Pull At My Heart

by Ellie Malouff

  “Oh no, it’s fine. I bit my tongue,” I tell her, trying to excuse my nonsense.

  Brigid and I chat about the pub a little bit, but it’s hard to hear over everything, so we just enjoy the music. I keep sneaking glances at the bar to watch Eoghan at work. Almost every time I do, our eyes meet and every time that happens, I experience a little heart-fluttering spark. His eyes are electric like that, somehow jumpstarting my body and making me turn electric, too.

  The pub gets a little rowdier when a bachelorette party shows up and goes directly to the bar. The bride-to-be is the center of it all and her friends are making sure she has an excellent time. I watch as they chat with Eoghan way longer than they need to make an order. He chats right back and maybe even flirts a little with one of them. She’s pretty, with strawberry-blonde hair, a cute face, and a crazy short skirt.

  I turn my attention back to the band, but actually catch Brigid staring at me. “Okay, which one is he? Come on out with it,” she demands.

  “I’m just watching the bachelorette party at the bar.”

  She turns to look and my eyes follow. Strawberry-blonde is now standing on the foot rail and leaning on the bar as she flirts with Eoghan. “Ah yes, a hen party as we call it. Like I said, it’s wedding season. I’ll be doing that next weekend.”

  “Really?” I ask, incapable of imagining Brigid in her condition doing something similar.

  “Yes, although maybe not as slutty as that one there,” she says, pointing to the strawberry-blonde who’s about to take a shot with Eoghan.

  I watch as the two clink shot glasses and then down them both.

  “Can you blame her, though? Look at him,” she says and I do, with narrowing eyes. I can’t believe he would take a shot with some random girl like that while he’s working.

  Strawberry-blonde leans, somehow, even further across the bar and rests on her elbows, surely giving him a complete view of her cleavage.

  “That’s the guy who gave me a ride today,” I admit.

  Brigid looks back at me with giant eyes. “That’s your taxi driver? Jaysus, they’re usually old pensioners with oxygen tanks.”

  “Yeah, I met him yesterday at the airport. He’s been driving me around.”

  “Oh really?” she says with a sly smile. “You might be marrying a Cork boy after all.”

  “Nah, we’re just friends. I’m here to work. I don’t have time.”

  The band shifts to a song that has a more traditional Irish flair to it and I watch Brigid, along with the rest of the pub, clap along. As the song goes on, some people start to dance like that one Riverdance guy, Michael Flatley. Well, not nearly as good, but it’s that same sort of straight-armed, tap-type dancing with their feet.

  Ruth sets her tray down on the bar and joins in with two other dancers that have hopped on stage. She’s amazing. There’s hoots and hollers as they go, perfectly in sync. What a magical little world I’ve stumbled into.

  The hen party squeezes their way through the crowd to the front of the stage. The lead singer of the band, a hunk of a man with light brown hair and a ginger beard, laughs into the mic as he strums his guitar faster and faster. Then he turns to his bandmates, mumbles something, and they shift into a Celtic version of Billy Idol’s White Wedding. The hens love it, understandably, and jump up and down. The bride starts twirling around faster and faster with her hands up in the air.

  “Come on,” Brigid says, and grabs my hand to lead me onto the dance floor.

  “What about our table?”

  “Have you learned nothing tonight?” she asks, and taps her belly.

  Eoghan

  This was a stupid thing to do.

  Flirting with that hen was as exhilarating as flirting with a mop. Sure, it’s our tried and true method to get new business after she tells her friends about the bartenders at Murrough’s, but it’s not worth it anymore. The pub does just fine.

  She was yammering on and on and I was going along with it, as if she was the most fascinating person to walk through that door ever.

  Not a chance. That title belongs to Juliana.

  Speaking of, I’m obsessing over her. Her full rosy lips come to mind and then those beautiful brown eyes that have been watching me across the pub all night. She’s the only person I want to flirt with.

  The band is playing White Wedding and the hen party has taken over the dance floor, quite loudly, which is really saying something. I head straight over to Juliana’s table, but it’s filled with a bunch of blokes chugging beers.

  Feckin’ fuck fuck. She left without her camera?

  Liam and the boys flawlessly transition from White Wedding to Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark. One of my favorites that they do, because they’ve turned it into a beautiful ballad. The crowd quiets down, thank the lord, and I turn back toward the stage. That’s when I spot Juliana and breathe a sigh of relief. She’s standing there with her friend, swaying a bit to the song. She looks lovely in the dim pub light—but let’s be honest, she looks lovely all the time.

  No more of these silly bar games. Dylan can manage without me for a few minutes. I go directly to her and don’t think twice before placing my hand on the small of her back.

  She startles at my touch and turns to look at me.

  “Juliana,” I say, low enough not to disrupt the song.

  Her face goes from cautious to relieved.

  “Julie,” she tries to correct me again.

  It ain’t happening, love, I think to myself and flash her a crooked grin. Her name is beautiful and I love how it’s been rattling around in my head all day. I lean down, close to her ear, and say, “Ruthie tells me that you came by to get your bag. It’s still in the taxi.”

  When I lean back up, her eyes meet mine and they’re on fire. Her lips part and from the way her chest heaves, I can tell she takes a heavy breath in. Damn. My cock twitches in my trousers at her reaction.

  Before she answers, her eyes shift to the hen I was flirting with. She’s rejoined her friends. Who says the Irish are lucky? We’re anything but, because that particular hen is staring directly at me with the most intentional sex eyes I’ve seen in ages. Juliana’s not daft, not in the slightest. She sees it, too.

  As if she’s been drenched with a bucket of ice water, her pleasure to see me washes away.

  “Great, thanks,” she says, and turns back to watch the band.

  I may be a world-class moron, but I refuse to give up. I could go off to get the camera bag, but instead I choose to stay right by her side. She glances over at her friend and takes a step closer to her. I meet her step with my own and stay close.

  She keeps watching the band as Liam croons, “I’m dying for some action. I’m sick of sitting ’round here trying to write this book. I need a love reaction, come on now, baby, gimme just one look.”

  The crowd continues to sway to the song and that includes her. I sway right along with her, loving this song even more than I already did.

  “You can’t start a fire sitting ’round crying over a broken heart. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

  I lean down close to her again. “Do you like them?”

  “Yeah, they’re good…great, really. What are they called?”

  “Stormy Crickets. They’re the house band, so they play here a lot. The lead singer is Liam. I’ve known him since we were wee lads.”

  She looks back at Liam, who is now looking straight at us. He gives me a quick nod, so I nod back. Yes, this is Juliana.

  “I didn’t even know that I liked Bruce Springsteen until this moment,” she confesses.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” I reply as one side of my mouth lifts. I’m pretty sure I’ve never smiled like this before, well at least not before I met her. It’s like even when I’m trying not to smile, I can’t bleedin’ help it.

  She notices and suddenly gives me curious smile of her own, as if she likes what she sees.

  Liam wraps up the song by softly repe
ating, “Even if we’re just dancing in the dark,” a few times and I wish the moment wouldn’t end. As the band fades out, the chatter level of the pub goes right back up.

  “Shall we?” I suggest and she arches an eyebrow. “Get your bag?”

  “Oh, yeah, of course. Thanks,” she says, and turns to her friend. “I’m going to go grab my bag.”

  “You go right ahead,” her friend says with a wry smile, and I’m curious what that’s all about. Has Juliana been talking about me?

  “I’ll be right back,” Juliana says, stern as the nuns that taught me in primary school.

  “Take your time. I need to take a rest,” her friend says as she heads back toward the tables.

  I like this friend of hers. Quite a bit. And if she wasn’t so very much pregnant, I’d offer her a drink on the house. Alone time with Juliana sounds perfect.

  The fresh air is a welcome relief. While we walk to the car, I’m desperately trying to think of a way to meet up with her again after this, but nothing is coming to me.

  “Thanks,” she says as I hand over her camera bag and we linger by the car. “This isn’t something I’m usually so careless with.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Must be the new job, and different time zone, and maybe that Guinness I had at lunch.” She playfully elbows me.

  “Feckin’ Guinness. Notice only the langers are drinking it?”

  “What’s a langer?” she asks.

  “Oh, lass, that particular slang word has a lot of meanings. Some are not exactly appropriate.”

  She gazes up at me. “We’re friends, right?”

  Friends. That’s something. “Yes.”

  She pulls on my arm. “Then tell me! You know I want to fit in.”

  “All right, all right. Mostly, I use it when I’m talking about terrible people.”

  “Oh, like an asshole?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, I’m not an asshole and I love Guinness. What else does it mean?”

  “Someone who’s pissed, err, has had too much to drink.”

  “Got it. What’s the inappropriate meaning?”

  “Well, it’s also slang for…penis,” I say in a hushed whisper. I’m not usually so bashful, but with Juliana, everything is turned upside down.

  She tosses her head back and laughs in such a genuine way that it makes my chest tight. She grabs on to my upper arm, maybe for balance, and there’s no killing my smile that’s come to life.

  “You’re so funny,” she says and wipes a little tear from her eye.

  “It’s never a good thing when a woman laughs about penises around you, but I guess I’m glad I can entertain you.”

  She sighs a very happy sigh. “You most certainly do.”

  In unspoken agreement, we start to walk back toward the pub. Our time is coming to an end and I’ve got only one goal. “Hey, since we’re friends, why don’t you give me your number? You know, in case you need anything? I’ll know to take your call.”

  “Okay.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls down her contacts list. My own phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

  “Hello,” I answer. “Who’s this?”

  “A girl in need of a Guinness,” she replies and winks at me.

  “Oh, Juliana. Why do you have to break my heart?”

  Julie

  Pub night with Brigid was a blast. I couldn’t be happier that we went, and I’ve got to be honest, I’m relieved to have my camera back in my possession. It’s my baby.

  I didn’t spend much more time at Murrough’s after Eoghan and I came back inside. He went back to work and the bar got pretty swamped. Brigid could barely keep her eyes open, so I knew it was time to go. We left without saying goodbye. I’d already mastered the Irish exit back in the States, and she dropped me off at my hotel.

  I’m getting ready for bed when my phone beeps.

  Eoghan Murrough: You left without saying goodbye.

  Julie Rodriguez: You were working.

  Eoghan Murrough: True. But you are allowed to approach the bar. Because…it’s a bar.

  That makes me giggle. I like when he teases me.

  Julie Rodriguez: Are you still “working” or flirting with more girls from a bachelorette party?

  I pull my lips between my teeth. I hope he thinks I’m teasing him, even if I’m actually not. I know it’s none of my business, but I really want to know. He doesn’t bite.

  Eoghan Murrough: No, Dylan and Ruth are closing up. I’m home, in bed.

  Bed? That’s an interesting image.

  Julie Rodriguez: I’m about to go to bed myself.

  Worried that I’m suggesting something risqué, I follow up quickly.

  Julie Rodriguez: To go to sleep.

  I drop my head into my hands. “God, you’re a nerd,” I mumble into my sweaty palms.

  Eoghan: Big day tomorrow?

  At least one of us can carry on a normal conversation.

  Me: Yeah, I’m looking at apartments.

  There’s a pause, long enough for me to slip my pajamas on. Finally, my phone chirps.

  Eoghan: Want a ride? I can check them out with you. Warn you if you’re getting ripped off.

  It’s not a bad idea. I do need a way to get to all these places and getting the opinion of a local seems smart. It’s, however, a bad idea to keep spending time with Eoghan. I’ve spent more time in his orbit than I have been thinking about work. I need to concentrate on what I came here to do. The last thing I need is any kind of entanglement that could not only break my heart, but could mess up what I have going on in Ireland.

  Eoghan: Did I lose you?

  I twist my hair up and off my neck as I try to make a decision. Two pros, one con. The pros win.

  Me: No, you didn’t lose me. That would be great, thanks. Come by at 10?

  Eoghan: Grand.

  Eoghan: Goodnight, Juliana.

  This time, I don’t try to correct my name. Somehow, he makes it look so pretty.

  Ballycoom

  Eoghan

  There’s nothing quite like the pub when it’s empty and closed up. The floorboards creak loudly and the true age of the place comes across in the wear and tear, which you never really notice when we’re open. It’s been in my family for generations and I can’t help but wonder most days if it will end with me.

  There’s a loud knock on the pub doors. I’m expecting my youngest brother, Seán, and he’s only ten minutes late. A new record. I set my coffee cup down on the bar and let him in.

  “Hi ya. How are things?” I ask.

  “Grand,” he says like a reflex. I can tell he had a rough night. After all, he looks like the nineteen-year-old version of myself. Except for his eyes—he’s got dad’s eyes. Speaking of the man…

  “Dad come home last night?” I ask.

  “No,” he replies, and gives me a side-eye glance as he goes to get coffee for himself. “Have any toast?”

  “Yeah, I made you some,” I say and pass him a plate.

  We don’t sit down for this. Seán puts a piece in his mouth and it dangles there as he works on his coffee.

  “How’s Mam?”

  He shrugs his shoulders, but he doesn’t have to say anything.

  “Get much sleep?” I ask.

  Seán shakes his head and takes another bite of toast.

  “Christ. Are you okay taking the taxi out today?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice, Seán. You don’t have to do any of this.”

  “Neither do you. Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean it’s all on you.”

  It is on me. My life is established here. Seán can still leave like the rest of my brothers.

  “I can cancel my plans.”

  “Don’t. I’ve got this today,” my brother says, and grabs the keys off the bar before heading to the door. “You’ll come ’round tomorrow to take Mam to church?”

  “Of course,” I answer, and he nods before taking off.

  I ru
b my face with both hands and let him go, although it’s hard. I don’t want him stuck in this situation, but I have no idea how to get him out of it. He’s stubborn as a mule.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  A smile I didn’t think I had in me forms.

  Juliana Rodriguez: Still on for today?

  With deft fingers, I text back.

  Eoghan Murrough: Of course. 10, yeah?

  Juliana Rodriguez: Yep.

  Eoghan Murrough: Bring a jacket.

  Juliana Rodriguez: Really? Seems warm today.

  I laugh to myself, because she has no idea what’s to come.

  Eoghan Murrough: Trust me, lass. Bring a jacket.

  Julie

  For today’s episode of House Hunters, International, I’ve opted for a pair of faded jeans and a red plaid blouse. I’ve got on some black leather boots, straightened my hair, and put on some makeup. I reluctantly pull out a black leather jacket. I guess I’ve got to trust this guy.

  With my camera in hand, I go down to the lobby at ten on the dot and search for Eoghan. It doesn’t take long to find him. His back is turned to me, but I think I’d know him anywhere. How could I mistake his long, broad torso? Or his powerfully built shoulders and arms? Or his backside, that—if I have to be honest—fills out his dark denim jeans very well. His left wrist dangles freely, and if I wasn’t able to recognize him from all those other parts, his brown beaded bracelets would give him away. His other arm swings down from in front of him and it makes me stop in my tracks. He’s holding a motorcycle helmet.

  I seriously consider running back upstairs. After all, he hasn’t seen me yet. As if he senses my developing plot, he turns around and there’s nowhere for me to run.

  Thankfully, I get distracted by the sight of his face and by the way he’s gazing at me with those piercing hazel eyes. It helps me find my feet as we walk toward one another.

  “Good morning,” he says. “Sleep well?”

  “I had a nightmare, actually. One where I had to ride on a motorcycle,” I start in.

  Eoghan lifts up the helmet. “Here, put it on.”

  I take a step back. “Uh, no.”