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“What’s his problem?” she questions, her eyes darting between me and the space her brother just bulldozed through.
Pushing aside the regret sinking to the depths of my stomach, I shake my head and slump towards her. “I do not know.”
Her footsteps match mine, her anticipation for a response propelling her forward. “Some shady shit must have gone down because Liam never loses his cool like he just did, ever.”
As I make a straight line for the fridge, I shoot a glare over my shoulder. “It was nothing.” My fingers wrap around the door handle, and I tug it open, peering inside for something to settle the fairies dancing in my stomach.
Opting for a sandwich, I pull out a pack of ham and the half-pound of Kerrygold butter, then close the fridge. Finally, I grab the sliced pan of Brennan’s bread and a side plate from the press, all the while avoiding Beibhinn’s knowing stare.
When I can’t avoid her any longer, I glance back to find her perched at the breakfast bar with her capped eyes on mine, complete with a raisedI’m-not-buying-the-bullshit-you’re-sellingbrow.
Closing the distance between us, I slide onto the high stool opposite hers and begin making my snack. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Do I look like Elsa?”
Raising my hand to my mouth, I stifle the burst of laughter stirring in my gut because yes, with colourless hair that creeps down her spine, paired with stormy grey eyes, that’s precisely what she looks like.
“Oh, shut up. You know what I meant.” She reaches across the table and pulls an apple from the fruit basket, then tosses it at my head. “Stop avoiding my question, and tell me what happened between you and Liam.”
“Fine,” I punctuate with an eye roll before diving into everything from the moment Rí stepped into the octagon to when Liam and I pulled up at the house. Beibhinn remains silent, eagerly hanging on to every word. Once I finish, she breaks through the silence with her hysterical laughter.
Confusion mars my brow, and I pull my lips tight, deepening my smile lines. “What’s so funny?”
Hoisting herself to her feet, she motions with the tip of her chin for me to follow her into the living room. “Come on, we’ll put a movie on, and I’ll tell you all about the lifelong rivalry between Liam Devereux and Rohan King.” She wiggles her brows as if she holds all the juicy secrets. “But first, we need a drink.”
Her feet carry her towards the glass cabinet next to the tv. In the next breath, she has a full bottle of tequila dangling from her fingers. We settle in, and Beibhinn spends the next half hour running through Rohan and Liam’s never-ending competition to be crowned Killybegs’ next King.
