I look up at him again with wide eyes. He’s taking a drink, peering at me over the glass.
“Norah! Are you sexting?” Amelia suddenly asks, her voice much too loud.
I turn, glaring at her and simultaneously flipping her off. This, naturally, has all of the other girls looking at me, demanding that I answer the question.
“You wouldn’t be talking to tall, dark, and handsome at the end of the bar, would you?” Myra asks, batting her fake lashes at me.
I think about lying, but honestly, I’m too tired to try to come up with a ruse that they’ll inevitably see through, so I inhale deeply before saying, “Actually…I am.”
This spurs a round of gasps, squeals, and mock outrage. They all want details, but I’m not about to spill them here, especially with the subject of such details sitting just across the way.
My phone chimes again.
Eamon:Did you need to consult your friends before answering?
My face heats in embarrassment, but I reply to his text quickly.
Norah:No. I can make my own decisions, thank you very much.
Eamon:So what decision have you made?
Norah:Hmm. I’ll make up my mind after the team’s performance.
Eamon:That’s not fair, lass!
I reply with a winky face then pointedly drop my phone into my purse. My friends are relentless though eventually weasel the short version out of me.
“Yes, we’ve been talking. Yes, we have plans to hang out on Monday. No, nothing is official. No, nothing hashappened.”
Myra and Amelia groan their disappointment, while Layla grins from ear to ear and Charlie sits there silently.
Amelia notices her lack of response and narrows her eyes. “Why aren’t you more excited?”
Charlie, coming to the rescue, shrugs and says, “It was inevitable. You honestly thought that nothing would come out of their drinking contest? Norie doesn’t even talk to guys, let alone drink with them.”
“I talk to guys!” I exclaim indignantly. “The Theatre Department is full of them.”
“Those don’t count. They all wear more makeup than you.” Charlie laughs.
“That’s not fair. They still count as men—if that’s how they identify,” I tell her. “Actually, on that note, I have to tell you about this idea I had for the spring play.”
I lean forward to share my idea with the girls when Pat steps onto the stage to start open mic night. Tonight, he’s wearing a tweed flat cap and a brown cable knit Aran sweater. If his accent didn’t give him away, his attire definitely would.
“Good evenin’, lads and lassies! Welcome to open mic night at O’Nelly’s! We have a very special surprise for you tonight! Not only are our beloved Seahawks back to start us out with a rollicking rendition of ‘Come In,’ but our very own Irish trio will be performing ‘Ringsend Rose’! Now, let’s give our boys a warm welcome!”
Everyone cheers wildly, clearly forgetting how horrible the Seahawks performed last time, musicians withstanding. Pat walks off the stage and heads behind the bar.
Suddenly finding myself in need of another drink, I excuse myself from the table, weaving through the crowds of people until I reach the bar. Pat grins broadly when he sees me.
“Hello, lass! Good to see you!” he greets me.
“Hi, Pat! How’d your appointment go?”
“Ach. It was grand. Nothing but a checkup is all. I’m extremely grateful to you and Eamon for helping an old man out. Your drinks are on the house tonight. As long as we don’t have a repeat of last week!” he says with a wink.
“It was my pleasure, really. I’m just glad you’re okay. And there will not be a repeat of last week. I promised you that already,” I remind him.
“Aye, that you did. Now, what can I get for you?”
