The last job I ever saw myself in was working as a barmaid for an extremely popular Irish-American pub.Hey, nothing against waitresses and bartenders.It just wasn’t something I ever saw for myself.
At seventeen, I graduated high school a year early only to go straight into nursing school—with many of my gen ed’s already completed.
My big plans, the ones that worked so damn well on paper, had me graduating with my Bachelors of Science in Nursing by the age of twenty, with even greater plans of continuing on to eventually become a Certified Nurse Anesthetist.Ideally by twenty five.
I had such great plans.
But just like plans—and life—tend to do, everything sort of fell through the cracks my freshman year of college.My years of overachieving had me burning out by the end of first semester and with failed classes came lost scholarships.I had to drop out of my classes and work double overtime to afford my rent and expenses.I was a nursing assistant at a fairly nice assisted living facility, making bonuses on top of bonuses, and overtime on top of that.
But eventually I burned myself out there too and needed to go back to school.
I was now twenty-four with no degree to my name, but thankfully I was only a semester away from the first one.On paper, mynewplan had me graduating the anesthesia program in another three years, so not too far from my original hopes, but I wasn’t placing any bets these days.
While I loved my job and the people I worked with, namely my residents, I needed something that worked better with my schedule and paid extremely well.
Selling myself or finding a sugar daddy were not options.
I was walking down the street and came across O’Gallagher’s, an Irish-American pub near both my apartment and school, when I saw a Help Wanted sign in the window.While not something I saw for myself, if I were to work at O’Gallaghers I could get rid of my car—I had nothing against Uber or Lyft—and hopefully make enough in tips working four to eight hoursmostnights, rather than working twelve hour shifts at the nursing homeeverynight.
I didn’t have any sort of experience in the service industry outside of what I did in health care, but I sucked it up and walked into the doors, applying and interviewing on the spot.
Turned out, the O’Gallagher siblings lost a couple of their barmaids with the end of the previous school year and were hoping to expand the business.
Conor, the oldest of the three, was a hunk with his big body and bearded face, tattoos up and down one of his arms, and his sexy ease of wearing a tee and ball cap.Brenna, the youngest, was incredibly sweet and just a bit younger than I.
Then there was Rory.
I’d heard about Rory O’Gallagher.He had a reputation that preceded him.
Rory was the type of guy who made money, flaunted money, and was, frankly, a rude piece of shit.
If you were talking to the girls he dated.
And even dated was too nice of a term.
The girls he fucked.
And left.
He took what he needed from them, gaining respect in their little circles, and then dropped them all like bad habits.
Rory O’Gallagher was not a nice guy.
Sure, he put on a pretty front, but under it all, lay a dirty, rotten, conniving man.
And it would be in my best interest to forever stay clear of him.
Rory
The first thing I always noticed upon waking was the sun trying to cut through my eyelids.
It was fucking obtrusive.Let a man sleep, yeah?Especially a man who worked until the early morning hours.
Damn sun and its insensitivity.
I know, I know, room darkening shades.But those things cost money, and my money was better spent elsewhere.Well, that and my last apartment had a tiny ass window in the bedroom and didn’t warrant the black curtains.The apartment above the bar, where I’d just moved into a few weeks prior, had much better glass to the outside world.
The second thing I noticed was the leg wrapped deliciously around my hip.
