Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Bloody hell, is there anything sexier than the woman you love supporting the sport and place you love?
I guess if she were wearing that shirt and only that shirt.
Tonight.
Yes.
She will definitely be doing that shite tonight.
Afterall, it’s my fucking birthday.
She can’t refuse the birthday boy’s wishes.
Don’t get me wrong, the new hurley and helmet I wore earlier were great gifts but seeing her spread out in the middle of the bed for the taking in just my colors will be a million times better.
Inside The Harvest, we grab a round table in the middle of the room, not because it’s the only one that’ll fit me, Harper, my dad, my uncle Rory, and my cousin Colin, but because my uncle Rory, my father’s baby brother lives to be the center of attention, especially whenever he’s in the states. In his words, he wants to be front and center for ladies to come and enjoy a real taste of Ireland.
His antics make Dad laugh yet drive Mom mad.
Only time will show us where Harper’s feelings lie.
Although, from what she’s mentioned, she adores him. He was the main one during the game to explain to her exactly what was happening. Dad was evidently too busy arguing with other watchers about terrible calls while Colin was scouting the men on the field for things, he’d like to do with them off it.
That of course was the primary reason I didn’t get all worked up with him sitting so close to my girlfriend while I was playing. If he were any other cousin, I would’ve given her strict instructions to sit far away from him.
Flirting isn’t just floating in the O’Clery DNA.
It’s engraved in the very fiber of our souls.
The women who have chosen to marry O’Clery men know that when it comes to their husbands it’s harmless as well as mindless most of the time, simply Irish charm just so second nature it’s almost impossible to stop, but the men that aren’t married, that aren’t tied down, flirting is its own bloody sport and competition has no bounds regarding your fellow family members interest or unmarried status to a particular female. One holiday when I was twelve, we arrived and my uncle Rían, Uncle Rory’s twin brother who is only two minutes older than him, was sleeping with this strikingly attractive brunette from Limerick, and by the time we left, my oldest cousin, Seamus – first born of Dad’s oldest brother Raff – was the one who’s lucky charms she was tasting. In other words, until you put a band on woman’s finger, until you make that vow, she’s fair game in that half of my family.
Which may be why Dad proposed to Mom so quickly.
And perhaps why part of me is quite anxious to do the same.
“First round is on Ronan,” Uncle Rory joyfully announces as I push my chair protectively closer to Harper’s.
“That’s bloody nice of me,” Dad laughs while adjusting himself in his seat.
“Your son hit the game shot,” Uncle Rory casually reminds, “plus it’s his bloody birthday, so he can’t buy the round.”
“And why can’t you?” Dad warmly inquires on the heels of his proclamation.
“Because I’m the bloody guest in these parts. Just like Colin.”
I cut a glance at my cousin who is sitting between Harper and his father, not surprised at all to see him openly checking out the male server in the room.
While flirting runs rampantly in our systems, subtly does not.
“I could just start a tab,” my girlfriend happily volunteers. There’s a collective clamoring of refusal in English and Irish that she stops with a sassy statement. “Okay, correction. I am going to start a tab, and you all are going to drink and eat and tell me more stories that involve the birthday boy and do your best to convince me that hurling is better than hockey.”
Our next outburst is in English and Irish as well except instead of arguing with her, we’re all rushing to explain why our favorite sport definitely beats hers.
And that’s not to say I don’t like hockey.
I damn sure don’t follow it the way she does, yelling when the Dalvegan Dragons make a bad trade or ordering merch the second she gets a discount code email, but I do enjoy watching the highlights.
Even promised her I’d go to game if she wants.
Well, if we can find the time to.
Our schedules aren’t the most compatible.
I don’t think I’ve ever worked this hard in my life to make mine mesh with someone else’s. Even planning a holiday with my parents – that’s three adults with three separate jobs – isn’t nearly as fucking hard as it is to figure out how Harper and I can do more than shag and dine and drive around the mitten every week.
Getting creative isn’t an option here.