“Yeah?” He scratches his crooked nose and glances around the bar. “People talk about their sexual problems at Irish pubs?”
“Problems?” That sounds less promising. “What exactly is the issue under discussion? Mechanical? Emotional? Societal?”
The look in his eyes is so hot I’m surprised I’m not on fire. “I think you know it’s not mechanical.”
Oh boy, do I know.
“Emotional?” I say, my voice sounding strange in my ears.
“Jesus, this wasn’t how I planned to…” He swears and takes another drink.
“You can talk to me about anything,” I assure him, ignoring the pulse pounding in my ears. “Come on. Tell Joey your problems and I’ll teach you how to juggle.”
He groans and rubs his hand over his face, mumbling.
I put my hand to my ear. “What was that?”
“I never got what the big deal was before.”
“About?”
“Sex,” he says a little louder than he meant to. “Hell.”
Did he say before?
“Maybe you’ve been doing it wrong,” I offer casually, like a dare, though my heart is thumping hard.
“If anybody had any complaints, it would be all over the news,” he growls. “That’s not the problem.”
I don’t like to think about him having sex with anyone else. Even if he is complaining about it. “Fine, maybe they’re doing it wrong. Or you just aren’t suited to this casual hookup generation we’re living in. You seem like the kind of guy who’d rather have a hug than a handshake.”
He looks confused. “Am I supposed to understand that?”
“Casual sex is like a handshake. What if they have a weird grip? What if they have clammy hands that haven’t been washed in a week? What if their hand is secretly a serial killer? You don’t know, because you literally just met them.”
The sparkling emerald laughter flares back to life in his eyes. “You’re comparing sex to a handshake?”
Rick said something similar once. It was garbled, because he was trying to have the condom talk with ten sons at the same time, and it got away from him. Still, I’m committed now. “That’s about as much thought as most people put into who they take home from a bar, isn’t it?”
“What’s a hug in this scenario?”
“It’s called dating. Ever tried it?”
“Once. Senior prom. It didn’t take.”
Because he was focused on baseball.
“Does dating get rid of the bad handshake issue?” he asks. “Is that what last night was about for you? Date number one?”
I was wondering if he was ever going to bring that up.
“You already know I didn’t shake his hand,” I say with some side-eye. “And to be fair, based on how badly my last not-really-a-relationship went, I’m probably not qualified to be giving you advice at all.”
His palm rests on my lower back, hot and supportive. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? Both looking for love in all the wrong handshakes.”
I stare at him, not sure what to say. Elliot is looking for love?
My ex always complained that people make too big a deal about sex. That men aren’t wired to attach so much emotion to it. That he wanted to fuck, not think about it or talk it to death—a philosophy he’s obviously still committed to, based on Tani’s intel.
“A pair with opposite problems,” I admit, rewarding his honesty with some of my own. “People want to sleep with you so they have something to brag about. In my case, they only want me if no one else has to find out.”
His frown is fierce and indignant. “That’s bullshit.”
“That’s one of the reasons I moved and stepped back from my micromanaging problems.” I nab the four shot glasses the bartender left within reach after getting distracted by another customer, turn my stool in his direction and start juggling.
Don’t worry, I’m a trained professional.
“It’s also why you took a break in the middle of your season to get to know your daughter, even though you seem to believe your entire worth as a human is wrapped up in the game.”
He’s studying my hands, watching the small glasses fly through the air, but I can also feel him listening.
“Circumstances required changing,” I go on, “so here we are. You back where you started, me as far away from it as I could get while staying in the country. But we’re both starting over and trying to find out if we can have more. More than a handshake. More than meaningless sex. More out of life in general. I think that deserves a toast, don’t you?”
“You’re good at that.”
“I have a way, remember?”
“He’s right.”
I look up to see the pretty black bartender with a thick head of fashionable curls standing across from us. I didn’t notice her come back.
“You’re so right, buddy,” she tells me, as she stares with wide eyes. “But I’d still appreciate it if you didn’t juggle those shot glasses on my watch. This is the first time Seamus has left me in charge, and that’s only because no one else was available. I can’t afford an accident.”