“Enjoying the view?” he asks without turning around.
“Loving it,” I tease back.
“You should definitely drink more often. I’m liking you a little tipsy, not so…”
“Perfect?” With a smile, he faces me. “Exactly.”
The opening notes to ‘Hero’ by Enrique Iglesias fill the room as Connor holds out his hand.
“Wanna dance?” This man throws more curveballs than Andy Pettitte does for the Yankees. I can’t keep up with his mood swings.
His eyes roam the entire length of my body. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Ah, what the hell? I slip off the stool and stop directly in front of him. Making his move, he pushes a strand of hair off my face before wrapping his arms around my waist. I reach up and clasp my hands behind his neck. As we begin to sway to the music, I feel dizzy. Pressing my head to his chest, I hear his heart beating. In turn, he rests his cheek on top of my head. His breath is warm against my scalp. He traces small circles across my back, relieving the tension. Without speaking, we cling to each other until the song comes to an end.
The nerves, the anxiety, the pressure—it’s all gone. Being in his arms took it all away. I know he’s not mine, but when he’s like this, it just feels so good. I’d stay with him forever if I could.
As he releases me, I clutch his shirt, not wanting to let go. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath, his ribs pressing against my hands. He bends down, scooping me into his arms. Carrying me, he proceeds up the steps. Nestled against him, I blink to keep my eyes from closing. My exhaustion is threatening to pull me under.
Reaching our floor, he pauses in the hallway outside his room. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
But I’m already fast asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The persistent knocking pulls me from my slumber. Lifting my head, I look around. I’m in my room, in my bed, under the covers, still fully dressed except for my shoes. I hear the noise again, but it’s not coming from inside. Shuffling to the window, I peer through the lace curtains.
There’s a guy, pretty strung out, pacing in front of the bar. I move the curtain all the way back and the movement catches his attention. Through the glass, he yells up to me. “Can you go get Connor? It’s an emergency.” I nod to show that I heard him and tiptoe across the hall to Connor’s room.
The door is ajar, so I push it open. Connor’s sprawled across the bed, shirtless and snoring. I can see a ‘Never Forget 9/11’ tattoo on his shoulder. His face is covered in stubble. He looks so peaceful; I don’t want to wake him. Besides, I don’t remember all of the details from last night and what might have happened between us. But the guy said it was an emergency. Swallowing my pride, I place my hand on his back as I whisper in his ear. “Connor, you have to get up. There’s someone here to see you.”
Stretching his limbs, but still half asleep, his hand guides my face closer to his. “Just five more minutes, babe. Then I’ll wake you up the right way.” He smiles although his eyes remain closed. I don’t have time for this. Our lips are a fraction of an inch apart, but this isn’t how I want to kiss him for the first time. With him thinking I’m just one of his random overnight guests.
Pulling away, I shake him more forcefully. “Connor, it’s Michelle, and there’s some crazy guy who is going to throw a fit in the middle of the street if you don’t wake up,” I demand, raising my voice.
Momentarily startled, he sits up abruptly. “Michelle?” he asks. “What are you doing in here?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Oh no…Miguel,” he whispers, jumping out of bed. “How long has he been out there?”
I try not to look at Connor in his underwear, but I can’t resist. “At least ten minutes, maybe longer. I’m not sure.”
Throwing on a pair of jeans over his boxer briefs, he slides a shirt over his head while shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers. “Great, just great,” he mutters.
“Connor, who is he?”
As he’s about to leave the room, he stops. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he says, “Another person screwed up by 9/11.” He leaves me in his room as his footsteps thunder down the stairs.
Obviously he doesn’t want me to intrude on his conversation with the guy. And I understand. I get it. I sit on his bed. It’s still warm from where his body was pressed up against the sheets. How many girls have been right where I am now? That’s a number I don’t want to consider. Placing my head on the pillow, I breathe in a combination of cigarette smoke and Old Spice aftershave, a turn-on in its utter masculinity.
This is my first time in his room. Surprisingly, it’s almost as sparsely furnished as mine and a tad bit messier. There’s a pile of dirty laundry piled in the corner. On the bureau is an ashtray filled with cigarette butts. But what catches my eye is a framed photograph of two little boys. Getting to my feet, I pick it up to examine it more closely. They look about ten years old and they’re dressed in matching Little League uniforms. By the dimples and the dark hair, I can tell one is Connor. But who is the other boy? He’s too old to be his brother, Sal. I’m intruding. I shouldn’t be snooping through his personal things when he’s not here. Feeling guilty, I put the picture back and leave the room.
There are no loud voices coming from below, so I guess Connor calmed the guy down. I wonder what his story is. Did he lose someone on 9/11? Why does he come here when he freaks out? How does he know Connor?
Too many questions for this early in the morning. Oh God, I’m still wearing my chili-stained shirt. Yuck. Entering my room, I quickly discard my clothes and wrap myself in a robe before proceeding to the bathroom. Turning on the water, I adjust the knobs until the temperature is just right. Slipping out of my robe, I hang it on the door hook and step into the tub.
Little do I know that the sunlight coming through the window is silhouetting the curves of my body against the shower curtain, leaving little to the imagination. With the water running, I don’t hear the door open as someone slips in. Humming to myself, I run a loofah over my body, covering it in suds. I extend each leg before running it between my legs.
“Jesus Christ.”
I freeze. Sticking my head from behind the curtain, I see Connor brushing his teeth at the sink. “What the hell are you doing in here? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in the shower.”
“Oh, I noticed all right. Need some help in there?” His eyes, full of mirth, meet mine through the mirror.
“Connor, you can’t come in here when I’m taking a shower,” I protest.
“The door wasn’t locked.”
“So what? I must have forgotten.”
“What did I tell you about locking doors?” he asks, facing me head on.
He’s right. He did tell me. “So is this your way of trying to teach me a lesson?”
“Is it working?” he asks.
“Yes!” I exclaim, frazzled.
“Good.” He walks toward me in the steam-filled room. I tremble a bit, naked behind the curtain. “Don’t forget again.” Driving his message home, he walks out, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
Connor wants me to handle today’s beer delivery. I don’t know if I’m up to the task, but I’m game. It’s all I can do to make up for last night’s debacle. It’s embarrassing that he had to call in reinforcements. At this stage, I’m more of a liability than an asset to him. He’ll probably end up firing my sorry ass before it’s all said and done.
A large shadow passes across the window as the distributor’s truck pulls up out front. I get up from restocking the shelves under the bar and grab the checklist Connor gave me. I have to make sure we receive everything he marked down. Before I sign off on the order, I better double-check it all. Last thing I need is to make another mistake.
The driver already has a dolly fully stacked and is heading around the corner. All deliveries come through the back, so it’s up to me to get my butt in gear and let him in. The wind is bruta
l today. I wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting in such miserable conditions.
Running through the kitchen, I slide back the deadbolt. Using both hands, I hold the door open against the gale ripping through the alley. The driver, his cap pulled low, scoots in. Pushing my windblown hair out of my face, I turn around to say hello, but I can’t speak. Two mascara-lined eyes stare back at me.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
“No, I was just expecting…”
“A man?”
“Well…yeah.”
She stands back, sizing me up. “Well, I was expecting Connor, so I guess we’re even.” Extending her hand, she continues, “I’m Emily. And you are?”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking it. “I’m Michelle, the new waitress.”
“There’s no shortage of pretty girls floating in and out of Donnelly’s Pub. Are you Connor’s latest conquest or are you here for the long run?”
“It all depends. Were you one of Connor’s conquests?” My conversation last night with Tammy is making me braver than I normally am.
“Touché,” Emily responds with a note of admiration in her tone. “You’re not a push-over, I’ll give you that. Besides, I’m a happily married woman,” she says pointing to her wedding ring.
I can’t help it. I persist. “But did you ever…?”
“With Connor?” “Yeah.”
“Before I was married, he offered. I thought about it. But I ultimately said no.”
“Why?”
“I’m not into the domineering type.”
We’re locked in a standoff position, not giving an inch. But that comment breaks the ice. She knows what he’s really like. She’s not fooled by appearances.
“So are we cool?” I ask with a glint in my eye.
“Hell yeah,” she says. “Now where do you want this stuff?”
“In the storage room, like always, Emily.”
Connor’s unexpected arrival makes both of us jump. How long was he standing there? How much did he hear? Emily and I exchange a guilty look.
“You got it,” Emily says, dragging the dolly behind her.
“What are you doing here? I thought you said I could take care of the delivery,” I question him. I’m pissed he doesn’t think that I can handle it.
“Just supervising, that’s all,” he replies, but I want to wipe the smugness off his face. “But honestly, I wanted to see what you thought of Emily.”
“Does it matter?” She said nothing had happened between them, right?
“Because working and living here, you’re going to be around guys most of the time,” he admits, reaching for the delivery list I left on the counter. “I thought it’d be good for you to have one friend in this city who’s a girl.”
I want to laugh, but I contain it. I don’t think Emily does girl time. She’s definitely not the mani-pedi type. But secretly I’m touched that he’s trying to make me feel welcome here. Maybe Emily and I can be friends. She’s tough, but it’s something I can get used to. She’ll certainly keep me on my toes and call me on all my bullshit.
Tucking an auburn curl under her hat, Emily addresses Connor. “It’s all unloaded.” Pursing her lips, she asks sarcastically, “Do you want me to stick around while you count every last bottle, or can I leave?”
Damn, this girl knows how to keep Connor in line. I should be taking notes.
“Cool your heels for a minute, will ya?” Connor can’t help but smirk. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s now or never. “Would you ever want to go for coffee or something? We can have an all-out Connor bitchfest that he won’t be around to interrupt.”
She squints up at me. “I like the way you think.”
“It’s all here, Emily. Thanks!” Connor shouts from the supply room.
“Glad to hear it, Donnelly,” Emily yells back. Stuffing her work gloves under her arm, she pulls a business card out of the pocket of her overalls. “Call me, and we’ll set something up. You’re gonna need someone to let off some steam with, because that boy is gonna drive you crazy in all kinds of ways.”
Chapter Fourteen
I’m in my room mentally preparing myself before starting my shift. I spritz on a tad more perfume and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss. The t-shirt I’m wearing is the tightest one I own. The white material is thin, showing hints of the fuchsia bra underneath. I’m taking Tammy’s advice. To make it, I’m going to have to flaunt what I’ve got.
The guys who frequent Donnelly’s Pub aren’t looking to placate a nervous little girl. They want to be served by some eye candy. I may be a little rusty, but I can flirt with the best of them. Even if they can only look but not touch, they’ll wind up staying longer and drinking more. Connor will approve if it benefits his bottom line. And I can have a little fun in the process.
But my plans go awry by an unwelcome intruder. I let out a scream.
Immediately, Connor’s footsteps are heard running up the stairs. He bursts through the door to find me standing on the bed.
“What the hell is going on in here?” he asks, out of breath. He does a double take when he sees what I’m wearing, but with an effort he shifts his gaze from my chest to my face.
“There’s a cockroach on the floor,” I whine, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “It’s huge, and it came out of nowhere, and…”
“Well, kill it then,” he says like it’s a no-brainer.
“No, I’m not going near that thing. It’s disgusting!” Keeping tabs on where it crawled, I point it out to him. “It’s over there against the wall. Get it, Connor.”
Disgruntled, he takes off one of his boots. Hovering over the cockroach, he slams the heel on top of it before it can move. He stands up and shows me the bug guts covering the sole. “Are you satisfied?”
“Yes. Connor Donnelly, you’re my hero.” He gets me so mad. I can’t help mocking him.
He looks at me with a pained expression. “But if it happens again, you’re on your own. I can’t be at your beck and call dealing with every cockroach you encounter. It’s a part of life here. Get used to it.”
Here he goes with one of his lectures again. I roll my eyes, hoping to provoke him.
I can tell my reaction angers him. He strides toward the bed, encircling my wrist. “And you’re not serving my customers dressed like that.” I drop to my knees and our faces are inches apart. His breathing is heavy, and he can probably feel my pulse racing. To keep from falling forward, my other hand fumbles over his bicep until it reaches his shoulder. I brace myself against him. His arm goes around my back as his fingers skate across the clasp of my bra. The warmth of his hand ignites my skin through the barely there fabric.
“Jesus, Michelle,” he says in frustration, as if he can’t help himself. His palm slides underneath my arm, cupping my breast. The sensation spurs my arousal, and I throw my head back as a moan escapes my lips. His hot breath is on my neck, and I’m ready to give him anything he wants. But instead, he releases me, lowering me onto my back. He hovers above me for an instant before pushing himself off the bed.
I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. But it doesn’t matter. His back is to me as he bends over to slide on his boot.
“I want you to change your clothes, and then…” His voice is shaking as he tries to maintain control. “Come down and start your shift. I don’t want to have to talk to you about this again.”
“Connor…” I start, but when I sit up, he’s already gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Connor is giving me the silent treatment. Performing his bartending duties, he fulfills the written drink orders I place before him, but that’s it. No friendly banter. No eye contact. He’s completely tuning me out. I’m sick of second guessing myself around him. It seems all I do is piss him off.
It’s not a great night to be out as a nor’easter howls in off the Atlantic. It’s times like these that remind me I’m living on an island with a raging ocean just beyond the harbor. It’s a far cry from being landlock
ed in Pennsylvania surrounded by mountains. Mentally, I can’t go down that path—I’m already homesick enough. And the push-and-pull dynamic Connor and I are establishing isn’t helping matters.
What a slow night. Connor checks his watch before heading into the kitchen. Leaving the bar unattended isn’t like him, but there’s only one guy sitting there, the one who was pacing beneath my window. Desperate for someone to talk to, I plop onto the stool next to him and follow his gaze to the TV perched above us. “Who’s winning?” I ask, attempting to lure him into a conversation.
“The Knicks, I think,” he mutters glancing in my direction. “Sorry, I guess I’m not really paying attention to the game.”
I notice he’s wearing heavy work boots and thick coveralls appropriate for a construction site. His hands are red and chapped, and a hard hat emblazoned with an American flag sticker rests against the lunch cooler by his feet.
“That’s okay,” I respond, catching how exhausted he sounds. “Hard day on the job?”
His bloodshot eyes find mine. “You could say every day’s a hard day.”
“I can relate.” I feel sorry for him. He looks spent. “Where do you work?” He takes a slug from his beer bottle before answering. “At Ground Zero.” My heart stops. “I’m officially part of the search and recovery effort, but mostly what I do is remove debris. You’d think all of that manual labor would tire a guy out, but I still can’t sleep at night. That’s why I usually end up here, to try to take the edge off.”
I don’t want to pry, but my curiosity gets the best of me. “Have you found anything?”
“Yeah, my crew found some remains a while back. It’s what we hope to find. To give the families some closure, some sense of peace.”
My breath catches. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since it happened.”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. My eyes search his. “Why do you do it?”
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