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Seamus
Allie doesn’t answer, more or less allowing me to lead her out the door. Her mother mumbles something about not behaving properly in public and something about a fitting. Allie says nothing. I don’t think she means to ignore her mother. Like the owner and Cara Maria, she’s still in shock. Except Cara Maria recovered a hell of a lot faster.
I follow Allie to her car, a white Infiniti SUV, opening the door for her and then jogging to the other side.
I wait for her to let me in. My truck is two cars behind hers. But I’m trying to make it like we showed up together. It would work better if she lets me in. I knock on the window, pointing to the bakery box I’m holding. The defeat marching across her face like toy soldiers makes me worry she isn’t going to let me in. But then, all at once, the locks deactivate.
I carefully place the box on the floor in the back and hop into the front, worried she might lock my ass out. I’m not saying she’s terrified or anything, but she’s not the same woman who was checking me out while wiping my face. Yeah cutie, I noticed.
My back relaxes into the seat. Whoever she had in here last had long legs like me. I easily slip in, waving to her family, who continue to watch us from inside the store.
Allie pulls away, her gaze straight ahead, driving forward like I’m not even there. “So, what’s the plan?” I ask. “You want to drive around until they leave and then you can just let me off back in front of the store?”
I almost get whiplash for how fast she cuts the next corner. She jets down the street, slamming her SUV into park behind a fast food place that has seen better days and likely a few robberies.
Allie is breathing kind of fast. I’m not counting or anything, but that shit doesn’t look natural. She’s not pale. Not dying. No . . . what’s a good word for it? Stable. That’s it. She’s stable, not much more than that.
She points at me, looks away, and points again. “You grabbed my ass.”
“Yeah, a few times,” I agree.
I’ll admit, I didn’t expect her to start off with that. I also didn’t expect her to look so pissed. I cock my head, confused.
Her skin goes from pink to red and back to pink like a strobe light. Impressive and freaky, but I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose. Again, she points, leaving me with the impression she wants to gouge my eyes out with that finger.
“You grabbed my ass,” she repeats, this time, louder.
“It was either that or kiss you,” I say. “But since we’d just met, I thought the ass-grabbing was more polite.”
“More polite?” she repeats.
Christ, I can practically smell her blood boiling. “Yes?” I ask, since I’m no longer sure.
Her eyes fly open and she looks at the giant burger sign as if it can somehow help her.
When she finally turns back to me, she isn’t any less pissed. “Why did you? . . . How could you? . . . What were you thinking?”
I frown. “You make it sound like this whole thing was my idea.”
“That’s because it was!” she screams at me. “You pretended to be my boyfriend. My boyfriend, who I’m taking to the wedding luncheon, the rehearsal dinner, and the wedding. God Almighty, Seamus. What did you do?”
“You told me to save you,” I remind her, speaking slowly. “But now you have to save me, too.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Wow. It’s like her voice has lost all of its softness and only hysteria remains. Maybe I should have kissed her. She has some nice lips. I’ll bet she’s really good at it.
“Remember Finnie and Wren?” I ask, forcing myself to focus. “They’re getting married. And from what I’ve seen, my brother Declan is close to getting engaged.” I unsnap my seatbelt, getting comfortable since I anticipate a long chat. “I’m getting a lot of crap about getting old, being single, and not having any kids. Believe it or not, it’s like my entire family thinks I can’t get anyone classy.”
“Oh, I believe it,” she replies.
Her voice is quiet, but less hysterical. Hey. I’ll take what I can get. “I told them I had someone to bring to all the events, the luncheons and whatever. Someone without a prison record, you hear what I’m saying?” I pause, fearing the worst. “You don’t have a prison record, do you?”
She shakes her head slowly.
“Okay, good. You seem real nice, too. So, I say it’s a win-win for both of us.”
“You’re insane,” she says, and that’s pretty much it.
“Hey. This was your idea.”
“It was not!”
She’s back to yelling, but she catches herself and shakes out her hands the way women do what they can’t handle a problem. I have to say, in her defense, I am an extraordinary specimen of male.
“You told me to save you,” I remind her, yet again. “Your family walked in. You lost your mind and you begged me to save you. No offense, Allie, but the least you can do is say thank you.”
“I was talking to God,” she whimpers.
I stretch out my arms. “Looks like God sent me, instead.”
She turns slowly, facing the graffiti lined brick wall. The edges are crumbling and Dukane loves Latifa is sprayed in giant pink letters. Hey, I think I know them.
She leans forward, her face falling into her hands as she makes that odd squeaking noise she made back in the bakery. I give her some time, wondering if I should text Dukane and see if him and Latifa are still together.
I reply to a few texts. Mr. Robson likes the woodwork I did in his home office so much, he wants me to redo his library while he and his wife are on vacation. I text him back and set up a time. When I look up from pocketing my phone, Allie is still right where I left her, face buried and all.
“I suppose we should establish some rules,” I suggest, thinking I’ve given her enough time.
She lifts her head. “Rules?” she asks.
“Yeah. Rules. Like no groping below the belt, unless you want me to and maybe some over the sweater fondling in case of an emergency.”
“Please explain to me what kind of emergency warrants me being fondled by you over my sweater.”
Damn, she’s testy. “It could happen. You want to come across as convincing, don’t you?” I give it some thought. “I was thinking that maybe for the rehearsal, you can wear an extra pair of panties beneath your skirt.”
“For what?” she asks, not letting me finish.
“To subtly pass me to me under the table,” I say. “Maybe in front of Andy. I’ll clutch them against my chest and give you a wink. Yeah. That’ll work.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what couples who can’t keep their hands off each other do.”
She blinks back at me. “I take it this is something you’ve done yourself?”
“Oh, hell no,” I admit.
“Then who are these magical couples you’re referring to?”
“I never claimed to know any.” I drum my fingers. “But I think I might have seen it a movie once.”
“Really?” she asks. “Did this movie have a horny plumber who ‘accidently’ walked in on the panty removing twosome?”
I perk up. “How did you know?”
“Oh, God.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s what she said.”
Oddly enough, Allie doesn’t laugh with me. “Fine. We don’t have to do the extra panty bit. But we do have to make it believable.”
She sighs, sad, but in a way that makes me think she’s seeing things from my side. “You need me,” she says.
“And you need me, too,” I remind her.
“Yes. I do.” It seems to hurt her to admit as much. It makes me sad. Like I said, she’s always been nice. She deserves some niceness in return, or at least some support to get through the crap her family is putting her through.
“Come on, cuteness,” I say. “I’m not so bad. Think of me as your new best friend.”
Her eyebrows pucker. She shouldn’t look so pretty, but she pulls it off just fine. “My new best friend? You want to be friends with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve probably spent your life helping people out. People like poor Kevin and probably some others who don’t deserve it.” I mean Valentina and Andres, though I don’t come out and say it. Still, she seems to know. “For once, let someone help you out.” I smirk. “Let someone save you.”
“Someone like you?” she questions.
She’s back to looking the way she did when we first started speaking. Pretty. A little shy. And mostly kind.
“Someone exactly like me,” I agree.
I eye her from long braid to funky boots. “You’re hot, Alz. But all that hotness has frozen over beneath too much hair and enough layers of clothing to cover a hut.”
“You think I’m hot?”
Of all the things she could have said and could have down-right smacked me for, that’s the one thing she picks up on. I briefly wonder why. She must know she’s attractive. Doesn’t she?
“Yeah,” I say, my confusion as evident as her doubt.
I frown when she dips her head. Holy shit. This woman doesn’t get how pretty she is, which means she doesn’t know how sexy she is, either. No worries. She has me now. We’ll help each other out, and maybe, just maybe, I can help her tap into her inner panty-peeling seductress locked away in that castle of insecurity. Look at me sounding all metaphorical and shit.
I lean close and tug her long braid. She glances up. “I’m about to tell you something that will probably offend you, and may be slightly inappropriate.”
“You?” she asks. “I don’t believe it for a moment.”
I don’t know Allie well, but I get the feeling she’s being sarcastic.
I chuckle. “In order for people to believe that we’re together, we have to do something about all this.”
“All of what, exactly?”
“Nothing major, just your clothes and hair.”
“Just my clothes and hair? Really? And tell me, Seamus, what exactly is wrong with the way I dress? It’s professional, neat, and expensive attire.”
“You’re successful. I get it and that’s a good thing,” I say. “We’re going to need to drop a few bills on new clothes. The hair, I know someone who can fix it.”
She strokes her long braid as if she can somehow protect it from my evil clutches. “You don’t understand. My hair is wild.”
“That’s a good thing. The wilder the better.”
“It defies gravity,” she says, as if I’m somehow missing the point. “The only way to keep it neat and under control is to braid it.” She speaks faster when it becomes clear I’m not budging. “I don’t see anything wrong with keeping it the way it is.”
“I do. You look like a Mormon and not the good kind. I mean the cult kind. The one with multiple wives and three hundred kids. The kind that make us Irish look infertile. Seriously, Allie. You’re sexy and everything. But if you told me you’re number four of six sister wives, I’d believe you, based on what you’re wearing.”
“I represent a great deal of elderly clients,” she fires back defensively. “If I don’t dress a certain way, they might not take me seriously.”
“I’m not telling you to change the way your dress in front of your clients.”
“Oh, good,” she says.
“I’m just telling you to change the way you dress around me.”
She twists her entire body to better see and possibly better yell at me. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, and my family,” I add. “They’re never gonna believe that I fell for you dressed the way you are.”
“Would you prefer me in a G string and tassels?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“I may have to kill you,” she says.
Believe it or not, it’s not the first time a woman has threatened me with death. “I’m only saying my family would believe me dating a stripper over you. I’m not saying you have to be over the top with tube tops and miniskirts—”
“Good, or else I’d have to remind you this isn’t the 1980s.”
“But you do have to change what you have on,” I jerk a thumb behind me, ignoring that the bakery is nowhere near where I’m pointing. “I don’t think we pulled off what we needed to pull off with your family. But if you start dressing and acting like you’re really into me, they’re going to believe it. And better yet, my family will believe me.”
“You’re asking a great deal,” she says. This time, she’s the one eyeing me up and down.
I smile. “You asked first.”
“I was asking God,” she reminds me.
“God was busy, so he sent one of his best-looking angels. That’s me, in case you’re wondering,” I add when she just looks at me. “So, from now on, consider me your very own hot-as-sin guardian angel.”
She shoots me a look that says she might actually murder me. I’m familiar with that look. Believe it or not, I get it a lot.
“Seamus, I appreciate what you tried to do at the bakery. But I don’t think this is the right course of action. My family is rather difficult, but they’re not stupid. I don’t see how we’ll pull this charade off.”
“I told you, we don’t have to do any over the sweater action unless it’s an emergency.” I’m trying to make her laugh. This thing’s not so bad. Like I said, we can help each other out.
The corners of her cupid lips lift when she realizes I’m just messing with her. Her reaction tells me two things: she doesn’t want to kill me yet, and that she realizes I may be on to something. I like to rag on people to the point where some may think I’m dumber than dirt. I’m not, and if we play it right, it’ll buy us time and get our families off our backs.
“How come you need me as much as you do?” I ask her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why don’t you have a man? How come you’re not married? Why haven’t you squeezed out a few kids?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she says.
“For starters, I don’t have a vagina.”
She sighs. Maybe she’s getting tired of my jokes. It’s a damn shame, there’s plenty more to come. I shrug. “I haven’t found anyone.”
“Without a criminal record?” she offers.
I open my mouth to argue, but she does have a point. “My taste in women might have something to do with it,” I confess. “But I like the type. Not the kind that comes after me with knives and shit,” I add quickly. “But the kind who aren’t afraid to let loose.”
She tilts her head, listening closely. “You mean, women who feel free to express themselves and not fear what others may think?”
“I meant in the bedroom, but I suppose that works, too.”
“Have mercy,” she says.
“Okay, your turn. How come you’re not married with a family and everything?”
It takes her a long time to answer. When she finally does, I could kick my own ass. I didn’t mean to ask something that would cause her pain. Except, that’s what I end up doing.
She meets me square in the face, shame and sadness darkening her large, pretty eyes. “Because I was supposed to marry Andres. He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.”
“Ever?” I ask. There I go again, saying something that maybe I shouldn’t. But I don’t get it. Allie is smart and nice. She’s also gorgeous, which should go without saying. Except women like Allie never believe they’re as beautiful as they are.
“Ten years is a long time to commit to someone and simply walk away. Too many years are spent loving and dreaming together.” She looks at the decrepit wall. Unlike me, I bet she thinks Dukane and Latifa never made it to the altar. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
She returns her focus to me. I think she expected me to reassure her and to tell her I can relate. If so, she’s wrong.
“I can’t remember being with a woman more than a handful of weeks. But that’s how we O’Briens are.” What I say still holds true for my extended family. Not so much for my brothers. Now, it’s just me. It was fine when we were young, going from party to bar to party with a good-looking woman attached to our side. But when everybody started settling down before I was ready for it, it started to look pathetic, instead of a young guy sowing his wild oats.
“You seem bothered by it,” she says quietly.
I’m not dumb. Neither is Allie.
I don’t like where our conversation is headed, so I switch the focus back to her, where it rightfully belongs. “I get that you were with Andres for a long time and having him dump you to marry your sister is all kinds of fucked up. But have you tried to date other men?”
“I have. It took me a long time.” She rolls her eyes. “I had trust issues, as you can imagine. When Andres confessed he’d fallen for Valentina, like a fool, I wanted to believe it wouldn’t last.” Her attention drifts from me and somewhere she shouldn’t go. “But like everyone else, he fell hard and kept going.”
She tries to swallow down what she’s feeling, but pursing her lips is as much as she manages. “I would have given Andres time to sort through his feelings, but when he admitted he had sex with her, I knew he was lost to me.”
She shakes her head, squinting her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m saying too much.”
She is. Especially since we just re-met. I don’t know Allie well. But someone who tells me as much is she just did, is someone who’s had no one else to tell.
“As I was saying,” she begins. “I dated a few men, but none of them went past a few dinners. So instead of focusing my energy on dating, I focused on my real estate business.”
“I’m going to fix you,” I say, cutting her off.
“Pardon?”
“I’m going to make it so Andres cuts off his own balls for letting you go.” I lift my palms. “I’m not saying you’re going to steal him back. Two wrongs don’t make a right. Not to mention, you should sue his ass for wasting ten years of your life.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I’m going to fix everything holding you back,” I say. “Starting with your clothes and your hair. You’re going to be so desirable when I’m done with you, men will be shoving me out of the way just to bask in your hotness.”
From what I know of Allie, she’s either going to demand I get out of her ride so she can run me over or run away screaming. I don’t want her to do either, so I try to make her see I’m only here to help. “I don’t mean to be insulting. But it’s like you’re a caterpillar who’s cocooned herself for too damn long.”
“A caterpillar?”
At least she’s paying attention. “Yeah. Time to stick your head out and sprout the wings. Time to break free.”
She glances down, appearing to give my words some thought. When she looks up, she’s not exactly smiling. No worries. I know I have her. “You’ll be my date to the wedding and the events Valentina has planned?”
“Yup.”
“And I’ll be yours to your family functions?”
“You got it, baby.”
Her voice softens, and while she hesitates, she’s starting to like the idea of sprouting those wings. “And you’ll help me with my confidence so I can meet someone deserving?”
“I promise,” I assure her.
“Very well,” she says, nodding. “In exchange, I’ll help you with your issues.”
“Huh?”
She crinkles her brow. “Seamus, did you ever stop to think that perhaps the reason you’re single and childless is because you’re doing all the wrong things? Perhaps you could use some direction to remedy whatever faults you possess, and mistakes you’ve committed, that have kept you from a more fulfilling life?”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing to fix.” I flex for her, pointing to the mountain of muscle that erupts from my bicep. “Honey, this is perfection. You don’t mess with perfection.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Very well. We’ll work on that, too.”
I’m not sure what she means. I let it to go for now and offer her my hand. “So, we have a deal?”
Her hand slips across my skin as she clasps it. “Deal.”
“Good.” I say the word slowly, noting how soft and warm her skin feels against mine. I shrug it off, thinking I was just cold. “Now, let’s get back to the fondling above the sweater rule. . .”
