“Should be fun.”
Right. Great fucking crack.
***
It felt wrong to be on this side of the bar. He was enjoying catching up with Owen and Jeremy and hearing about the tours they’d been on—and the few they’d been kicked off of for lewd behavior—but Seamus was still distracted. He had the strongest urge to pick up some empty glasses or grab a rag to wipe down a table or two.
Gill and her father were dealing with the crowd who’d come to see her youngest brother’s band, and they were holding their own like champs, but neither of them had had a break all night. It couldn’t hurt his cause to show Gillian that he was capable of something other than following her around.
It might also distract him from the asshole Gill kept talking to at the other end of the bar. Each time Demir smiled at her or reached out to touch her arm as he made a point, Seamus tensed.
He was trouble. He’d sensed it from the minute he’d laid eyes on the guy and the feeling got stronger each day. He was here nearly as much as Seamus was, and it wasn’t like it was right next to the damn hotel. The location was why he’d rented a car in the first place. He’d seen him visit with Gillian’s father and brothers too. And then at lunch today, he and Gillian were talking in a way that left him wondering what Bellamy’s intentions were. Had he read him wrong? Was he flirting with the woman Seamus had set his sights on?
And what kind of adventures had Gill sent him on?
“I’ve noticed you eye-stalking your perky bartender friend all night. Does my usually oblivious brother have a crush?” Owen let out a low whistle as Gillian bent down to hear what Bellamy was saying. “If you do, it looks like you’re not the only one. I’d beat him up for you but he’s huge and my husband wouldn’t sleep with me if I cracked my ribs playing wingman.”
Of course Owen had noticed him. It would impossible not to. Bellamy didn’t exactly fit in to the pale and predominantly ginger Irish crowd.
“Who is that?” Jeremy asked with quiet urgency when he caught sight of the man in question.
“Bellamy Demir,” Seamus muttered. “Some rich asshole that’s staying at my hotel and screwing with my vacation.”
“Great name,” Jeremy mused, grabbing his phone and slipping out the stylus attached to it, instantly starting to draw. “Thank God for Sketchbook.”
“Are you really using that app to sketch another guy on our honeymoon—a guy easygoing Seamus hates, no less—right in front of me?” Owen sounded civil, but Seamus knew him well enough to hear the underlying jealousy. He was a little irritated at Jeremy himself. Demir was fast becoming his least favorite person, and the fact that Owen’s husband found him attractive gave him another excuse to dislike him.
You hate him? Is that why your dick is hard? Why you’re jealous of the way Jeremy is staring at him?
Jeremy didn’t stop, but he did lean closer to Owen. “Come on, babe. He’s not real. I mean he is, but look at him. No one looks like that in real life. He’s all Arabian Nights meets MMA fighter. I do think he’s perfect for the new character in Vini’s next series though. He’s definitely Dark Prince material. His eyes literally look like they’re glowing from here.”
So Seamus wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that.
Owen’s fierce expression gentled and he squinted at the image. “Damn. I don’t like it, but I think you’re right. He’s just like you described him.”
Seamus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wait, you’re putting him in one of your graphic novels? As a prince? At least tell me he’s a villain.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Owen grumbled, watching Jeremy’s sketch take shape on the small screen. “Not officially. He starts out as a prick, if that helps, but it’s all a funny misunderstanding.”
Great, now he’d never be completely rid of the man. His son Wes loved Vini the misunderstood demon. “That doesn’t help,” Seamus growled.
Owen glanced up at that, eyes widening. “Whoa, what’s he done to deserve that look? That only happens when there’s an abusive drunk at the bar or a reporter trying to trip up Stephen and Tasha. Babe, Seamus has his Hulk face on.”
Jeremy’s attention bounced from him to the man he was drawing. “He doesn’t look too intimidated by it. In fact, he’s sending Seamus some amused side eye. What did he do, steal your hotel towels or something?”
He’s not looking at me, Seamus wanted to correct Jeremy. He was too busy charming the pants off of Gillian to notice Seamus existed. What the fuck was he up to?
“We only met officially today,” he explained, “but Gill’s brothers talk about him. They say he’s richer than Ken and Declan combined, but entitled in a way that would make them both cringe. His dad is some Turkish businessman and his mother was a French model.”