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I realized that I’d misinterpreted Rick. He was straight edge and all business at work, but outside of the office, he was cool, confident, and quirky.
“Ah, mate.” Craig shook his head as Rick stood and Kate pulled her hand from his and fanned her face, chuckling. “Why does it have to be one or the other?”
“‘The reason the Irish are always fighting each other is they have no other worthy opponents.’” Rick sipped his golden-brown whiskey.
“Oh, please.” Craig tipped his head back and laughed. “Get your own material, man.” He shook his head. “He’s been spouting quotes all week at work, driving me bloody nuts.”
Really? He hadn’t done it to me. Maybe he was shyer around the opposite sex—well, maybe until alcohol was in his blood.
“You’re a walking Hallmark card,” Kate joked.
“Um, I’ve never read a Hallmark card like that,” Narisa pointed out.
“Then you’ve never gotten a Saint Patrick’s Day card, I take it?” Kate asked, her eyes wandering now, scoping out the crowd.
“Nope, can’t say I have.” Narisa smiled as Rick bumped his hip into her side, his eyes playful. Oh. So he had a crush on Narisa, which is why he’d been joking with Kate. Misdirection and all.
“Well, I hope the fighting thing is just a stereotype. I’d much prefer poetry.” A chill licked my spine, and I cringed. I hated fighting—more than hated it. But I didn’t want to think about that right now. I didn’t want to spoil my good mood.
“Inside or out?” Craig asked. Judging by how both Kate and Narisa were trembling, I figured we’d be going inside where live Irish music blared.
“In!” Narisa shouted.
We left the bar and walked through the courtyard. We passed by a tall, wooden post, which had dark brown signs as its branches, each one pointing the way to a different city and providing the distance in kilometers beneath each name. I chuckled at the sign for the North Pole, which was just below the word “bar.” “Bar” was a whopping seven meters away. I hoped no one drank so much that they needed guidance to find their way inside the bar.
Once inside, my eyes were drawn to the elderly musicians in the back of the pub. It wasn’t what I’d been expecting. They were rocking it out with violins, not guitars, which was pretty cool. The Irish tunes relaxed me as we made our way through the swarm of people in search of a table.
The interior of the pub was as unique as the exterior. More signposts decorated the gray blocks of stone that made up the walls. Strips of dark wood supported the ceiling.
But I halted in my tracks and stopped following my group as they made their way to one of the empty tables. My feet planted firm to the ground as my eyes fell upon a guy leaning with his back to the bar. His eyes swept over my body as I studied him. There was no way I could forget his face. He had pinned me to Les’s apartment building.
The man’s cold eyes gleamed with something sinister, and I stepped back, bumping into Narisa who had been trailing behind me. “Sorry,” I muttered, my eyes breaking the caged hold of the man’s. When I looked back over, he was gone.
“You okay?” Narisa asked.
“I, um.” I didn’t know what to do. Had I been seeing things, or was it a coincidence that the thug from the street was at the bar?
I placed a hand on my abdomen. “I’m suddenly not feeling so well. I think I’m gonna bail.” I handed her my nearly full beer glass and looked over at the others who had taken a seat at the table near the back of the bar. “I’m sorry. Can you tell everyone I need to jet?”
Narisa’s brown eyes found mine and she nodded. “Okay,” she said as if she wasn’t sure, but she also didn’t know me well enough to push.
“Thanks. See you Monday.” I didn’t wait for her response, but turned around and went back out the way I came in, scanning the crowd for him.
I darted under the archway and out to the street, throwing my hand up in the air. I looked over my shoulder one last time and froze. The guy was off to the side of the pub, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was looking straight at me, but he didn’t approach. He didn’t say anything.
I ripped my gaze from his as the sound of tires breaking near me had me looking to the street.
A cab. Thank God.
I flung open the door, tucked myself safely inside, and sputtered out the name of my hotel.
“How are ya tonight?” the cabbie asked as we pulled away, and I scrambled to find my phone in my purse, not wanting to look out the window.
“I’m okay. How are you?” I softly asked as I scrolled to Adam’s number.
“Oh, an American? I love America. I haven’t actually been, but I think the country is just amazing.” He was older. His eyes found mine in the rearview mirror with a softness that gave me a sense of safety. I smiled back at him and relaxed a little, but kept my hand tight around my phone. I stared down at Adam’s name, wondering if I should call.
CHAPTER TWELVE
