by Claire Adams
“But it did.”
“It did.”
“And it was very good. More than that, actually. So don’t go getting all insecure or feeling weird about why we didn’t happen to go all the way today, all right? Because that has nothing to do with it.”
“Okay,” I said, though it was a little hard to believe. If he was really that interested, wouldn’t he have wanted to have sex right now? “That’s fine. I . . . I’m actually a virgin.”
I didn’t know why I said it; was it supposed to be like, I’ve waited this long already, I can continue to wait? Because that seemed kind of silly. And the way I was feeling right now, I didn’t know if I could wait, but obviously, I was going to have to.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a virgin?”
“Yes,” I said. The way he said it, it was as if he thought I was lying. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
“I’ve heard—” He stopped and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Well, yes, in a way. How old are you? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Wow. That’s pretty impressive. Most girls your age have gotten laid at least a few times. In my experience, anyway.”
“Do you have much experience with women in their early twenties?” Did I really just say that?
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I do. And, believe it or not, at one point I, too, was in my early twenties.”
“I bet you were.”
Had he put something in that drink I’d had when we first set out? Some sort of confidence boosting concoction? It had just been a bottle of water, but maybe there was something that was odorless, tasteless. Because I could not ever remember flirting with a guy like this before, and feeling totally comfortable and excited about doing it—if I hadn’t had a little alcohol first. Maybe it was just the warm sun and the salt air and the fact that I was having more fun that I could ever remember having in a long time.
“It’s not that I haven’t had any sexual encounters . . . I’ve had a few of those. I just haven’t had sex.”
“Have you ever given a blowjob?”
I felt my face flush. “No.”
“Ever had a guy go down on you?”
I turned even redder. “Um, no.”
“No?”
“Well, one guy tried but . . . it was too weird. Also, it tickled.”
Ian smiled. “Is that so.”
“Yeah.” That had been Emmett, the guy I’d been with in high school. I barely even remembered it now, though I could recall laughing because it really did tickle, which of course he took personally and refused to talk to me for the next two days. “It was a boyfriend way back when.”
“So you have had a boyfriend. And he didn’t try to sleep with you? I find that really hard to believe.”
“He was a nice guy.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I’m not?”
“No, but you two are very different. He was a writer, and more important to him than a girlfriend or even sex was his writing. Our physical relationship always took a backseat to that.”
“You were like his muse. I can see that.”
“I’m a writer, too, you know.”
“I think you mentioned that before. Lapsed writer, though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Well, I need to get back at it. That’s what I went to school for.”
“Interesting. And now you’re working for me.”
“And now I’m working for you.”
“Listen,” he said. He traced his fingers lightly up and down my arms. I wanted nothing more than to fall into him, to press my face against his torso, feel his arms wrap around me, his hands doing things to my body that just made me blush to think about . . . But he was looking at me with intensity, so I tried to focus on what he was saying.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“Let’s . . . Let’s just keep this between us,” he said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting things to go in this direction, so I think, for now, it would be best if we didn’t talk about this with anyone else. Especially not at work. I’m the boss and everything, but there’s probably some sort of ethical violation in hooking up with an employee.”
“I’d think you’d get to call the shots on that,” I said, even though he was probably right. “But that makes sense.”
“It might even be like a fun little game. You’re sitting out there at your desk, knowing that I can see you from my office, and we’ve just got to pretend that there’s nothing there between us. Think you can hang with that?”
“Of course I can.” Though the aching between my legs was suggesting otherwise.
“Good.”
He cupped my chin again and ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Because I find it entirely arousing that you’re a virgin. I’d like to remedy that, but not right now.”
I opened my mouth to say that right now would be perfectly fine with me, but then I stopped. I could tell he knew how badly I wanted him, how if he asked me to, I’d rip all my clothes off right then and there and lie back, legs spread for him. There was a part of myself that couldn’t believe I was actually thinking these thoughts, but there was just something about him that seemed to bring this out in me.
“You’re like no one I have ever met before,” I said.
He grinned. “I am very happy to hear that.”
By the time I got back to my car, the sun was starting to go down. The skin on my face felt tight and warm to the touch; I’d probably gotten a pretty good sunburn. I was thinking I’d just go home, take a cool shower, and take it easy for the rest of the night, but then Caroline texted and asked if I wanted to stop by and help her eat the Mediterranean takeout she’d gotten.
“Look at all this food,” she said when I got there. “All this, for one person. Allegedly. It’s crazy!”
Her small kitchen table was covered in food—dolmas, lamb shawarma, tabouli, falafel. “I hope you’re hungry. So . . . you said you went with Ian on a boat? When?”
“Today.”
“Today? What—did you get up at the ass-crack of dawn or something?”
I grabbed an olive and started to suck on it. “No, it was during work. He just came up to me and asked if I wanted to, like it was the most normal thing on the face of the planet to do. And . . . and we kissed.”
Her eyes widened and a grin broke out on her face. “You did?! I knew it! How was it?”
I bit into the olive, working the pit out. “It was really good. But . . . I really don’t know if I can do this.”
“What are you talking about?” Caroline asked. “Of course you can. I can tell that you like him, too. And this is the perfect way to get Noah to leave you alone. Once he sees that you’re involved with someone else, I bet he’ll back off. He’ll realize that there’s no point.”
“That’d be nice, but I don’t know if it’s going to be so simple,” I said. “And I just don’t know if I can be involved with someone like Ian.”
“But why? What are you so afraid of?”
What was I so afraid of? I wasn’t sure. I’d spent all weekend trying to figure it out, yet here it was, Sunday night, and I was no closer to getting to any sort of answer. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to screw it up.”
Caroline did not look impressed. “So better to just not do anything? Better to just act like you’re completely not interested, even though a blind person could see that you are?”
“I know it sounds foolish. And stupid. But you should see him, Caroline. He gorgeous, but it’s more than that . . . he exudes this confidence like no one I’ve ever met before. It’s like it’s magnetic.”
“Yeah, would you like to know why it’s like that?”
“Yeah, I would, actually. I am totally not used to feeling this way toward anyone.”
“Because that’s basically your opposite.”
I sniffed. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m not saying you don’t have any self-esteem, but you constantly doubt yourself. Even over thin
gs that you know you can do.”
“I don’t mean to. I just kind of feel like he’s out of my league.”
I spit the olive pit out. “He’s absolutely not out of your league. You just need a little more confidence, is all.” She pushed the tub of tabouli toward me. “Have some of this,” she said.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said.
Chapter Eleven
Ian
Seamus McAllister was HTS’s biggest individual client, though I rarely had to deal with him directly; most often it was his son, Billy, that handled the fine print, such as booking us for things like the sister’s birthday party, or alerting me when a high profile guest could be expected at the poker club. Billy was also far more social than his father was, and didn’t have any qualms about stopping by the office if he was in the neighborhood, which was often enough since we weren’t too far from his favorite bar—I mean, pub—Failte. He was big into the day drinking.
We’d also been pretty good friends in middle school and high school—Billy and I—but then we just sort of drifted apart, though we had never completely lost contact, and once his father got in touch with me about providing security services, Billy picked things back up like we were teenagers again.
So I wasn’t too surprised to see him strolling into the office at eleven o’clock that Tuesday morning. I’d been on a call with the manager at one of the boatyards on the harbor we had a contract with, so my door had been partially closed, but I could hear Billy before he’d even come into the main office.
When I finally got off the phone a few minutes later and opened my door, I was greeted by the sight of Billy leaning with one leg propped up on Daisy’s desk, bent at the knee, his lower leg swinging.
“No, I know I’ve seen you before,” he was saying. “Look at me again.”
She turned her face toward him, and they held each other’s gazes, him squinting slightly, her with a slightly chagrinned look on her face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” she said.
He brought his hand up and rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing. Then he snapped his fingers. “Got it,” he said. “I’ve seen you at Failte.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Yeah, probably! My best friend and I go there all the time.”
“You’re keeping all the good-looking women here, Roubideaux,” Billy said. “First Petra, then Annie, now this one . . .” He gave Daisy the eyes. “You seeing anyone, sweetheart?” I felt a flare of anger swirl through my chest, but I gritted my teeth and grinned.
Daisy looked at me, and then said—rather empathically—“No.”
That was all Billy needed to hear. Even if she had been seeing someone, that had never deterred him before. He could be a downright scoundrel when he wanted to be—he’d probably slept with more women than I had—but no fucking way was he going to move in on Daisy, I didn’t give a shit what dirty thoughts were going through his mind right now.
“Well.” He rubbed his palms together and stood up. “Thrilled to hear it. Anyway, I’ve got to run, but I sure do hope to see you around.”
“He was nice,” Daisy said after he left. “It’s so funny, I’ve seen him around the bar before, but we never talked.
“So,” I said, “you’re not seeing anyone?”
“That’s what we said we were going to do, wasn’t it?” she asked. “We weren’t going to tell anyone?”
Maybe, but that was really more in regards to Jonathan; I hadn’t factored Billy fuckin McAllister coming into the picture.
Chapter Twelve
Daisy
After work, I met up with Caroline for a drink.
“You won’t believe it,” I said, “but that red-haired guy that we see here sometimes is a client of Ian’s. He came into the office today.”
“He’s hot,” Caroline said. She leaned toward me. “You know whose son he is though, don’t you?”
“Son? No, I don’t.”
“Seamus McAllister. He’s basically the head of the Irish mafia. Well, it’s not really the mafia, but it’s kind of like that.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know; it’s one of those things that I thought everyone just kind of knew.”
“I certainly didn’t know that. And why would someone from the mafia need security services?”
“It’s not really the mafia. But it’s like it.” Caroline’s eyes shifted past me toward the door. “And speak of the devil,” she said.
I turned and looked over my shoulder. Billy had just breezed in, and it was like he had a homing device or something, the way he looked right over at me, even though we were toward the back.
“Oh crap,” I said. “He’s coming over.”
“Of course he is.”
“I was hoping you might be here,” he said when he reached our table. “Mind if I join you?”
Caroline shot me a glance; she was going to leave this one up to me. “No, that’s fine.” He plopped down at the table; one of the waitresses was already coming over with a black and tan for him.
“Daisy,” he said. He had blue eyes with a mischievous glint in them, and short, rust-colored hair. His skin was pale, lightly freckled. “You know, it’s funny that I ran into you like that at Ruby’s.”
“Ruby?”
“Roubideaux. Ruby. It’s nicer than calling him Dodo. It’s a term of endearment, really. But yeah—fancy meeting you there! And now here. Because I’ve actually had my eye on you for quite some time.”
Caroline cleared her throat.
“I’m being rude.” Billy held his hand out. “Billy McAllister,” he said to her. “And you are?”
“Caroline. Daisy’s best friend.”
“Ah,” he said. “A best friend. That’s good. Ruby and I used to be best friends.” He looked at me. “I don’t know if he ever mentioned that to you.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I’m not surprised. He doesn’t really like to talk about his past much, if you haven’t been able to figure that out for yourself. Me, though. I’m all about reliving the good old days.” He smiled. “You two barely look old enough to have had any good old days.”
“We’re old enough,” Caroline said. Billy laughed.
“I like this one,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Can I buy you ladies a round of drinks?”
Caro looked at me. “Sure, why not,” I said.
“Great. Much obliged.”
He signaled to one of the waitresses, and she returned a minute later with three bottles of Beamish.
She brought them over and Billy gave her a grin. “I’ve got two lovely ladies tonight,” he said.
“Good for you, Billy.” We all laughed, and he held his beer up and we clinked them together.
While we drank our beers, he told us a story about a famous actor who had come to one of his father’s poker clubs.
“This guy,” he said. “You all know him. You’ve probably swooned over him, got his posters hanging on the wall in your bedroom.”
“Yeah right,” Caroline said, rolling her eyes. “We’re not in high school.”
“Well, either way. You know this guy. I know this guy. The whole fuckin world knows this guy, and he shows up at my dad’s club, a hundred grand that he thinks he’s going to triple by the end of the night. Ambitious guy. Now, I usually don’t play, but that night I couldn’t resist. I’m not the best poker player, but our A-list actor, by this point, he’d had a few drinks, was feeling a little cocky, and went all in and lost to my pair of aces.”
“Who was the guy?” Caroline asked.
“Yeah!” I said. “Who was he?”
Billy shook his head. “That, my lovelies, I can’t tell you.”
“Pictures or it didn’t happen.”
He grinned. “Not going to fall for that. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”
Billy was funny and easy to talk to. He wasn’t someone that I’d go out on a date with, but
he was definitely a lot of fun to hang around.
Chapter Thirteen
Ian
Daisy waited until we were done working for the day to ask me what I was doing Saturday night.
“I don’t have any plans,” I said. “Did you have something in mind?”
“I want you to meet my friend Caroline,” she said. “I know we’re keeping things quiet at work but—”
“I thought I said that we weren’t going to tell anyone about this.”
A quizzical expression crossed her face. “What? I thought you meant just at work. I didn’t think you meant I couldn’t talk to my best friend about it. We talk about everything.”
“Great,” I said. It always baffled me how most women had this insane need to have some sort of confidante to spill every last detail of her life to. Not saying that guys didn’t also talk about shit with each other, but not to the degree the women did. I’d overheard girls talking about dick size, how many fingers he put her up her snatch, whether or not he had hair around his asshole. What his come tasted like, if he was circumcised, how he cried out like a girl when he came. Don’t get me wrong—guys bragged about bagging girls all the time, but they didn’t go into minute fucking detail, the way I was sure that Daisy and this friend of hers would.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“I don’t know—do you feel like going out for sushi?”
“Sure,” I said. “Tomorrow night? I’ve got to come in and do a couple things around here, but I can come by your place around six?”
Daisy grinned. “That’d be perfect!” she said, and just from the way she said it, I knew she had already set the whole thing up with her friend.
We met up with her friend, Caroline, at Unscaled, which was one of the newer restaurants that I hadn’t been to before. Sushi was not, actually, a culinary favorite of mine, though there were a few things that I didn’t mind.
The place was crowded, and there was some sort of shitty electronic music playing. We were seated at a table in the middle of the dining area; Daisy and me on one side, Caroline on the other. She was cute—though not as cute as Daisy—and was definitely one of those women who was used to calling the shots about everything.
