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The afternoon sun casts long shadows on the store floor, and I feel like they’re closing in on me. My thoughts keep drifting back to Irish, no matter how hard I try to focus on my tasks.
“Excuse me,” a customer says, bringing me back to reality. “Can you help me find a shirt that matches this tie?”
“Of course,” I reply, forcing a cheerful smile. We make our way through the maze of clothing racks, my mind racing with questions. Does Irish feel the same way I do? Or has he already moved on to someone else? He seems the type, what with seducing me and then striding off.
“Here you are,” I say, handing the man a perfectly matched shirt. He thanks me for my assistance before walking away, leaving me to my turbulent thoughts again.
A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine Irish’s eyes locked onto mine, his accent teasing every part of me. The forbidden desire bubbling up refuses to be silenced, even though I know it’s dangerous to entertain these fantasies.
“Summer, can you take over at the register?” Jess asks, snapping me out of my reverie.
“Sure, no problem,” I respond, stepping behind the counter. As I ring up customers’ purchases, my heart flutters with anxiety, wondering if Irish has any regrets about our night together. I can’t shake the feeling that there must be something more to him - something darker lurking beneath the surface. He is sexy as fuck, but nice guys don’t do what he did.
Neither do nice girls.
Cringing at the thoughts, I shake it off. I’m not a yummy yukker. ‘You do you’ has always been my motto, but it was out of character for me to do what I did last night, and it will probably take me a while to get over the guilt I feel.
Smiling at the young woman, I ring up her goods and wait for her to pay. She thanks me and leaves, her heady perfume lingering in the air like a ghostly reminder of last night’s passion.
“Home time!” Gary calls out, crossing over to me with a smile. “Thank fuck, am I right?”
“Yeah.” Giving him a shy smile, I lower my eyes. He’s my work crush. He’s tall with blonde hair and green eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. I always fluster when he speaks to me, even though he is the friendliest guy going. “I’m exhausted.”
“Partied hard last night?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. “Sorry I couldn’t make it, but I had a thing.”
“It’s okay, and yeah, a bit too much.”
My cheeks are hotter than the flames of hell as I stammer my way out of this conversation with a half-hearted wave, rushing past him to the break room to gather my belongings from my locker. Hoping he didn’t hear anything about anything, I will be sure to avoid him for the foreseeable future, just in case.
Stepping outside the store, the evening air is hot and sweaty on my skin as the humidity levels have not dropped.
Glaring at the clear blue sky, I curse it. “Where is the supposed thunderstorm?” I mutter and head for the parking lot, only to be stopped short when I remember I don’t have my car; I have the bus.
“Fuck.” All I want to do is hurry home, have a cool shower and then, in incognito mode, look up places I can go to get tested, preferably somewhere out of town so no one sees me.
As I walk to the bus stop, surrounded by people finishing their city jobs and leaving the stores as they close, these damn thoughts of Irish continue to haunt me. I know I should forget about him and move on with my life, but something inside me clings to the hope that he might be the one I’ve been waiting for. The taste of danger, coupled with whiskey and cigarette smoke, lingers on my lips, making it impossible to let go completely.
Wondering if our paths will cross again and what sinister truths are concealed in those irresistible eyes, all I can do is keep moving forward, one step at a time, until I hear a voice behind me that freezes my blood instantly.
As I glance up, my heart skips a beat. There he is—Irish. He leans against a nearby wall, smoking a cigarette, his eyes locked on me. A shiver runs down my spine, but not entirely from fear. There’s something undeniably magnetic about him that tugs at the edges of my desires.
“Hey,” he says, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing out the smoke. “Fancy seeing you here, Tinkerbell.”
“Hi,” I reply hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m torn between the urge to run away and the inexplicable pull toward him.
His blue eyes, which are a gorgeous shade like a swimming pool of heaven, study me intently, and I squirm under his gaze. They hold secrets too dangerous for me to unravel. The flicker of a devilish grin flashes across his face, sending a surge of heat through my body.
Involuntarily, I take a step back.
“Did you enjoy our little encounter last night?” he asks, his voice low and velvety. I feel like prey caught in his sights—trapped and unable to look away. He is dressed in black combat pants and a tight black tee that shows off his muscular arms, the snake tattoos winding up his arms, as I remember. Glancing at his fingers holding the cigarette, I quickly draw my gaze back up to his eyes, but not for long.
“Y-yes,” I stammer, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as I lower my gaze again. I can still feel the roughness of his hands on my skin, the taste of his lips on mine. Those memories stir up a longing that shouldn’t be allowed.
Probably isn’t.
“Me too,” he murmurs, taking another puff of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. He pushes off the wall, stalking towards me with predatory grace.
“How did you find me?” I ask, my voice cracking.
