“Work.” It was his go-to answer for any bad mood his friends had called him out on over the last week.
“Bullshit. You don’t have to tell me or Dan, but Christ man, you know we’d listen to you and do whatever to help.”
Ciar felt his face heat, which was a rarity for him. He was as close as brothers with Daniel and Jonathan, but for some reason, it still took him by surprise how open they were with their feelings. They weren’t all hugs and kisses, but they were solid, real friends, and they didn’t mind letting him know.
“Thank you, but I’ll figure my shit out.” At Jon’s steady stare, he added, “If I can’t, I’ll let you know.”
That seemed to satisfy his friend, and he moved on to talk of the upcoming trip and the fact that everyone decided to go out for a drink together later since Gray was back in town.
“Say what now?” Ciar asked as he swiped shampoo bubbles from his face.
“Yeah, Mags told Daniel. Well, she said to meet them or not. She didn’t give a shit. Typical of the wee shite.”
It had always amused Ciar as a kid that Daniel, Jonathan, and Bébhinn said just as many Irish sayings as American since their parents were a mix of both.
Without letting on to too much interest, he said, “Mags is something else. So, is Gray going? I wondered if she was fully recovered.”
“She’s right as rain now. The girls said she looked pale on their video chat, but she said she felt great. Everyone’s packing tonight and then meeting at your da’s.”
“I’m down for a pint.” And cornering a stubborn, gray-eyed girl.
Ciar was at the bar bullshitting with his old man while keeping one eye firmly on the front doors. Blair and Mags already had a table, and Daniel and Jonathan walked in not two minutes ago, nodding in his direction.
Dagr and Bébhinn were stepping through, and Ciar felt his body stiffen as Bébhinn said something over her shoulder, laughing at whatever the person behind her said.
There she was, golden waves, gray eyes, and the most stunning pair of long legs he’d ever seen on a woman. Gray MacGregor.
“Christ, boy, you’ve got it bad,” his dad said, punching him in the shoulder.
Ciar rubbed his offended appendage, already sore from boxing. “What are you going on about?” he asked, never taking his eyes from Gray.
He’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Never. Not to mention she was kind and crazy smart. She was way too good for him, but he was still going to try for her. She hadn’t let him explain about that damned dinner yet, where he was entirely in the wrong, but she would.
“Don’t start with me, Dad,” he warned.
“Gray…well, your uncle and I always wondered. She giving you the runaround?”
He had too much respect for his father to lie. “She has her reasons. I fucked up.”
Mags must have said something funny, and the table erupted in laughter. Gray laughed, her eyes were twinkling, but damn if she didn’t look tired. He wished he could have taken care of her while she battled her sickness.
“Well then,” his father said grimly, “I expect you’ll make it right.”
“Count on it.” Ciar pushed off from the bar and headed in the table’s direction. There was only one spot left on the long bench, which happened to be next to his obsession.
Her eyes caught his, her mouth rounded in a silent O before smoothing into indifference. She was as indifferent to him as he was to her.
He slid into the empty spot, making sure to take up all the remaining room so that their thighs were fused. He set his iced vodka on the smooth hardwood top.
“Fancy finding you rabble here. How goes the buyout, Griffiths?”
“I’m satisfied with the progress. The London office will take a bit of sorting, but my partner is more than capable. We plan to take on cases in both cities that align with our specialties. Our teams love a good challenge.”
“Did you fire the crazy cunt you screwed in the office?” Mags asked all innocent inquiry.
“Mags, you bitch. I told you that in confidence,” Bébhinn hissed.
“Sure, but I like to keep things real, and you’re my best friend and shouldn’t have to wonder.”
