Mistletoe and Mr. Right (11 page)

“A quick death and an easy one,” Emer chimes in, raising her glass.

“A pretty girl and an honest one,” Brennan murmurs, not looking in my direction in a way that feels purposeful.

“A cold pint and another one!” Danny finishes, pushing his glass into Katie's so hard the caramel-colored foam sloshes onto their hands.

I toast each glass in turn, meeting everyone's eye with a smile, then take two giant gulps of the surprisingly pleasant beer. Twenty minutes later I still can't shake the appreciative, intense expression in Grady's eyes when they met mine over the rims of our glasses of Guinness.

Or how hard it was to breathe when his gaze slid all the way down to my toes.

I drained the first beer and asked for another in an attempt to erase what turns out to be a rather stubborn visual, leaving my limbs tingling and my cheeks flushed and numb. The feeling is nice, kind of like any serious problem floats too far away from the thinking part of my brain to reach.

“It's so good to see you guys together again,” Danny gushes, then blushes when he notices me listening. “I mean, it's great to see all of you. Grady, what are you up to, man, I haven't seen you in forever!”

The friendly Irish boy does his best to change the subject, and I know he didn't mean me any insult, but there have been
several
comments about how good it is to see Katie and Brennan, plus at least three adorable stories that involve the two of them and high school. They're doing their best to ask me questions, but once we dispatched with the boring story of how we met and how I'm enjoying Ireland, everyone lost interest.

I don't blame them. This is a night for catching up with old friends, not making small talk with ones you'll probably never see again. Katie and Brennan keep inching closer to one another without even realizing it, and when I come back from my second bathroom break—the spot next to Brennan has disappeared.

My chest tightens and I turn toward the bar, ordering another pint.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Grady sidles up next to me, one eyebrow arched toward his hairline and his arm too close to mine.

I shift away from the heat of him. The spark of his skin. “Why, aren't you hoping I'll get wasted enough to take my top off and dance on the bar?”

“I hadn't entertained the possibility, to be honest.” He bites his lips, cutting a glance toward Brennan, who hasn't noticed my absence. “But unless that's how you're planning on capping your night, you might want to slow down. You're not used to drinking, and Guinness has more alcohol than most beer.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

The bartender hands over my beer and I slap a few euros on the counter, leaving Grady alone. This whole day is a strange, uncomfortable mash-up of lovely and shitty, but at the moment the buzz keeps my emotions from swamping my lack of good sense.

I shoulder my way into the circle of friends, trying not to feel glad when Grady pushes in beside me, our hips brushing. It's sweet that Grady feels the same . . . friendship blooming between us and that he's tuned into my comfort here. Or lack thereof. But Brennan is my boyfriend. Brennan is the one I want to do those things. I slide my hand into his and feel a gush of relief when he squeezes back.

Time wears on, and we keep drinking. The hour or two we were going to stay turns into three, until my eyelids are heavy and my feet ache from standing, and as the pleasant drunk feeling starts to tip toward dizzy and sick. I finish the rest of the beer in my hand and set it on the table, stumbling a little on my way to the bathroom and back. I've lost count of the number of times I've gone, and nausea turns in my gut.

Why did I drink so many beers? Who am I?

Stupid new Jessie.

“Well, I think I'm going to get going,” Grady says, putting what I think is just his second empty pint on the counter.

“Aw, of course Callaghan is the first one to leave,” Danny complains, punching him on the arm.

“Well, you know, we can't all be coddled like you are, O'Brien. Some of us have work to do in the morning, Christmas Eve or no.”

“Sure, sure.” Emer stands on her toes to give him a hug, one that lingers a few seconds longer than it has to.

A stab of jealousy startles me. There's no way Grady doesn't have his own sordid dating history because there's no girl alive with two eyeballs and a pulse who could pass the guy without looking twice.

“See you later, man,” he says, and gives Finn a handshake, then turns to Brennan. “Are you going to be okay getting home?”

“Yeah, Katie's driving.” He gives me a pointed look, an annoyingly obvious reminder that I was supposed to be the DD, but it bounces off my alcohol-armored skin.

“Do you want me to drive you, Jessie? You're looking locked enough to fall over.” Grady hesitates by the door, keys in his hand.

“Does that mean pretty?” I slur, tipping sideways so that he has to grab my elbow to hold me up.

Brennan frowns. “It means wasted. And you are.”

“Well, maybe a little. A
wee
bit,” I snort. I'm tired, too. So, so tired. “Are you going to stay?”

“Yeah. I mean, this is my only night to catch up with everyone.”

Never mind that we all agreed not to stay out late. Never mind that I'm his girlfriend and I need to go to bed. Never mind, apparently, that he doesn't like me alone with one Grady Callaghan.

“Fine. I'll go with Grady.”

“Fine.”

Only because you have to
, I think, letting Grady take my hand and pull me out into the cold.

*

“You've made a fine mess of things, haven't you?” Grady puts an arm around my waist, helping me walk to his rusted green truck a few blocks away.

I'd push him off, but putting one foot in front of the other proves quite a bit harder than it was a few hours ago. The cobbled, uneven streets slick with crusted snow combine with the blurry world to keep me leaning on Grady. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, but it's none of your business if I did.”

He sighs, opening the passenger door and boosting me inside. The world spins outside the truck and my stomach lurches, coating my tongue with a nasty taste. Closing my eyes helps, but only a tad.

“You're not going to throw up in my truck, are you?”

“I'm really not sure.”

He sighs again and starts the engine, letting it idle while the air blasting from the vents transforms from bitter cold to lukewarm, then shifts into gear. We bump through the night in silence for a while, which is good, since if I open my mouth there's no telling what might come flying out.

“Rough night?” he asks, softer this time. Peering under those rocks again.

I'm too tired to play the angry snake. “You could say that.”

“It's none of my business, but why don't you talk to Brennan instead of fighting with him?”

“It's not going to do any good.” I slouch in the seat, sticking my booted feet on the dash.

“Oh, and getting plastered is doing the trick?”

A smile tugs at my lips, then a laugh burbles up from my center. It's ridiculous, he's right, and I never, ever make a decision in the moment. This one had turned out poorly, but guess what? I'm still alive.

“You are a real piece of work, Jessie MacFarlane.” Grady grunts, but a quick glance reveals he's grinning, too. “I'm glad you came to Ireland.”

“You are?” I sit up straighter, crossing my legs. The world spins again and I press my eyes closed, groaning.

“Yes. But I might change my mind if you vomit.”

“Whatever.”

The roads twist and turn, lazy through the countryside, and the stone walls catch my eye, piquing my curiosity not for the first time. “What's the deal with the walls? I mean, at first I thought they were property divisions or livestock pens but they seem more haphazard than that.”

“Trust you to use big words when you're pissed,” he grumbles, squeezing the wheel tight around a curve. “But you're right. People use them that way now, but their origins are more practical. There have always been a lot of rocks in the area, and in order to farm, they had to be picked up. So people stacked them.”

“Huh. That's kind of boring,” I hiccup, then giggle. “It explains why they look like they've grown straight up out of the ground, though.”

“They're not like that in other places in the country. County Clare is special.”

“Of course it is.” I hiccup again, and this time Grady laughs. The honey sound of it falls over me, landing right between my thighs and burning.

“The other story is that during the potato famine the people who were out of work stacked walls for the rectories and churches in exchange for food.” He smiles. “We Irish don't take kindly to handouts.”

“Thank you,” I blurt out, still too warm from his presence. His voice, his laughter.

“For what?”

“Driving me home. Listening to my bullshit. Making me feel like I'm not a loser. Take your pick.”

We've reached the Donnellys' and Grady pulls up, choosing a parking spot and sliding the truck into park. He unbuckles and turns to face me, fire burning in his bright eyes, promising me something I don't want to accept.

“You really are gone in the head, aren't you?” Grady peers at me.

“What?”

“Those things? They aren't hard to do for you. You're making my Christmas rather spectacular, even if yours is turning out shitty.”

My breath catches, heart thudding when his gaze refuses to let go of mine. “If you weren't here, I think I'd have thrown myself off one of your famous cliffs by now.”

Grady reaches over and clicks my seat belt open, then grabs my hands and pulls us toward each other until we're in the middle of the bench seat. His fingertips are rough, calloused, as they trail down my cheeks. My body sways, listing to the right, then the left, and it's impossible to tell if it's still the booze or if Grady's gentle touch is knocking me off balance.

“There's nothing wrong with you, Jessie, and there's nothing wrong with wanting security in the future. But you've got to give yourself a break. There are guys in the world besides Brennan Donnelly. If he's not the one, you'll find someone else.”

“Someone like . . .” I'm drunk enough not to care that this is inappropriate. That I'm leading him, urging him to give a name to the tension strung between us like twinkle lights, and acknowledge the desire crackling in the air.

He tips his head to one side, fingers tracing the outline of my lips. “You're a smart girl. I have to believe you'll know it when you see it.”

Our faces hover inches apart, our eyes locked. His breath mingles with mine, both coming too fast. The heat spewing from the vents makes the car too warm. My eyes drop to his mouth, licking my lips at the thought of what it might feel like on mine. Knowing there will be fireworks but also comfort, and proof that there are, in fact, options for me.

His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me forward slowly, maybe to give me the chance to stop him.

Stop him, Jessie. You have a boyfriend. This is wrong.
Even the voice in my head is slurring. My stomach roils.

I don't want to stop him.

The knock on my door might as well be a jackhammer in my skull.

Light spews into my bedroom at the Donnelly B&B, stronger and brighter than it has been the past couple of days. It assaults my aching eyeballs as I try and fail to get enough moisture into my mouth to answer the knock. Finally, I manage to croak out a “come in.”

Brennan enters, showered and dressed, looking handsome and put together and generally making me feel more disgusting than I already do. His tight smile doesn't do anything to improve my mood as he sits down on the edge of the bed and I struggle to sit.

“Rough night, huh chicken?” He jerks his chin toward my body.

I look down to find last night's clothes askew and stuck to my sweaty skin. It smells like booze in here, as though it's coming out of my pores, and the greasy feeling in my stomach worsens. My memory is a puzzle with missing pieces, and every muscle in my body tenses when I recall being in the car with Grady. Talking about how there are other fish in the sea, my blood on fire as he leaned closer and closer.

There's nothing after that. I don't remember coming in the house or finding my way into bed or getting myself the glass of water and ibuprofen sitting on the bedside table.

“Yeah, a little,” I start, cautious. My head pounds and I reach for the drugs. “I'm sorry I lost it on you. I don't know what got into me.”

He shrugs. “It happens. Especially when you suck down Guinness like it's a watering hole in the desert.”

“I'll have to remember that.”

“I guess Grady got you home safely.” The way he says it, as though implying that something happened, sinks my stomach into my toes.

Because I don't know. Something
might
have happened.

“I hate to point this out again, but you could have driven me home,” I snap to cover up my discomfort. Also because I feel like shit. “You chose Katie. Again.”

“I didn't choose
Katie
. I chose to stay out with my friends whom I haven't seen in months.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as though counting to ten. “This isn't why I came in here.”

“Oh?” Wariness makes me bite my lower lip. “Why did you, then?”

“I've been feeling bad about not telling you about Katie. About her being here.”

“It's okay. It's right to invite her for Christmas if she doesn't have anywhere else to go.”

“No, not that.” His fingers trail up and down my arm, but for some reason the touch annoys me when it's meant to soothe. “I mean springing the fact of her. We haven't talked too much about our pasts, because we've been having such a good time in the present, right? But if I'd known you were coming I would have told you about her.”