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Now Shane had just got through telling Tad about Jules’s stand-off with Jack and while Tad would normally be taking that kind of thing in his stride, he was more than a touch interested in some of the statements she had made. Particularly the ones about how she wanted sex and the places she was happy to get it in.
“She was very forceful about it, too,” Shane said as he lifted a pint of ale to his lips.
O’Casey’s, the smallest Irish bar in Chicago, was busier than usual with a group of bachelorettes snagging the attention of every guy in the room. In his heyday, Tad would be all over that, tapping the prettiest girl in the group. But now he couldn’t muster the interest, not even in the one who brushed her breast against his arm—slow and deliberate, like—as she tried to get the attention of Conor, the owner/bartender.
“Sorry,” she said, the sound more wheezy than Marilyn-breathless. A white veil was pinned at a drunken angle on her head. It had been a while since he’d hit on the bride and over the years, he’d raised his standards some.
“No problem,” he said, moving aside to give her space.
“I’m Giselle,” she said. “Like the supermodel.”
Who called their kid Giselle? And who tacked on “like the supermodel” during the overture?Minus fifty points, honey.
“Pretty name.” He turned back to Shane, not before registering the moue of distaste that crossed her glossy lips.
“Is she really going to let some guy she met online fuck her in the back of his”—Tad carved the air with his hand, reaching for the douchiest car name he could think of— “Lexus?”
Shane gave a smirk of,that’s the best you got?
“I think she was just trying to make a point to Jack.” His eyes flicked to the tipsy bride-to-be, then back to meet Tad’s with a look ofup-for-it babe at three o’clock,followed by an eyebrow lift ofwhat’s your problem?
The guy needed to shut the hell up.
“So she’s not dying to get jumped by the first guy who shows her some interest?”
“Who’s not dying to get jumped?” Conor had just served Giselle her rum and coke with all the efficiency of a guy who could keep one eye on the Blackhawks game, run a thriving bar, and also put out fires with his work at Engine No. 35 down the street. He leaned over, ready for a gossip.
“Jack’s sister, Jules,” Shane said. “She’s dating.”
“She’s thinking about it,” Tad said sharply.
“More than thinking about it. She’s already on one of those dating sites. Getting lots of interest.”
“Jules, Jules, Jules,” Conor murmured like he was trying to think of who she was.
Fucker knew exactly who she was because once seen, Jules was impossible to forget. “Blonde, green eyes, Sprite with a twist?”
Tad frowned his agreement.
“She used to come in with you when she was pregnant,” Conor said, his voice taking on a suspiciously dreamy quality. “Haven’t seen her in a while. Had her kid?”
“Evan. He’s great.” He really was. Tad adored that bundle of terror.
“So she’s ready to get back in the game? Interesting.”
“Don’t you have customers to serve?” Tad asked grumpily, waving an arm around the crowded bar.
Conor continued, undeterred. “I always thought you two had a little something.”
Tad could feel his body turn to titanium. Just because he looked happy with Jules did not mean they had “a little something.”
“You’re losing business,cretino.” Tad gestured to a cranky-looking guy angling for service at the other end of the bar. Just at that moment, the man pounded the bar to get Conor’s attention.
Straightening to an intimidating six-feet-four, Conor sent a dagger storm the guy’s way. “Do that again and you’re barred, asshole.”
He turned his back on the chastened customer. “So all those times you were hanging out with her in here, it was one of your plays? Is that Number 23? The one where you use the pregnant chick to establish your friend-to-all-women credentials, then you go in for the kill with some other hottie?”
Tad slid a glance in Shane’s direction. “Is this guy for real?”
