Liam must be the younger one. The player. I shrug, wiping some glasses.
“I can handle myself.”
“I’m sure ye can, lass,” Niall agrees, his rumbling voice caressing me. “But that’s not what I said.”
“He’s harmless?”
“He likes to taste the new girls. He’ll leave ye alone now.”
A grin tugs at the corners of my lips. Liam is a good-looking man. I might have been tempted if there hadn’t been a certain blonde Irishman I’m warring with myself to stop lusting after.
“I bet the new girls like to taste him too.”
A menacing growl rumbles out of Niall, drawing my eyes to his heated ones. “He’s caught yer eye, has he?”
I giggle, wrinkling my nose and shaking my head. “He’s a player. No thanks.”
“And so ye say, lass.” Niall nods, sipping his whiskey and leaning on the bar. I move along to serve some more men who have stepped up, feeling Niall’s gaze on me the whole time.
It’s busier than last night. I catch a glimpse of Fiona on the stage – the girl has some serious moves – and Niall stays seated on his barstool, nursing his single whiskey, setting my panties on fire with his gaze, but mainly, I’m run off my feet.
When the lights flash –last call –I grit my teeth, forcing myself to smile though my cheeks ache and work my way through the rush on the bar. I’ve made good tips tonight, so I can keep smiling until I’m alone.
Niall waves me off when I hold up the bottle of whiskey, drumming his fingers on the bar as I move through the closing tasks Arthur assigned me last night.
When I’m almost finished, Arthur appears, walking through the bar and checking I have done everything I’m supposed to.
“Perfect, Mellie,” he grins at me, winking. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at four.”
“Not two?”
“You picked up the ropes quickly. We don’t need to do any training. If you think you can get through all the preparation tasks and inventory before we open at six, four o’clock is fine.”
“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Niall doesn’t move from the bar as I hurry across the brightly lit room, sliding into the dressing room to grab my things from Fiona’s locker. She’s not there. Almost all the strippers have left.
There’s a gorgeous redhead – I think I heard someone at the bar call her Tahlie –she’s on her knees in one of the cubicles, sucking off a tall, strawberry blonde guy. Averting my eyes, I snatch my things out of the locker and hurry out of the room as the guy groans, cursing with a thick Irish accent as he comes. I didn’t need to see that.
Arthur is still at the bar, checking the till, and Niall slides off his barstool as I approach them.
“I’ll give ye a lift, lass,” he grunts. My cheeks heat up, remembering the Irish curse from the dressing room.
“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” I murmur. “I can get the bus.”
“Ye’ll not be getting the bus,” Niall growls, his tone telling me not to argue. “It’s not so far out of my way.”
He gestures, and I fall into step beside him, out to the staff parking lot and his dark SUV.
“Are you sure -.”
“Sure as I can be, lass. In ye get.”
His hand cups my elbow as he helps me into the vehicle. I mean, I’m not about to complain about a lovely, comfortable, heated car ride home. It’s cold and dark, and the bus doesn’t come very frequently at this time of night.
Like last night, Niall doesn’t speak the entire journey, the radio quietly playing some generic talk station. He doesn't get out when he pulls into the loading zone, watching me with his emerald-green eyes as I slide out of the SUV and walk across the sidewalk to my building. Once I’m inside, the dark vehicle pulls away from the curb.
I slowly make my way upstairs, shaking my head. Even though I know he’s the Irish Reaper, the drive here was still filled with sexual tension. I’m going to take Fiona’s advice to stay away from the Irish boys… but it will be wicked hard to stay away from Niall Byrne, no matter who he is.