“Jesus, Margaret,” Seamus chuckles. “Ye almost got yourself clocked by your cousin without even being introduced.”
“Cousin?” My mouth parts slightly as I stare at the woman before me. She is gorgeous. A curvy dark-haired bombshell with pale Robin’s egg eyes and a freckled face. She wears a pair of tight-fitting black leggings and a green tank top. Her heels, like mine, give her a bit of height, but she still stands a good inch or two shorter than me.
“Shit,” she curses, flushing slightly as she twists her fingers together nervously. “I’m sorry. I just got really excited.”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. It is contagious, as is her broad smile.
“You just took me off guard.” I smile warmly at her. “Thing One and Thing Two didn’t tell me about you.”
Margaret rolls her eyes as she elbows the twins in the sides.
“That’s these boys for you,” she laughs. “None of the Kavanaugh brothers have any manners.”
“I beg your pardon?” Seamus brings his hand up to his chest and pretends to look shocked. “I have amazing manners. Thank you very much. My mother raised me well.”
Margaret snorts. “Yeah, in a pen, like a pig.”
It’s Kiernan’s turn to laugh, his usual stony exterior melting slightly.
“Come on.” Margaret grabs my hand and tugs me along behind her through the maze of people toward the back of the club. “Let’s sit and get a drink. The boys told me you’ve never been to a club before.” I shake my head. She has to nearly yell atme to be heard over the roar of the music, and if she didn’t have a firm grip on my hand, I would have lost her in the din and haze of the club.
The minute we sit down on the plush green velvet of one of the back corner booths, a waitress wearing a short black miniskirt and a green crop top comes up to take our order.
“A blackberry mojito for me and a…” Margaret looks at me a bit skeptically, probably wondering if I’ve ever ordered a drink before. She doesn’t know I spent the better part of a year working at a dive bar.
“Jameson on the rocks, please.”
The waitress nods as she writes down our order and takes off.
“Girl, that is some hard shit right there.” Margaret laughs. “I thought you’d order something like a margarita or a white claw.”
“I worked in a dive bar for a while,” I tell her, thanking the waitress when she comes back a minute later with our drinks. Damn, she is fast. Margaret must see something in my face because she chuckles before taking a sip of her drink.
“Seamus and Kiernan own the club,” she giggles. “Whenever they’re here, one of the waitresses is taken off floor duty to only serve their booth. No having to wait or anything.”
That make sense.
“This place is amazing,” I tell her as I look around. The blend of music, lights, and the smoky ambiance all meld together to create an almost ethereal experience. Our booth is on the edge of the dance floor but still tucked back far enough to provide a modicum of privacy.
The hints of green and cherry wood that are spread throughout the club pay subtle tribute to their Irish heritage without being overwhelming. There aren’t any Irish flags or colors outside of the green. No high-top bar stools or pool tables. This place is more elevated and swankier, a sign of the new generation of Irish taking over.
It is very much the style of the twins.
A song comes on I don’t recognize, but Margaret does, her face glowing as she claps her hands together excitedly.
“Come on!” She ushers me out of the booth, dragging me behind her onto the dance floor. “I love this song.”
Margaret raises her hands above her head and sways her hips to the beat of the music. Her eyes close as she gets lost in the beat. Looking around, I see the twins grinding against a couple of college-age girls who already look to be far past drunk.
Not sure what exactly I am supposed to do, I mirror Margaret’s movements until my body finds its own rhythm among the beat.
One song becomes two, which becomes more, and soon I find myself tiring. The man beside me has been trying to grind his body against mine for the last few songs, and I am done with it. The twins are too busy making out with their drunken conquests, so I settle on seeing if Margaret will join me back at the booth.
“I need a drink,” I yell and mime that I am thirsty. We’ve been at the club for almost three hours, and the first round of Jameson has already worn off. A thin sheen of sweat covers my forehead and the back of my neck, and I am dying of thirst.
Margaret nods, pushing past me so she can lead me back toward the booth. I follow behind her, attempting to keep up with her quick pace.
The knife comes out of nowhere, and if I hadn’t been so intently focused on my surroundings so I wouldn’t lose sight of my newly acquired cousin, I might have missed it.
