Three

Ava

Once St. Paddy’s Day ended, the bit of Irish inside everybody seemed to disappear faster than a bottle of beer in a room full of frat boys. The streets tended to die down, and the bars emptied out.

Even knowing that as I did, when I walked into the Golden Shamrock, I was still amazed at how much emptier the place was than it had been the night before. Instead of people standing shoulder to shoulder and having to shout over one another to be heard, the place was nearly empty and almost as silent as the proverbial tomb. There were a few men over in the corner at a pool table, and the minute I stepped inside, all three stopped what they were doing to give me the once over.

A few other guys, grizzled old-timers, sat at the bar. Regulars. There so often their asses had worn grooves in those bar stools. And as usual for a few of them, they looked to be drowning their sorrows away in some good Irish whiskey. And at the rate they were knocking back the shots, those sorrows were likely to be drowned sooner rather than later. Of course, those sorrows would still be there when they woke up the next morning, but it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. I wasn’t there to be a counselor for anybody. Not my job.

I looked around the pub, my eyes finally landing on a familiar face sat at a table in the dimly lit corner, men flanking his sides. His dark hair and blue eyes contrasted with his pale skin. Most people thought the Irish were fair-haired people which wasn’t all the way true. The Irish were as diverse as anybody else on the planet.

His eyes met mine and he smiled, a chill running down my spine. There was something in that smile, a predatory gleam that made me glad I didn’t go home with him last night after all. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to look so… threatening, but there was definitely something darker lurking beneath his good old Irish boy exterior. Something I couldn’t quite place, perhaps something rough and brazen. I couldn’t be sure. It showed in his smile. It was subtle and hard to pick up, but if you were looking for it, it was as plain as day.

To some women, the subtle whiff of danger or rebelliousness might enhance his appeal. To other women, bad boys were like a powerful aphrodisiac. It certainly didn’t make him any less gorgeous. With his strong, defined cheekbones and his chiseled jawline, he could have easily been an actor or a model. He had a refinement and sophistication about him that made him stand out in a place like the Golden Shamrock, which was one step below a crappy dive bar, in my opinion.

I steeled my spine and made my way over to the table, seeing that a deck of cards was being shuffled and cut. “Deal me in, boys,” I announced, keeping my gaze on Ian. I pulled out the only empty chair at the table and squeezed myself between the two burly men, watching as the dealer stole cautious glances between Ian and me. Ian nodded to the dealer and sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“What’re ya drinkin’ doll face?” I looked up from my cards to see Colin, the man who’d approached me last night, scooting his chair closer to me. Fuck, had I recognized him before I pulled up a chair, I’d have been more selective in playing a hand of poker with them.

“Whiskey neat,” I replied curtly, turning my attention to my cards. I had a shit hand, but I’d play along just for the sake of doing so. He ordered a man to grab a round of drinks from the bar then called his hand, tossing the cards in the center of the table. I repeated his actions moments later, then watched the game come head to head between Ian and an older man. Ian spread his cards across the table, a full house trumping his opponent’s pair of eights.

“Shite, always the lucky bastard ya are,” the older man proclaimed as he tossed back a swig of beer and stood tall to his feet.

Ian gathered his winnings and smiled proudly. “I’m Irish, I was born lucky, Red. You were just born ugly,” Ian goaded, laughing.

“Aye, that I was.” The man I now knew to be Red tipped his head in agreement. “Another hand?”

Shaking his head, Ian said, “Nah, I’m out, lad.” Ian walked around the table and took my hand, leading me toward a booth across the bar.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d get lucky two nights in a row. Looks like I must have done something right in this life,” he whispered, kissing me softly on the cheek. “Especially after you left so abruptly last night.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, thinking back to my quick exit after we’d shared a cab over to his place. “I wasn’t feeling so good.”

“I seem to have that effect on women,” he said with a wink. “Feeling up for a drink with me, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” I said with a grin. “I actually came tonight hoping I’d run into you again. If for no other reason than to apologize for last night.”

“Ahh... well, funnily enough, that’s exactly the reason I’m here tonight, too,” he said, a cocky and lopsided grin on his face.

“Are you being a smart ass, or are you being serious? I honestly can’t tell.”

“Aye, you’ve got some spunk, I like that,” Ian replied on a laugh, not answering my question. I took it he was just being a smart ass.

We sat down at the same booth we’d sat in before, and he ordered us a round of drinks.

“So tell me, Miss Ava,” he said, turning his attention back to me, “did you really come back to this dump to see me ugly mug?”

“Ugly?” I laughed. “You’re hardly ugly, I’m afraid. And I think you know that.”

“Afraid? Why would me not being ugly scare you?”

Because I find myself fiercely attracted to you, and that scares the bejeezus out of me, I thought to myself. I couldn’t let that one slip, however. That, I had to keep to myself. So instead, I replied with something else, something completely non-committal.

“Just a turn of a phrase,” I said. “That’s all.”

“I see. So if you don’t find me unattractive, logic would seem to dictate that you find me attractive. Now be honest with me, sweetheart. What’s the real reason you didn’t go home with me last night?” He raised his glass to take a long drink of beer, looking at me from over the rim as he did so.

“Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I had a moment of clarity and decided it was best to think with my brain and not my hormones.”

“A moment of clarity?”

“Yes, Ian,” I said with a laugh. “I know a one-night stand when I see one, and I’m just not that type of girl.”

He looked offended, giving me his best who? me? expression of innocence. Clearly, I wasn’t buying what he was selling. I knew his type well.

“Come on, Ian. I’m not stupid. I know who you are–I know your type,” I said. “You’re a pretty boy who is always used to getting his way. You’re not the type to settle down. Maybe one day, but not right now. You’re too much into having fun with the guys and sleeping with as many women as you can before one of them gets knocked up and forces you to marry her.”

As I spoke, he grinned like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And his grin only grew larger as I went on. He didn’t look surprised at all by what I was saying, though. Which in a way, actually surprised me. Men were always shocked when I nailed their intentions like that.

But it’s what I did. It was my job. As a special agent, reading people was what I was good at, and it often scared people with how accurate I could be. But not this man. No, he seemed amused, listening with his arms crossed in front of him as I called him out on his playboy ways. He was even cockier than I thought.

“Are you done?” he asked me.

“Is that not enough?” I laughed. I’d only told him half of what I saw. In actuality, he didn’t realize I knew more than I let on.

“It’s more than enough bullshit, sure,” he said, shaking his head. “But let me tell you a little something, sweetheart, you actually couldn’t be further from the truth about me.”

Oh, don’t I know it, Ian.