Nolan smirked but finally did what was smart and walked away.
“You ready—?”
“Is it true? You leaving us for the Reds?” Alan asked, looking a lot like a hurt kid.
I nudged him with my elbow. “Stop being such a pussy. I’m not going anywhere. Now let’s grab a pint. Or three. I need it after that.”
I knew I had promised Mo to be on my best behavior but there was something about Nolan Dubois that made me want to fuck shit up. Mostly his face. But without that, I’d have to improvise.
The lad was coming out to play.
Morgan
Ifelt as if we had been in the pub for hours.
The daiquiris were starting to turn in my stomach and my head had gone all fuzzy. I was laughing too loud and talking too much. I was too tipsy to notice the way other people in the bar were staring at our table. I didn’t realize what a stereotypical American I had become.
Our food came, and I took a bite of the burger and immediately wished I hadn’t.
“You’re looking a little green around the gills, love,” Hayley remarked.
“I’m fine.” I waved her away, taking a long drink of water hoping that I could keep my cookies in my stomach.
“Do you think he’d talk to me?” Clara was asking.
“Are we still talking about the soccer player?” I asked. My mouth was feeling dry. And my throat was doing that seize thing that usually meant vomit was imminent. I took another drink of water.
I will not throw up. I will not throw up.
“Football player,” Charlie corrected. “You sound like such an American,” he criticized.
“Iaman American,” I reminded him, getting annoyed. The room was starting to tilt. How many drinks had I had? I lost count at four. Shit.
I wasn’t a boozer. A glass of Merlot was enough to make me giggly. Multiple mixed drinks would have me face first on the floor.
I needed to get home before I made an ass of myself.
Had I already made an ass of myself?
At that moment I didn’t really care.
Libby and Clara were still talking about the soccer—sorry,football—players and how they were going to talk to them.
“Leave them alone. They have enough of a fan club up there as it is,” Andrew scolded them, though he seemed just as excited as the rest of them at the appearance of the celebrities.
“Um, I think I need to go to the bathroom,” I mumbled, though no one heard me. I took deep breaths.
I will not throw up. I will not throw up.
“I’m sure at least one of them will talk to me. I’m wearing my slut shirt. It’s an instant footballer magnet,” Clara announced, fluffing her hair and pulling her shirt down to expose an unnecessary amount of cleavage. The men at the table were all but salivating at the excess of skin.
“Take Morgan with you! She’s got that yummy American thing going on,” Hayley suggested, giving me a shove, which wasn’t good for my already rolling stomach.
Clara gave me a once over and frowned. “No, I don’t think so,” she snipped. I was too drunk to take offense.
“You worried someone else would get the attention?” Hayley teased, with a bit of a bite to her words.
Clara huffed and stuck out her chest. “I don’t think so.” Libby and Hayley rolled their eyes. I propped myself against the wall and took another drink of water.
