“Jesus, fuck,” I muttered, closing the tap and grabbing a bar rag from the back pocket of my jeans. I cleaned up the glass and my hands as best I could before setting the pint in front of him, making sure to put it on the coaster he’d set out for the purpose. “Hungry? We have a great menu for dinner.”
He smiled his thanks and took a deep draw from the beer before answering. His satisfied moan of appreciation went straight to my dick and seemed to also cause my eyes to pop out of my head. Was it possible to overstare at someone?
“God, this is good. What’s it called?”
“Cliffs. It’s one of the lagers brewed here. A bit less malty than Harp,” I explained. “Very popular with Americans.”
And then I winked.
It was like time stood still. The awkwardness I’d just brought upon myself was legendary. My face suddenly felt like an inferno. I would have said the tables had turned, but he blushed again as well.
We stared at each other. Oddly, I wanted to apologize. For daring to wink at the man? Why? He was there to hook up with me, right? What the hell was my problem?
“F-food,” I stammered. “Let’s get you some.”
I reached down the bar for a laminated menu and slid it in front of him before busying myself with nonsense chores. I wiped up a clean area of the oak surface, cleaned some already clean pint glasses, and finally counted the coins in the till.
“Charlie?”
I whipped around to face him. How did he know my name? Oh right, Cait. God, the sound of my name on his tongue made me want to beg him for things. Many, many things.
“Yes? Found something you like?”
Me, perhaps? Maybe Cait was right. Maybe a one-nighter was just what I needed to kick the memory of shitty Rory once and for all.
“I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know what several of these things are. I’ve never been to Ireland before. What do you recommend?”
I wondered if he’d like my father’s specialty coddle dish.
“Do you like sausage?”
The man’s eyes widened until he looked like a deer caught in headlights.
What had I said?
3
Hudson
Hudson’s Note To Self:
Not everyone offering you sausage is referring to dick.
When I walked into the historic Fig and Bramble pub and guesthouse, the first thing I saw was a gorgeous woman behind the bar. She had long red hair full of thick waves and was wearing an oversized fisherman’s sweater hanging off one pale, slender shoulder. Her skin looked so smooth and delicate, I suddenly imagined brushing the hair away from her neck and dropping an openmouthed kiss on the exposed surface to test how warm it was.
My heartbeat kicked into high gear. I’d never had such a visceral reaction to catching a glimpse of someone like that.
Before I could get a closer look at her, she turned her back to do something at the cash register. I took a spot at the bar and peeked over the wide wooden surface to see more of her. I noticed the ivory sweater hung down almost to her knees where a pair of snug-fitting blue jeans were rolled up to capri length the same way my sister Sassy did hers back home in Texas. My slow perusal continued down over slim, smooth ankles to a pair of well-loved gray Converse sneakers. What was it about her that was pushing my buttons?
I took advantage of the fact she was still facing away so I could check her out. As she shifted from foot to foot, I caught the barest hint of the curve of her compact ass under the bulky sweater. The stretched-out neckline fell farther down the exposed shoulder until I could see the rounded outline of small but well-defined deltoid muscle. It reminded me of a woman I’d dated several years before who did CrossFit. Heather had been insane about her workouts and sported biceps that made even my brothers envious. Imagining this delicate creature behind the bar in a skimpy sports bra and tiny workout shorts with damp tendrils of hair sticking to her neck made my pants noticeably tighter.
When I sensed the woman was finished with the register but still hadn’t noticed me, I spoke up to get her attention. It took me a moment after she turned around to realize the bartender wasn’t a woman at all. I’d been lusting after a man. I’d been getting hard for a man.
But he had such feminine features. He was downright gorgeous, regardless of his gender. It took me a minute to gather my wits and regroup. So what if she was a he? Did it matter? Of course not. I might have been straight, but I could still appreciate a beautiful human being of any gender or sex.
In addition to all of the things I’d noticed about him before, he also had stunningly bright green eyes the color of the clichéd four-leaf clover I’d happened upon just outside the door to the historic building. There were a few freckles scattered across his nose, and his dark eyelashes were made even darker by a thin smudge of eyeliner.