Great. Just what I needed.
The men head straight for their table in the back corner, most of them too engrossed in their own conversations to spare a glance in my direction.
Only Killian nods in acknowledgment, his moody version of a hello.
I brace myself for a second before I approach their table to take their orders.
The redhead Killian’s sat with before—I’ve learned his name is Sean—grins toothily as I approach, as if he’s thinking of a joke I’m not in on.
“Afternoon,” I say stiffly. “What can I get you?”
“Look who it is,” Sean replies. “Kill’s little stray.”
A couple of the other men chuckle. Killian scowls.
Another guy with a shaved head and tattooed neck jumps in. “Don’t be an ass, Sean.”
“Here we go again,” the redhead says with a roll of his eyes. “Cian to the rescue. I’ve got news for you, mate. She won’t sleep with you for being the nice guy. No woman does.”
The rest of the table erupts in even louder laughter. Both Sean and Cian join in before lobbing more insults at each other.
Once again, only Killian’s different—his scowl deepens and he finally growls, “Enough. Shut the fuck up. All of you.”
“See what you’ve done, Cian,” Sean says. “You’ve pissed off our new Clan Chief. Now he’s gonna kick all our asses.”
“Don’t tempt me. You’d be first in line, red,” Killian answers begrudgingly. His dark navy-blue eyes swing over to me. “We’ll take a roundof Guinness.”
“Coming up.”
I turn away to walk off when Killian’s hand catches me by the elbow. I’ve barely registered he’s grabbed me before he’s up on his feet and escorting me away from the table.
He pulls me to the opposite side of the pub, grip firm and disorienting.
It’sonlymy elbow he’s touching, yet he sends a tremor rocking through me. It’s like a tiny earthquake that racks down my spine and disrupts me to the core.
Enough to leave me even more speechless than usual as he takes me to a private corner of the pub and turns to face me.
Suddenly I’m left peering up at him, my glasses sliding down my nose.
“How’re you holding up?” he grunts.
“You’re… asking how I’m doing?”
His jaw tics, clenching harder to match his deep scowl. “That a crime?”
“Not a crime. Just the last thing I’d expect of an Irish boneman.”
“Ignore them,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the clan table. “They’re shitheads, if you haven’t noticed. Especially Sean.”
“Was already planning on it. I tend to have more important things to worry about than meathead mob enforcers.” I give a shrug, sliding both hands into the front pockets of my waist apron. Then I consider how what I said sounds and add, “No offense.”
“Believe it or not, but I’ve got bigger issues than a disgruntled little server and her insults.”
“Little?” I repeat with a scoff. “Idoreach your chest, you know.”
It’s damn near impossible to tell with a scowling grump like Killian, but I’m pretty sure he almost grins. The muscle in his jaw twitches like earlier, except it’s paired with a vague tug ofhis lips.
Then he seems to realize what he was about to do and corrects himself. His heavy brow creases, and he peers down at me in studious boneman fashion.
