I need a double shot of something that will jolt my brain back into work mode and out of the Irish clouds. With ice.
I start a running tab on the register. It doesn’t escape my notice that my fingers are trembling. It’s a contagious condition affecting my knees too. Maybe I’m getting a fever. I glance across at Carol, who is chatting to a George Clooney lookalike with hints of silver in his luscious black hair, and prominent brows. More my type than Carol’s. Experienced, but in a good way.
“Ryan.”
It takes a moment for me to register that the Irish dude is talking to me.
“Amelia.” Because my voice has also become detached from my brain. I look around for another customer to serve, but it’s early in the evening, and everyone has been taken care of. “Are you in the city on business?”
It’s good customer service, I tell myself. Keep the customers talking, smile at them a lot, and they’ll spend more money on drinks and tips.
“Aye. At least I thought I was.”
“What does that mean?”
If I lean any closer, my breasts will practically be sitting on top of his brandy, but he’s either deliberately keeping his voice low to lure me in, or I’m more of a sucker for the accent than I realized.
“Long story, Amelia.”
What the fuck is going on with my pussy right now?
“Can I get you a drink?” He pauses. “Please.”
I can’t help smiling. “Soda. Thanks.”
His eyes follow me and they never once lower to the view beneath my neck. This guy is good. “Have you ever been to Ireland?”
“No. But I will be in three days.”
Every piece of security advice that exists online will warn against telling a stranger that you’re going away. But it’s okay, I tell myself. He has no idea where I live, or my circumstances. He doesn’t even know my last name.
“My dad was Irish.IsIrish. I never met him. Not that I’m going to find him, knock on his door, and say, ‘Surprise! I’m the daughter you never knew you had’.”
I’m in full-on runaway-mouth mode. Carol is too distracted by George Clooney to come and rescue me, and Irish is grinning at me like I’m one of those chimps in the zoo who pick their bums in front of wide-eyed children.
“So, what will you do? If you find him?”
He seems genuinely curious, and I relax my shoulders a little. Sip my soda. Pretend I’m a perfectly normal twenty-something New Yorker of Irish African American descent.
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I haven’t thought that far ahead. “Maybe just watch him from a distance. I don’t want him in my life.”
The grin fades. He watches me coolly like he’s trying to figure out who I’m kidding. Then, “His loss. Why now, Amelia? Why didn’t you search for him before?”
He isn’t probing. Okay, so maybe he is probing, but he makes it sound as if he’s invested. Maybe he’s a psychoanalyst or something, and he’s using me for research purposes.
“My mom didn’t tell me about him until I graduated from college. Then circumstances got in the way.” By circumstances I mean money, but I’m not going to spell it out for the guy in the designer suit that probably costs more than I earn in a month. “I’ll work while I’m there. This trip is more about exploring the country and my roots than about finding him.”
Ryan nods. Maybe he buys the story, maybe he doesn’t. I won’t sweat it either way. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again after tonight.
“What time does your shift finish?”
“Why?” My knees are trembling again. I can’t remember the last time anyone had this effect on me and I’m out of practice dealing with it.
The smile is back, lighting up his face and giving off a glow that sets him apart from every other guy sitting at the bar. “I like your company.”
And that’s all it takes for me to be all in.
He’s staying at the Wraith.
