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Then I quietly let Shamus in on our meet-cute and what happened to Hamlet.
“So, let me get this right. The zapping is a sign ye should spend more time with the Australian. Ye have seen her almost naked, but in a bath, and ye like her sassy mouth and her bubble butt.” He chuckles, making a soft, throaty sound of amusement.
“Please keep your voice lowered. Are you finished?” I wait for him to pull himself together.
“Tucker Royal, ye sure ye aren’t simply lusting after the female because she’s daring to challenge you at every turn?”
“No. I don’t want this to be the end. Not yet. Sparks are flying, and that must mean something. I don’t wish Hamlet to walk away today, and we never see each other again. I want a date—just one.”
Shamus sobers up. “I can see ye are serious, and I am not acting kind.” He holds his palm up in front of him and places the other hand over his heart. “I pledge to be yer wingman. Whatever ye need, I will assist in making it happen.”
“Good. Because I’ll remember this, and when you need a wingman—even if I am happily married—I will be there to assist in making it happen.”
Shamus’s smile gets swept away. “Remember… I have a ‘broken heart.’”
Code for: I’m not looking for any female company. It’s what Shamus has me tell groupies when we meet females backstage, as we did a couple of weeks ago in Fort Worth. Until we realized the group of ladies were all taken and not groupies, and they were part of Levi and Keanu’s crew, so, therefore, he had nothing to worry about.
I grasp his shoulder. “All in good time, you will get zapped when you least expect it.”
“I won’t be basing my happily-ever-after on whether my skin gets a spark off a female’s skin.”
“Nor am I, there is a bubble butt, boobies, a face, a wicked personality, throw in some stubbornness, curves that go for—”
“I’ve got eyes. I can see Hamlet’s beauty in a little package. Ye will get no argument there, but as I have found—”
We have a habit of cutting each other off. “Yeah, well, you had a difficult time, and that didn’t help. There’s a good person out there who will keep you on your toes; don’t write off all women.”
“Did ye just try to sell me what ye have been preaching to yourself all these years?”
“Yes, I did. I have seen the light and a spark, so follow on, and let me introduce you.” I pick up the water bottle. “Shall we?” Shamus follows on behind me.
I crack the lid and set the bottle down on the low coffee table within Hamlet’s reach.
The Doc has just finished stitching his patient up and is now writing a list on a notepad.
“Hey there, lass.” Shamus wiggles his fingers at Hamlet. “I’m Shamus MacDougall.”
Hamlet wiggles her fingers back and politely says, “Hiya.”
Shamus is man-candy to the female species, and I don’t doubt some of the male species. The combination of dark reddish-brown hair, intelligent blue-gray eyes, and scruff enhance his already good looks.
I wait for Hamlet’s eyes to go all dreamy in his presence, but she doesn’t seem to recognize “Sticks” or be affected by the six-foot-five Scottish Adonis next to me wearing a blue, green, and black kilt. Hamlet isn’t going all Bambi-eyed, not like otherbonnie lasseswho get a little too enthusiastic around him even when they don’t recognize his once rock star status.
If he’s behind his drum kit, then he prefers to be kilted-up and bare-chested. His black boots are usually laces undone, completing the look worthy of a rock star photo shoot.
“Och, what a nice pussy,” Shamus murmurs beside me.
A horrid streak of jealousy strikes me like a hot iron because I think my friend is getting suggestive in front of Hamlet until a gray furball jumps up onto the sofa, walking tentatively across the back of it.
I appear to be the only one whose mind is in the gutter.
The small cat steps down onto Hamlet’s shoulder, moving in a circle until it sits on the cushion I tucked under Hamlet’s head, with the front half of his body resting on her shoulder.
Shamus leans over to give it a scratch behind the ears. “I grew up with three pussies in our house in Scotland. Nice simple creatures.”
He’s using a poor choice of words.
“I gather this is Moses,” I pipe up.
