“Christ.” He tucks a loose, silver-threaded, dark curl behind his ear. “Can I get you anything?”
“More coffee?”
“You got it.” Cillian refills my mug and, once more, adds the perfect amount of cream before tending to the others.
I set up my laptop again with the best intentions of knocking a few more things off my to-do list. But the adage about hell and intentions proves all too true.
I blame the tequila.
And the charming man who served it to me.
How was I supposed to focus on something besides his easy manner with the other patrons? How he'd stepped up for me? How incredible his ass looked in those jeans? His friendly greeting to the tall, gorgeous blonde who walked behind the bar?
I can’t help but wonder if this is the kind of place that only hires hot people, because...damn.
Focus. Toni.
I’ve barely gotten through the opener of an email when Cillian pauses in front of me. That’s all the invitation I need to shift my focus from the screen back to the man.
“Uh...” he absently tightens the hair piled on top of his head “Please feel free to tell me to go fuck myself but my evening shift just got in and once my cook is here, I'm free forthe rest of the night...” He trails off a bit before rushing into his question. “Any chance I could get you dinner? Or drinks. I know it's kinda early,” he clears his throat, “for dinner.”
My thoughts shift from their usual, but manageable, ADHD-fueled chaotic hum to a full-on cacophony. It isn't the asking that sends my brain off the rails. It's how nervous he seems—bashful in an endearing way that catches me off guard.
Or maybe I’m imagining things.
I need to stall. “I think we already had a drink.”
“So . . . dinner?” A crooked smile softens his features.
“Didn't you say your cook is coming in?” I manage to ask while my mind screams:Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck!
“As much as I love this place, I'd prefer to go anywhere but here.”
A young, lanky guy slides behind the bar and begins gathering glassware. “One second, sorry.” Cillian steps aside to speak to him in hushed tones while I silently thank him for buying me a little time to sort myself out.
No is the obvious and correct answer here.
Sure, he could just be a nice guy offering to turn my shitty day around, nothing more. But he did call me pretty, and he did give me both free coffee and tequila, and I would let him rail me on this bar top in front of god and everyone.
So. The answer was simple:No. Thank you, Cillian, you're so nice to offer, but I'm an absolute hurricane of a person, so it's best if?—
“Verdict?”
“Dinner sounds great.”
CHAPTER 3
Cillian
“Fuck.”I drag the word out on a breath as I lean against the office door.
“Oh no.” My eyes shoot open, meeting my cousin's already panicked expression from her place seated at the desk. I'd been too distracted by my own stupidity to notice she’d come back here. Had I known, I would have kept my mouth shut.
Ginelle sets her mascara down, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Cillian, if it’s already that bad, you're gonna have to accept my resignation because I cannot?—”
“No.” I wave my hands in the air, trying to clear her concern like smoke. “No, everything is...It's fine.” I collapse onto the sagging couch, my bad leg begging me for a bit of reprieve.
“Obviously. So fine. You seem completely normal.” She retrieves her abandoned mascara.
