In a flurry of grumbles and expletives, the boys filter out while the white-haired group at the other end of the bar claps and whoops.
“Yeah, yeah. How about you all mind your fuckin' business?” he yells over to them, shaking his head. “Sorry about all that,” he says, fixing me with a concerned look.
“Not on you.” I sigh, sliding my laptop into my bag. “How much for the coffee?” I catch a glimpse of Ivy's half-full beer next to me as the bartender whisks it away. “And the jackass’ beer?”
“We don't let jackasses like that have open tabs. There's always a fifty-fifty chance they'll ditch or do some stupid shit.” His eyes slide to the window before answering the first half of my question. “Coffee is on the house. And, not to tell you what to do, you seem like a woman who can handle herself, but maybe hang out a few minutes before leaving. To be safe. Or I could?—”
“No, I'm good without an escort.” I toss a look over my shoulder. “After the day I've had, I actually wouldn't mind breaking his nose.”
He chuckles softly. “Ya know, I bet he wouldn't be the first.” I give him a noncommittal nod. “But probably not worth catching a charge. People like him, their daddy can do worse that put you in jail and you're too pretty to deal with allthat.”
I'm beyond grateful that he has the courtesy to turn away, giving me a moment to pick my jaw off the floor.
“Tequila or whiskey?” He asks, back still to me.
The question elicits nothing more than the equivalent of a dial-up tone in my skull. “What?”
He turns back to me, two bottles in his hands. “Tequila,” he shakes the clear liquid, “or whiskey?” He sloshes the amber next.
I should say neither. Lie. Claim that I've never touched a drink in my life. Not a drop. Teetotaler. Yes. In fact, this is the first bar I've ever been in, kind sir. Thank you for your chivalry. I will see myself out.
Any of those, no matter how absurd, would be the reasonable choice.
Fuck that.
“Tequila.”
“Knew it.”
“Well, now I want to change my mind just to wipe that smug look off your face.”
“Too late.” He pours us each a shot.
“No lime?”
“Trust me, this is so smooth you don't need it.” He raises his glass, “To turning a shitty day around.”
“And knights in black t-shirts.”
He smiles broadly. “Sláinte.”
As promised, the tequila requires no accompaniment. It settles warm in my core, sending tingles through my tense muscles.
He sets his glass down and extends one of those beautiful hands to me. “Cillian.”
I take it, unable to ignore the way it dwarfs my own or the calluses on his fingers and palms. “Toni.”
“Short for?” He holds our shake.
“Antoinette.”
“Antoinette,” he echoes. Maybe it's the tequila, but I like how my full name sounds on his tongue. “Despite the circumstances, glad to meet you.”
“Ey, Cilli!” One of the old men call. “Stop flirting. We're thirsty over 'ere!”
Cillian rolls his eyes, a good-natured smile on his lips. “Fuck off, Andy.” He shakes his head. “I better go before they start crying like a bunch of babies.” He sends the last word loudly in their direction. In response, they start sniffling.
We both laugh.
