Rebecca
Girl Scout training, don’t fail me now.
So, I hit a man with a car. That’s not exactly the perfect way to start off my Irish adventure.
Scratch that—it’s probably one of the worst ways to start off any adventure whatsoever. Vehicular manslaughter isn’t really something I want on my permanent record. Somehow, I imagine there are fewer art supplies available to children’s book illustrators when they’re in jail.
“Look, love,” Killian Walsh says through his teeth. “If you bind me any tighter, this won’t be a splint—it’ll be an amputation.”
I looked down at my handiwork and wince.
Killian’s fingertips are starting to turn white—not a good sign.
“Sorry, sorry.” I start unwrapping him immediately, revealing more and more of his hairy, muscular forearm.
“No need to be so nervous, darlin’.” Killian smiles lazily at me and takes a nip of whiskey from a dented flask he’s seemingly produced from thin air.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
I run my trembling fingers over his skin, tracing the nice, straight lines his ulna and radius should make. I did medical illustration for a little extra cash in college—but by no means does this make me a doctor.
I hope it’s not broken.
“Give me that,” I say, snatching the flask from Killian. He doesn’t surrender it easily, which doesn’t surprise me.
I tip the amber liquid down my throat, expecting the taste of Jameson on my tongue.
It’s not Jameson, though.
It’s brandy.
I spit it out.
Brandy is usually my favorite drink—but this stuff tastes foul, like he’s had it there for decades.
“God, that’s awful,” I say, trying to get the taste out of my mouth.
Killian rolls his eyes.
“A fan at the pub gave that to me. They don’t always have the greatest of tastes.” He then puts his hand out, motioning for the flask.
“Still seems like you’ve almost finished it. You look anxious to get what’s left in here back, as well.”
The flask is empty—Killian barely left a drop behind, but I’m feeling slightly mischievous. Besides he nearly caused me to total my vehicle.
I swiftly move it away from him.
“What the hell?” he says, annoyance creeping into his voice.
“You owe me,” I say, giving him a smile.
“What are you—a goddamned law enforcement officer?”
“You have no idea,” I reply, giving his arm a small jab.
He lets out a groan.
“I’m sorry, did that hurt?” I ask, a slight smile playing on the edge of my lips.
He glares. “You bloody well know the answer,” he says, gritting his teeth together.
“Yeah, well, maybe next time, you’ll watch where you’re going,” I reply.
Killian looks at me incredulously, and then he laughs.
“It’s been—what, three years?—and you still can’t drive for shit,” he says.
“You know, I could just leave you here,” I say.
“You wouldn’t,” he says.
“If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll find your cold, dead body in the morning,” I shrug.
Just then, a sharp pain seems to take him over. I watch his face contort with the most agonizing look.
Despite all my remarks, I’m worried. A sprained hand is the least of our concerns. The SUV careened into him pretty hard.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. It’s late afternoon. I can feel a slight chill creeping on me and I pull my jacket tightly against my body.
Killian is shivering. His bloodstained shirt clings to his body. Truth be told, I’m afraid to touch him, and not just because of the injury.
I fold my hands together, unsure of what to do.
The car is just a few feet away. If I can get him there, then there’s a good chance I can at least help fix him up.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
“If I could walk, do you think I’d be lying here in this ditch?” he retorts.
“Jeez, Killian, I’m just trying to help.”
“Believe me, you’ve done more than enough,” he says sharply.
“What the hell is your problem?” I retort.
Killian gives me a wicked grin. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
I ignore him. It’s obvious this banter is going nowhere, except around in circles.
“Look, we can sit here all day, or we can get you to the car. I need you to put your arm around me, and I’ll try to hold you up.”
I bend down, placing myself close enough to his arms.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Whenever you are,” he says.
I gently lift his arm, and placing one hand on his back, I slowly pull him up. This is a struggle for me. Killian is a solid mass of muscle. He grunts slightly and tries not to betray his obvious discomfort.
Even through his shirt, I can feel the rise and fall of his abs against my palm. I’m a tangled mass of nerves, and I secretly find myself praying to be anywhere else but here.
Even from a distance, I could tell that Killian is heavy. In fact, I had counted on the struggle; what I hadn’t counted on was the warm sensation descending into the pit of my stomach.
He’s so close to me, I can smell his cologne. If Killian is sexy from afar, he’s a god from up close.
I can feel his eyes on me. His breath is labored and shallow. I’m trying to avoid his gaze.
Keeping my face downcast, I attempt to speak.
“We’re going to take it slow,” I say.
Killian doesn’t answer me. It’s only then I feel his hand brush my cheek. He places his fingers under my chin, gently lifting my face towards him.
His eyes are the deepest shade of blue. A piercing sea that seems to shift with the light, and I find myself drowning in them.
His skin is warm and smooth. He feels soft to the touch.
I want to break away from him, but I’m caught here. I try to play it cool, but I can feel my insides churning.
“Nice and slow,” he says softly, echoing my words.
He slips his arm around my shoulder. I shift slightly to give him room. Pressing his weight unto me, I manage to help him stand on his feet.
His face looks pale and, although he won’t admit it, I can tell it hurts him to do so.
He lets out a sharp breath.
“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing towards the car. We step forward, our bodies moving in a singular forward motion. It isn’t long before we’re standing in front of the SUV.
I struggle to get the door. Pulling it open with one hand, I shift slightly to give him some room. I was just about to help him get into the car when I feel something on my ass.
I look at him, and the bastard looks right back at me, his devilish face feigning innocence.
“Get in the car,” I scowl.
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Killian says, giving my ass one last pinch before sliding into the seat.
I slam the door.
I’m furious. Everything about Killian pisses me off. From his baby blue eyes to that smug little expression that he wears.
But even despite all of this, there’s something about him that has always excited me.
He’s a dangerous concoction of everything I shouldn’t want but do. I find myself reveling in his touch long after he’s let me go. I’m flushed, the heat emanating from my body.
Of all the places I could have run into that SOB, it had to be here. Just when I thought I’d gotten away, he had to cross my path.
I collect myself. There’s no use fuming about it. It won’t be long before I get him out of my hair.
I pull two water bottles from the back of the car and then stride to the driver’s side.
Slipping into the vehicle, I close the door.
I look at Killian. He’s leaning back in the seat with his feet casually cocked up on my dashboard like he’s at home.
“Here,” I say, whipping the water bottle at him. It hits him in the jaw, taking him by surprise. I smile surreptitiously.
“Jackpot,” I mutter.
Killian rubs his cheek. “Where’d you learn to throw like that?” he says, evidently impressed.
“Baseball, little league,” I answer.
“You played baseball?” he asks.
“Yeah, for six years.”
“That’s how you pass the time in America, isn’t it? With America’s fucking past-time, wearing your red socks and your white socks and stealing balls and beaning bags.”
“Yeah, that’s right. What, do you prefer cricket or something?
“Oh, please,” he scoffs. “Are all the British Isles the same to you?”
I cross my arms.
“Are all American sports the same to you?”
“Baseball and American football. I'm not sure which one is more idiotic.” Killian says, shaking his head.
“You know if you actually played either of these sports, you might actually enjoy it.”
“Hurling and Gaelic Football, the only two sports worthy of an Irishman. But thanks for the offer. If I ever decide to slide my balls into home base, it’s going to be five foot one, preferably with red hair,” he says, giving me a wink.
He takes a sip from the water bottle.
“Look, it’s been a long day. Why don’t you tell me where you live, and I’ll drop you off,” I reply, my patience wearing thin.
“North Richmond Drive,” he offers.
The name of the street sounds vaguely familiar. I ponder it for a moment, and then I let it go.
I put the key in the ignition, the engine revs slightly, and I can feel the floor vibrate beneath my feet.
“Seatbelt,” I say.
“Aye, lass,” Killian says.
We pull into the dirt road, speeding toward our destination and, hopefully, end of this weird little unexpected epilogue to my time with Killian Walsh.