe their love is strong enough to overcome?

“Hey, question for you,” I say to Ian.

“Go ahead.”

“What’s a unique thing we can go see or do on our road trip? In Ireland or Northern Ireland?”

Ian twists his lips to one side and appears to think.

“Ah! There’s a giant fish statue in Belfast.”

I giggle. “Ohhhkay.”

“It’s called—wait for it—the Salmon of Knowledge.”

“Perfect.” I tap it into my phone.

Ian goes on to list other things for us to see in Belfast, but my mind wanders and my eyes flit to the striking goalkeeper standing a few feet away, talking to a man who might be from the soccer team. Patrick lifts his pint to his mouth and his arm muscles ripple. I wonder if he’s got any tattoos under that tight black shirt? A sigh escapes my lips. I’m sure I won’t find out.

Cara and Liam are no longer in view. I’m hoping they left, that Cara made the group go after seeing me kiss Patrick. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe Liam and Cara are siblings.

Patrick looks over at me, the other man still talking and waving a hand around, and he holds my gaze for a second longer than acceptable before turning away. The connection buzzes between us.

My heart squeezes and warmth floods my chest. How could anyone leave him? Cheat on him?

I’m in so much trouble.

I’ve known him for such a short time, but I’m feeling things I should not let myself feel. A kiss at a pub while on vacation is one thing. Even sex with a random Irishman would be okay. But letting myself feel anything for Patrick? That’s a dangerous move.

I can’t let myself make that mistake.

Ian excuses himself to follow Saoirse to the bar, but I hardly notice him go.

The room is hazy, and I decide the best thing I can do for myself is leave, before I do something stupid like make out with Patrick again. I stand and slide past him. He looks at me with questioning eyes and I gesture toward the bar, not telling him I’m leaving, suspecting he might not let me.

I slip out of the pub and into my front door twenty seconds later. My flat is a billion degrees—again. I strip down to my underwear and wiggle out of my bra, leaving on the tank top, before downing a tall glass of water and pain meds to fend off a hangover. I lie on the couch and scroll mindlessly on my phone until my eyes grow heavy.

Some amount of time later, I hear keys jangling in the lock. Not the front door, though.

I shoot up from the couch and spin to the other door. It’s the door that I’ve never opened before, the one I don’t have keys to.

The one that leads to the pub.