Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Agreed. Did you even know he wasn’t looking for something serious? I mean, had you ever talked about relationships?”
“Yes. I knew he didn’t want to take anything at light speed, but he seemed really into me. I’m a decent catch.”
That had sounded less pathetic in my head.
She rolled her eyes at me. “No shit, Sherlock. I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. But maybe you need to take a break from looking for something serious and stick to sex in the clubs for a bit instead, hmm?”
I knew she was joking, but it still rankled. “Cait, I live in a cottage at the edge of the sea in nowhere, Ireland. You want to talk to me about hooking up in gay clubs? Christ.”
“Another reason you should move to the city with me and Donny one day,” she said with laser eyes burning holes in my face. “Cork is full of gorgeous men.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Gay men in Cork? Please. I’ve either already fucked them or deliberately not fucked them.”
That got her attention. She knew I wasn’t a casual-sex person. “Pardon?”
“Well, it seemed that way anyway. Before college, I mean,” I muttered. “And anyway, Dublin is much better.”
“You last lived in Dublin, what? Four years ago? You don’t think things have changed since then? You dope.”
I leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. “Doesn’t matter. No more men for me. I’m on a break.”
The last thing I heard before I walked back in the direction of the car park near the pub was the snide chuckle and my sister’s bratty “Yeah, right. Famous last words. I’ll prove you wrong. I’m going to find someone irresistible and send them to the pub during one of your shifts to tempt you into a casual fuck, no strings attached. Remind you of the freedom of walking away after.”
It only took twenty-four hours for me to spot the man she must have found for me. He was hot as fuck, and I knew he was the one she’d sent because he certainly wasn’t a local and he wasn’t with anyone else the way the tourists were. But he didn’t look like a player. He looked like a Forever Man.
I tracked the stranger from the doorway to the spot he selected at the bar. His soulful eyes were so fucking beautiful, I was sure I stared at him like an idiot until another customer down the bar asked for her party’s bill. Sorting out the separate checks bullshit for the woman took longer than I expected, and when I was done, I heard the stranger call out from behind me.
“Excuse me… may I have a beer please?” he asked. American. And his voice was lovely.
I turned around and saw the usual moment of surprise when the stranger realized I wasn’t a woman. It was over in a flash, but it was there. With my long hair and feminine features, it happened more often than not, but this time around it did make me wonder why Cait hadn’t given the man my description ahead of time. Maybe he wasn’t particularly picky?
He spoke again, only this time it was with noticeably rosier cheeks that had my own face warming as my lips tugged into an unbidden smile. The gorgeous man was blushing. “Ah… what do you have on tap? How about a lager?”
I stared at those lovely rosy cheeks until the man turned around to look behind him before looking back at me in confusion. “You okay? Do you need me to find someone else?”
A full-body shudder passed through me and woke me up out of my ridiculous stupor. “No, fine. I’m grand. Yeah. Lager, coming right up.”
As I pulled his beer into the pint glass, I tried studying him out of the corner of my eye without being obvious. He had medium-brown hair clipped short on the sides and left longer and styled on top. His cheeks showed a couple of days’ beard growth, which only enhanced his full rosy lips. Every single aspect of the man was beautiful. But nothing, nothing, compared to his bedroom eyes. They were a mix of green and blue I wanted to dive into and get lost in.
I couldn’t help but also admire the cut of his crisp suit on his tall, wide-shouldered frame as the fine material hugged his body as he moved. I watched with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he patted his pockets almost frantically until he found a small bottle of what looked like hand sanitizer and began rubbing it into his palms. I almost called out to make a joke about my bartop being too dirty for him when I realized that his body noticeably relaxed the more he worked the gel between his hands. As soon as he was done, he began stacking a few nearby coasters neatly together. It hit me then that his behavior probably had nothing to do with the bartop’s cleanliness at all. Before I could even consider what any of it meant, he turned to stare at me, and I realized the pint glass was overflowing all over my hand.