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Chapter Two
Conor
I had been damnnear positive Curly would leave in the hours between our chat and close, but nope. She sat at her high top, one leg crossed over the other, nursing the bottle of water I left with her. Sometimes she’d lean against the table, others she’d sit up straight. But always, her eyes were on me and my movements.
I knew what women like her saw when they watched me.
A man whom she considered was just out of her league. A man who would never take a moment to appreciate the plain shirt and jean-clad legs, hair in a mess of a bun, while women with perfect hair and perfect faces and perfect tits falling out of their hardly-there shirts leaned over my bar.
But pussy was pussy. Tits were tits.
And every now and then, it was fun to throw something different in the mix.
I glanced over my shoulder at the clock before turning back to the last of the bar’s customers. “Closing time, ladies.” As was usual, I was the last to be in the bar. My cooks left at eleven; the last of the barmaids left an hour ago, and Stone left an hour before that.
“What are you up to tonight, Conor?” a fucking gorgeous brunette asked me. Her eyes met mine, but not before checking out my junk.
Not that she could see much of anything under the heavy fabric of this kilt.
I was up, all right, but it wasn’t for this brunette. It was for the one who kept her heavy gaze in my direction, who kept licking her fucking pink, full lips. Kept drawing in that lower lip. Kept squeezing her fucking knees together as she sat with her legs crossed.
She was just as impatient as I was.
Most of the women generally were.
The brunette at the bar leaned over as she pushed her glass forward, a twenty under it. Assuming it was to cover her tab, I took the bill and turned to close her out. When I returned with her change, she winked. “You keep it. But tell me, Con. How much does a girl gotta pay for you to take her virginity?”
There was no fucking way this woman was a virgin. Not with how provocatively she dressed nor how strong she was coming on.
Her girlfriend beside her giggled into her hand. Either she was a happy kind of gal, or she had one drink too many. Considering I always watched out for my customers and their limits, I would say she was a happy girl.
“I don’t fuck virgins, sweetheart.”
I reached over with my towel to wipe down the bar beside these two. My rule against virgins wasn’t anything bred from a terrible past or knowledge of horror stories of the whole deflowering process.
Nope.
Actually, I just didn’t think it was fair to the woman.
I wasn’t there to coddle, I wasn’t there to make sweet love.
I wanted to throw the woman down on the bed, rip her out of her clothes, and enter her without the preamble of foreplay and being sure she was ready. They were always mostly ready, some tighter than others, but always thick and hot and welcoming.
The pain, the tears, the blood; yeah, no thank you.
“Well, that’s too bad, sugar,” the girl said, pushing the change I just left her toward my end of the bar. “I’ll just have to come back. Have a good night, Conor O’Gallagher.”
The women left, leaving only Curly Locks in the establishment. I flicked my towel over my shoulder and rounded the bar, grabbing my legal pad and Cael’s invitation on the way. I continued to walk toward the door, but addressed her. “You’re still game?”
I looked over my shoulder, sure she would nod her response, and was pleasantly surprised to find she now stood near me. She grinned up at me, not looking nearly as naïve as I had pegged her as, and nodded. “Still game.”
Looking down at her, I couldn’t help but feel that I knew who she was.
It was something in her eyes.
She looked strong yet slightly wary, a look I’m sure I’d seen a thousand times before. Maybe that was why.
“Alright then.” I locked the front door and flipped a switch, turning off the neon advertisements and the “Open” sign.
