I don’t need to check in the mirror, honestly the way she looks at me is good enough.
“Thank you!”
“Of course. Have fun for me. Kiss an Irishman, I heard stories about them.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively before turning to the next person waiting in line.
The parade might be over, but the streets are lined with tourists and locals, all of them intent on celebrating. There are small groups of people standing around tall tables adorned with green helium balloons running down the middle of a closed road, while the pavement has been sprayed green with little arrows pointing where to go.
Not that I need to follow them to the Irish Pub, since the spilling crowd and the noise of an Irish band in full regalia are pretty solid evidence I’ve arrived at the fun factory.
Outside the venue are food vans, along with more tables to sit at. I get in line to eat first, and somehow manage to find a spot on the bench of one of the central tables. Everyone chats, but most people eat, and as soon as I take a bite of the Irish stew, I get why it’s mostly quiet—it’s delicious. I follow the people around me, dunking the thick slice of soda bread into it until both are gone.
Leaving the others to finish their food, I grab a green beer and stand near the open doors to watch the musicians do a compilation of modern Irish music, covers of all the classics—U2, The Cranberries, The Corrs, The Script. I end up having a few more beers while watching them because everyone is swaying and singing along, and I could stay exactly where I am if I didn’t have to pee.
By the time I make it to the bathroom—through the grabby hands and dancing—on the other side of the crowd, I’m thankful to find a free stall. After I’ve done my business, I barely get a foot out the door before a man appears in front of me.
“Sweet girl,” he says. No,croonsis really the only way to describe how this Alpha addresses me. His words are as impossible to ignore as he is.
I go to take a step out of his hold, and he throws his hands up, dropping a devilish pout my way in surrender and tease. He’s tall, and clearly, he’s not from around here, given how deep his tan is and the blond tips in his already light-colored hair. His linen shirt is so out of place in the sea of green, as are his light beige suit pants.
I stare at him, not moving away.
“Thank you, sweet girl. I need a favor.” He talks quickly, and I catch the tail end of an accent, but it’s neither European nor from the States.
Quirking my eyebrows as encouragement, he jumps.
“I need you to save my friend. He’s a nasty drunk, and right now, we may have had one too many.”
“And why does he need my help? Surely, you’re more than capable,” I challenge him.
He laughs, his breath blowing across my face, confirming his story that they've been drinking a while, but it also proves my earlier assumption that he’s an Alpha. His scent isn’t a match, but at the same time, it’s not off-putting in the least.
“Ah, I could, but this is infinitely more fun. It would top off a wonderful day.”
I stare at him, and his smile grows bigger, his eyes glittering with trouble.
“I hate shooing women away—it’s wrong—but this one has that look in her eyes.”
“That look, huh?”
He nods, his eyes comically wide. “Yes. She wants to get her talons into him, please come save him.”
“And how, exactly, will I do that when I am a woman too?”
“Pfft, not just a woman, la belleza.” His accent is getting heavier, his obvious enjoyment at the situation his friend is in feeding the situation.
“Where are you from?” I ask. It’s the way my mind works, needing to know the details.
“I am sorry, bonita, I should have introduced myself. I am Santiago.”
As his introductions are done, his Spanish accent becomes impossible to ignore, but he’s not finished speaking.
“After a quick visit to a friend of ours in Italy, tomorrow, I fly home to South America.”
“Ahhh.”
“So, you’ll help?”
I shrug before waving my hand, a sign for him to lead the way. He jumps in for a hug, squeezing me hard and fast.
