Why can’t Toni hook me up with a guy like this?
“Idiots like that give the rest of us a bad name. Hold my beer, folks. I’ll be right back.”
My eyes go wide, and Fiona watches my expression transform while she pulls her multi-hued hair back into a ponytail.
“What is he doing?” I whisper, equal parts horrified and enthralled.
She grins at me. “Taking out the trash, hon. Finns are good about that kind of thing.”
Wyatt is a Finn too?
I should have known. All the good ones in town are taken, straight, or belong to that family. I wonder where Zeus fits in?
Stop thinking about him fitting into something. Watch the show instead.
“He can’t throw someone out for being a shitty conversationalist.”
“Hell yes he can. And the boss would back him up if he were here. Even the more commitment-phobic members of their clan have certain behavioral standards. And they’re all overprotective of their family and friends.”
My confusion must be easy to read because Fiona kindly covers my hand with hers. “You’re my friend, JD, and this guy wasn’t treating you with the respect you deserve. I’ve been watching your face all night, so don’t deny it. That’s all Wyatt needed to know to do the right thing.” Something flashes in her eyes as she watches him tap Billy Ray on the shoulder, her tongue poking out to fiddle with her lip piercing thoughtfully. “It’s sweet, really.”
It is. Sweet and unexpected. And after less than a minute of whispered conversation, my so-called date is tossing a few bills on the table, grabbing his phone and disappearing out the door.
He didn’t look for me once.
Insulting? Probably, but I feel more relieved than anything. Sure, I’ll need a ride home later, but that ride won’t smell like cheese or have cold, wandering hands.
Bonus.
I hear Fiona telling two servers nearby to take over before she leans her elbows on the bar. “Why are you still frowning? This is good. You’re now free to join me in a study of all things Irish and male. Too bad you were sick for St. Patrick’s Day. We could have written a paper on the copious alcohol consumption, kissing and booty pinching that occurs each year to celebrate a religious zealot with a snake phobia.”
“A snake isn’t always a snake.”
She wrinkles her nose. “And a cigar is never just a cigar. In my professional opinion, Freud can suck it.”
“Who can suck what now?” Wyatt slides back into his seat with a shit-eating grin.
“Cigars and snakes and shitty dates. We’re speaking in phallic symbols,” I explain, lifting my glass in his direction. “And on that note... Hail the conquering hero. As handsome as he is noble and brave.”
“It was nothing. Really. No big deal at all.” Wyatt’s smile wobbles and he hunches his shoulders, getting that uncomfortable look I’ve only seen on heterosexual males when gay men give them compliments. It’s funny, but I still feel sorry for him when Fiona laughs at his expense. He did do me a giant favor.
“That wasn’t a come on, I swear. All it means is your next drink is on me. And thank you.”
“No drinks. I mean, you’re welcome, of course. And I’ll drink, but you don’t have to buy me a drink. Not that you couldn’t if you wanted to, but I get a discount anyway so…”
“Poor Wyatt,” Fiona croons as he stammers. “His family of big, strong, strapping homosexuals has traumatized him. He thinks being gay is contagious.”
“If only.” Did I say that out loud? Apparently, because they both start chuckling, and I watch the fireman’s shoulders relax again, along with his smile. Good.
Wyatt nudges me apologetically with his elbow. “You know I don’t really think that, right, JD? Fi likes to pick on me, but I’m man enough to admit that you’re a handsome guy. If I swung that way, I’d be on all that in a heartbeat.” He waves his hand toward my face and body. “Unfortunately, I’ve only got eyes for this one bartender I’m trying to wear down.”
I’m getting that loud and clear. I’m also getting that Fiona is keeping Wyatt at a friendly distance, which is strange since she usually goes after what she wants. I’d wonder about it, but when she puts another drink in front of me—did I already finish that last one?—I realize that this is not the night for me to pry. She knows what she’s doing. Probably.
“To the ever-stout Brady,” I say instead. “Thick, potent and the only thing I’ll be swallowing tonight.”
Wyatt spits his drink across the bar and onto Fiona’s chest, but before I can tease him about it, the beer’s namesake arrives and starts patting him helpfully on the back.
My embarrassment is close to crippling as my gaze travels up a thick tree trunk of an arm to monster biceps and a set of shoulders Atlas would envy. Crap, what is it with me and the mythological references tonight?