Page 28

Seventeen
Patrick
The minute I comedownstairs, I get catcalls and wolf-whistles. Gilroy’s regulars giving me shit. It’s still early in the night. Things don’t start getting crazy until after ten but fuck if I’m sitting in my apartment until then.
“Look at this dandy,” my Uncle Paddy calls out, flipping a pint off the bar while he takes in my button-down shirt and dark jeans—a far cry from my usual Gilroy’s attire of cargo shorts and thrift-store T-shirt. The glass rolls from one hand to the other, as slick as can be, landing under the taps where he builds me a Guinness. “Here you go, boyo,” he says, setting the pint in front of me before giving me a long, hard look. “On your way to church then?”
His remark has nothing to do with my shirt. My uncle’s been running Gilroys for almost twenty years now—he knows when someone comes into his bar looking for trouble. I just grin and raise my pint. “May the Saints preserve us,” I say, mimicking his thick Irish brogue, earning myself a loud snort. “Conner around?”
“That altar boy of mine is in back.” Paddy throws his towel over his shoulder before heading down the length of the bar to attend to another customer. I take my glass and head for the back of the bar.
“Nice shirt, asshole” Conner says, tucking a receipt between the pages of he’s book he’s reading.
Gatsby. Always Gatsby.
He sets it aside while I slide into the booth across from him. I flip him the bird. “At least it’s clean,” I say and he laughs.
As soon as I’m settled, the waitress sidles up to the table. “Need another, Patrick,” she says, eyeing the dregs left in my pint. Her name is Lisa and with her dyed black hair, candy-pink mouth and fake tits, she’s about as un-Cari as it gets.
Another drink is the last thing I need but my nerve is a tenuous thing. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.
It’s Cari.
“How about a Jameson. Neat,” I say, offering her a slight smile while I dump the call.
“Sure thing…” she smiles back before heading to the bar.
Conner leans back in the booth, watching the exchange, a slight smirk on this face. “Caught a look at Legs comin’ through here a few minutes ago with her date...” he says as soon as Lisa’s gone. “she did not look horrible.”
I don’t say anything. Just wait for him to say, I told you so.
Instead, he seems content to state the obvious. “It’s been six months now.”
“Yup,” I say before swallowing the last of my pint. Six months of being fucked with. Six months of letting myself get wound so tight I feel like I’m about to lose my mind half the time—and for what? Laughs? An ego boost?
“How’s it going?” he asks, but he knows. Everyone knows.
“It’s good,” I lie through my teeth, wishing Lisa would hurry the fuck up with my drink. I have a feeling I need to be drunk for what’s coming out of Conner’s mouth next.
“You are a horrible fucking liar.” Conner leans back and sighs, like I’m a burden on his back and he’s finally going to set me down.
I look at my watch. “It’s getting late. Isn’t it about time you start looking your nightly bathroom hook-up?”
“That happened forty-five minutes ago. Twice.” Unfazed, Conner smiles. “Look, cousin. You know what you need to do, right?” he says. He’s exactly five months older than me but if sexual experience were measured in years, he’d be a fucking dinosaur.
I shrug because as pissed as I am, I don’t want to seem like I’m hanging on his every word. Which I am… I mean, I know what I have to do but maybe hearing Conner say the words will give me the kick in the ass I need to get the job done.
“You need to wake up your inner-asshole,” he says, all sage advice and knowing smile.
Not really the advice I was expecting.
“I’m afraid the asshole gene skipped me over,” I say, shaking my head. Inner-asshole? He might as well tell me to jump off the roof and fly.
Now Conner laughs at me. “Bullshit,” he says, lifting his own pint. “You’re a Gilroy—that means you’ve got asshole in spades.” He gives me a shit-eating grin. “You just have to stop giving a fuck.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?” I say but I already know, don’t I? It’s why I came down here. Why I put on a clean shirt and brushed my teeth.
Conner must’ve been reading my mind because he laughed. “Take a look around this bar, man,” he says, stretching his legs out in front of him under the table. “There isn’t a woman in this place that would say no to me—you know why?”