“This … this isn’t my style.”
“That’s not a no,” I tell her. Then, before she mindfucks this too much, I add, “No regrets, sweets.”
I start to turn her toward me. Her eyes are closed, and fuck if she doesn’t look familiar, but then she opens—
“Holy shit! Ben?” She covers her mouth.
I shake my head slowly back and forth. Surely, it can’t be … “Little Ross?”
She laughs hysterically, and I straighten as I look at her, still in shock that Kendall Ross is the girl I’ve been eye-banging for the past thirty minutes. More importantly, knowing it’s Kendall Ross I’ve been eye banging for the past thirty minutes, doesn’t make me want her any less.
“You look fucking gorgeous.” I wrap my arms around her and hug her. And you feel even better than you look. “You wanna get out of here?”
Stepping back, she wipes the tears caused by laughing and shrugs. “I just got left by my guide so”—she turns and grabs two of the three pints then hands one to me—“sláinte.”
“Sláinte,” I say, still looking at her porcelain, silky skin, her waist-length blonde ringlets, and now I’m able to see that I was right when I was on stage—she has the perkiest handfuls I’ve eyed in my life.
As much as I like her tits, it’s the sparkling eyes and the dimples so deep I may have found a new place I’d like to stick my tongue … or other things in that I’m drawn to.
I drain the draft. “Breakfast?”
She cocks her head to the side and looks at me. “Huh?”
“Come to breakfast with me.” I hold my hand out, and she sets the half full draft down on the bar.
“Sure.”
When she doesn’t take my hand, I take hers.
Walking through the crowded pub, I find the closest exit while avoiding anyone I know or anyone who seems to want to know me.
I need to chill the fuck out. This is Kendall Ross, a very grown-ass version of the little cherub. Unfortunately, as much as I’m out of sorts, her hysterical laughter at my … sexual advances and the fact that I briefly dated her sister deems this a no-fly zone.
Once outside, I look back as she looks around.
“Ben, we’re in an alley.” She looks from behind us to me and smiles. Albeit a lopsided smile, but it’s stunning.
Still holding her hand, I nod then ask, “Kendall, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks at our hands.
I do the same, yet I don’t let go. “If we hurry, we can talk over a meal.”
The cab ride is short, but what I learn from the conversation between her and the very talkative driver’s conversation is that, one, he’s taken with her, and if not for the plexiglass divider between him and her, I’d probably want to give in to the fact that I want to throw his ass out of the moving cab; and two, she’s here with a tour group that she has traveled with from the summer after she graduated high school. They’ve been to Australia, China, Africa, and now Ireland.
It’s a group of about twenty, three of whom she is very close to. Debbie and her husband Jay, and Moe, who now is a person of interest because, right now, I’d like to throw Moe from the cab, too.
I also learn they have plans to continue this July vacation tradition for years to come.
Exiting the cab at 14/15 Parliament Street, I again take her hand and lead her inside.
She’s a bit unstable, which is nice in a way. Since I came at her so strongly, being who she is, I’m glad she’s not running in the opposite direction, and because, damn … just damn.
“What would you like?”
“Not all that hungry. Moe and I had a late dinner.”
Fucking Moe, I cuss inwardly. “Steak, pork, chicken, lamb—”