He tests the door, then heads straight towards me. I want to duck inside, get back to the job that I couldn’t wait to escape a few minutes earlier.
I also don’t want to do anything so embarrassing as to scuttle away like a scared child, even if that’s what I feel like.
“George?”
With a sigh, I raise my eyes to his and nod. “Hey, there.”
“You work around here or are you just a girl who likes to hang out in dark alleys?”
“A dark alley crammed with rotting food,” I retort, sweeping my arm to encompass the rubbish skip. “You’re pasting over the best features.”
He laughs along with me, but his eyes never leave my face. They’re like mobile scanners, running their infrared lasers over me, searching for information.
I nod my head back towards the building he came from. “Do you work at the bar?”
He pulls a face. “Hardly. I own it so according to every other staff member I barely do a thing and certainly nothing they couldn’t do a thousand times better.”
“Sounds about right. I may just be a humble dish washer, but I’m fairly sure I could run my place, too.”
“I’ll have to remember that if I ever need to hire a replacement.”
I burst out laughing. “Double my salary and I’ll take over right now.”
“Such a kind offer but I think I’ve got a few yearsleft in me, yet.” He spins on his heels, checking the open door is still open. When he faces me again, his expression is far more sober. “Do you want to talk about last night?”
My face must give him the answer before I’ve decided what it is because he gives a soft laugh. “That bad, is it?”
“It’s not…” I cup my elbows, leaning back against the fence just so I can feel the reassuring solidity. “There’s a lot I can’t remember,” I admit, shamefacedly.
“You weren’t drinking.”
“No.”
Something sparks in my memory.Take the pill.I blink fast, frowning into the darkness. Is that a clue to why my recollections are toast? It’s a pity Lachlan deleted the images because they might have helped spark more.
You don’t want to know more.
“Look,” Patrick shifts his weight, appearing unsure of himself for the first time. Considering his family, it could be the first time ever. “I just wanted to say I know my joke was in poor taste.”
I have no response. He might call it a joke, but it didn’t hit that way, not for me.
“McManus men just aren’t into sharing. It’s a complete and utter lie.”
The light tone wriggles past my defences to tickle my funny bone. “Oh, that’s the punchline, is it? That anyone would think one of your family members could share a woman? Next time signpost it a bit more clearly, will you?”
“Well, it was in poor taste…”
“And at entirely the wrong time…”
“What can I say?” He spreads his hands wide. “I’m not a comedian.”
“Louder for the ones in back.” The laughter is such a reliefthat even once it stops, I’m left with an absurdly large grin on my face.
“I will say, though,” Patrick drawls, stepping into my personal space with such surety that I’m dominated by the slight change in posture. “If Lock is ever in the mood for sharing”—he drops his head so the next line whispers straight into my ear—“feel free to give me a call.” He lifts the corner of my fringe, just enough to reveal my startled eyes.
Then he strolls away, whistling.
A chill trickles down my spine, collides with the heat pulsing between my legs, and everything down south gets a bit suspect. I hustle back into the restaurant kitchen, my mind so dazed that I wonder if it’s a routine side effect of spending time with any of the McManus men.
