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“Hell, no. I will never fall in love again.” My voice had risen by two decibels too much.
My bestie threw up her hands. “On that harsh note, I’m getting us another drink. Oh, but you know what they say. Never say never, girl, cause that phrase will come back and bite you in the ass.”
“Get those drinks now or I just might smack your face.” I couldn’t help but grin. Maybe she was right that I needed something just for me. I’d spent almost time on myself, the last two years a horrific blur of sadness and exhaustion. I took a quick glance around the bar. Not that the men in Cork held any interest with this girl. They were all puffed-up blokes and nothing more. Maybe I’d spent way too much time around a bunch of gruff men. Maybe I should consider looking for a nice college professor.
Oh, who was I kidding? I liked my men big, buff, and rugged. Now I was salivating at the mouth for a nonexistent man.
“Maybe that will lighten you up. Or maybe you need more than one hot dude to keep you interested. Hey, we could always go effin’ and blindin’ later. You know. For the fun of it. That is if you know how to have fun any longer.”
“Very funny. I know how to have a blast.” She always used Irish slang when she was interested in getting my goat. “By the way, they mean the same damn thing.” I was swearing and cursing every day, especially dealing with the kind of guys I had to handle all the time. “Besides, even two men couldn’t handle me.”
“Right,” Fallon mused before blowing me a kiss and walking away.
As soon as I tossed the last dart, I felt a presence beside me. “What do you want, Rory?”
“How’d you know it was me?” he snarked.
“Because your stench precedes you.”
“Ouch. You’re hurting my feelings.”
“Too fuckin’ bad.”
“Why are you such a bitch all the time?”
I didn’t bother looking in his direction before taking long strides toward the dartboard, yanking out the darts. When I spun around, I acted like I was going to throw all three toward him. If only that would deflate the man as well as his ego. Sadly, I doubted anything would. His daddy owned half the city and Rory had been crippled by the rich boy’s syndrome his entire life.
“Cause I have to deal with idiots like you. What do you want?”
“You mentioned arm wrestling. How about a game or two for a bottle of whiskey?”
I narrowed my eyes, glaring at him. Given my recreational time would soon be cut short, I was completely into letting my hair down. Maybe even doing some kinky shit, but not with the likes of the men at his table. Maybe I should have taken Fallon up on the offer of going to a nightclub instead of our usual local watering hole.
“First of all, it’s not a game. Arm wrestling is a sport. You really want to lose that badly?” I asked him. While I hated the man and everything he stood for, I did enjoy our banter from time to time.
“Not me, baby girl. I’m talking about Bruiser over there.” He pointed to his biggest, baddest bully of a friend, another man I could barely stomach being in the same room with, let alone being close to. He had the perpetual stink of a fisherman. At least Cormac was a pretty good guy, not the usual kind to hit on a lady.
Not that I claimed to be one.
He was also a member of my father’s crew. Or I should say my crew. He’d be shipping off to the rig in the morning to handle maintenance work.
At least I could put my trust in his abilities, which was saying something these days. Still, I wouldn’t put it past the gruff man to enjoy seducing me. Not going to happen. I’d learned one powerful tool.
Never mix business with pleasure.
“Here’s your shot.” Fallon handed me my drinks, including a glass of the black stuff, Guinness Stout my favorite beer.
I tossed back the whiskey, wiping my mouth with my arm on purpose, just like I’d seen the guys do. After taking a gulp of my beer, I nodded only once. “But as long as the bettin’ you do results in me getting the winnings.”
“Sure thing, sugar.”
I could always use a little more pocket cash.
The entire table started hootin’ and hollerin’, as I’d heard it called in America.
“Alright, boys. We got a live one tonight. How about puttin’ some money on the competition?” Rory was beside himself with glee, playing an air guitar as he strutted back to his table. Within seconds, at least ten other guys were tossing money onto the table.
“Suckers,” I huffed under my breath. I’d been taught by the best in arm wrestling, my brother a country wide champion. They were also patting Cormac as if he was getting ready to run a cross country championship route. Or maybe preparing for a boxing match, which I wouldn’t mind joining in either.
