PROLOGUE
Darcy - 5 Years Earlier - Waterford, Ireland
“Here’syourshotofwhiskey.” I slide the tumbler across the scarred high-top table and watch it wobble.
Ciara, my bestie and study partner for the nursing boards, downs her shot in one fiery gulp. With one open, watery eye, she says, “You talk to that bloke you’ve been salivating over all night?”
The man she’s referring to has my virgin lady parts aching and vibrating the floorboards of this crowded, smoke-filled pub. I’m days away from turning eighteen and haven’t yet left my hometown, but I’ve watchedThe Bacheloron satellite television. I’ve never seen a man with such blue eyes, sharp jawline, and chiseled cheekbones.
“I heard him tell that blonde floozy, Lola, he’s from New York. Just got here yesterday.” I glance that way again, annoyed she’s still hanging all over him.
“What he’s doing here in Waterford?”
“No idea. No one’s died, so he’s not here for a family funeral,” I say with authority because there’s not much to do here. Wakes and burials are often our only entertainment.
“If he’s from New York, he may be mafia.”
I scoff, but I’d heard rumors of local families having connected relatives in America. No one’s ever confirmed who. Or possibly, they didn’t live to repeat it.
“What time is it?” Ciara asks. “My phone died.”
“Because you never charge it.” I take mine out. Catching my reflection, I frown at what I did to myself last week when I was bored. Bleached my long, dark hair, then butchered it because the dye job burnt off most of the ends.
My parents are furious with me. After that mess, I got a tattoo before my birthday when they specifically told me not to. And now I ‘look like Andy Warhol,’ according to my father. I had to google the guy, then dropped the phone when I saw the resemblance, too.
“It’s nearly ten.” I put my cell away. “We should get going. You have enough gas to get us home in that clunker of yours, right?”
“Aye, Miss Darcy Quinlan.” She smiles, but bites her lower lip like she’s not sure. “You’re a meanie.”
“I’m gonna hit the bean-jacks.” I hop off the stool and weave my way through the crowd so Callum, the sleazy bouncer, doesn’t see me.
He’s always on the lookout for underage hookups, and when he finds a girl he likes, instead of making her leave, he tells her he’ll let her stay if she sucks him off in the office, which many girls do. Since he found out I’m a virgin, he’s been laying the charm on thick.
I’ve been avoiding him at all costs.
There’s no queue for the loo in the long, dim hallway, which is strange. There is just a man standing next to the door to the ladies’ room.
“Hold up,” he says, pushing his arm out.
“That’s the ladies’ toilet, bucko.” I fold my arms.
“It’s occupied.” He grins wickedly.
“All four stalls?”
“Maybe.” His brogue sounds rich, but it’s not as sharp as us locals.
I glance at the bar area, and the man from New York has left his stool. Lola, too. “Is your friend from New York shagging Lola Flanigan?”
“He’s my brother.” The guy’s lips press into a firm line. “And no comment.”
“Last I heard, Lola has an STD.” I tap my mouth to get a reaction.
The buck turns white and dives into the ladies’ room, and I slip into the men’s jacks because I really have to pee. I barricade myself into a stall. When I come out, a pissed boy from the neighborhood throws up in the sink.
My night turns to utter shite when I get back to my table to find Ciara goneandCallum storming back inside. Shit, she got thrown out!
I duck out a back door, and my heart falls, seeing Ciara’s taillights disappear down the dark, winding road. I run after her car, arms waving, but she doesn’t slow down.