Pull At My Heart Read online

  “Put it on.”

  “What happened to your taxi?”

  “I don’t have it today,” he says, like I should have known that.

  “We’re going on a motorcycle?”

  “Motorbike, yeah. Is that a problem?”

  “Um, yes. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before and I have no intentions to.”

  His eyes meet mine and he doesn’t look away, not even for a second. Not even to blink. “Don’t you trust me?”

  His words are heavy and I have to search for a reply. “It’s not about trust, it’s just—”

  “You trusted me enough to drive you yesterday and the day before that,” he states, like a licensed taxi driver is completely the same as a dark, handsome stranger on a motorcycle. Excuse me, motorbike.

  “Eoghan,” I start, but I can’t figure out how to get out of this.

  “What?” he replies, and smiles a smile that is somehow both charming and ornery. He likes to press my buttons, and my buttons are most definitely pressed.

  “I can’t ride on the back of a motorcycle. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “So, you’re a snob?”

  “I’m not a snob!” I protest but it’s shallow, because it does really have a snobby sound to it. “Okay, I’m a little bit of a snob.”

  He laughs at me. The bastard. “Juliana—”

  I go on. “It’s just not how I pictured this happening.”

  “Do you want a ride or not? If not, I’ll phone a taxi for you.” All of Eoghan’s adorable charm has gone.

  I look down at the helmet in his hand. Ireland on the back of bike? Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

  “What about my camera? This thing is my baby.”

  A slight smile returns to his lips. “I’ve noticed. You can put it in the saddlebag.”

  We stare at one another while I debate it. On one side, I consider telling Eoghan to hit the road, and then reschedule my appointments to a time when Brigid or even Aiden can take me in a real car, a BMW even, to each place. Either of them could provide the same level of insight that Eoghan could. It’s such a tempting alternative, mostly because it eases my fears about crashing and dying.

  However, the flip side sure shines brightly when I examine it. Examine him. He’s looking right at me with smoldering eyes and unwavering determination on his face to get me on the back of his bike. I want to give him this and I want to give myself this experience.

  When my mind and my heart aren’t exactly seeing eye-to-eye on things, my mind usually prevails. It’s what’s led to a lot of my success, like when I decided not to pursue a Fine Arts degree in photography and focus on Information Systems instead. Sure enough, I landed a good-paying job at CloudSoft right out of college. It may not be my passion, but it was a smart choice.

  Somehow, though, my logic has lapsed in this moment and I can’t quite make the argument to walk away from Eoghan and his motorcycle.

  Somehow, today, my heart wins.

  “Fine,” I whine, and his lips twitch into a crooked smile. Without asking permission, he takes a step closer to me and sweeps my hair back over my shoulders, then puts the helmet on my head and buckles the strap. “Is this really happening?”

  “It is. You’ll love it.”

  “Promise?”

  “I would never lie to you, Juliana,” he says without a drop of humor or sarcasm in his voice. I think he might mean it.

  The beast is parked right in front of the hotel entrance. It’s all black and chrome, leather and rubber.

  My stomach tingles from nerves and my palms start sweating. I slip on my jacket. No wonder he wanted me to bring it.

  He takes my camera and puts it in the saddlebag, as promised. “Don’t worry. I’m good at this. Nothing is going to happen.”

  “That’s what they all say, Eoghan,” I pop back, like I’m well versed in tragic biker tales.

  He ignores my comment. “Where we headed first?”

  “Ballycoom,” I reply, and give him the address.

  “I thought you wanted to stay in the city?”

  “Based on my budget, I don’t have a lot of choices in the city.”

  He frowns while he puts his helmet on and straddles the bike. He holds out his hand for me and I take it. If my dad could see me now, getting on the back of some dude’s motorcycle, he’d be livid.

  I swing my leg over the seat and try to get situated. My seat’s a little higher off the ground than his, but it doesn’t matter much since he’s still taller than me.

  “Put your feet on the pegs and wrap your arms around me,” he instructs. The peg part I can do—hooray for the pegs!—but wrapping my arms around this man is another story. I know I have to hold on to him, that’s a given, but to what extent? I don’t want to make a fool of myself by groping him. Hoping I do the right thing, I place my hands on the sides of his torso and grip tightly.

  “That’s not going to work. You heard me, lass. Wrap your arms around me and scoot up, for crying out loud.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say through a nervous little laugh. I do as he asks by wrapping my arms around his midsection while simultaneously spreading my legs wider and scooting up against him. My breasts press against his back and my thighs cradle his hips. His body tenses for a moment and mine does, too, in reaction. The physical intimacy is a lot for friends who met just two days ago. He loosens up and my chest releases a heavy breath as I melt against his frame. I close my eyes for a long beat while I absorb how good he feels between my legs.

  Damn. Motorcycles are sexy.

  Once I’m a little more settled, I notice more about my new friend. His body is mostly hard and made of muscle, but he’s soft in some places, too. He radiates heat through his long-sleeve t-shirt and he smells so good, like soap and a touch of cologne. I resist the urge to rest my chin on his shoulder. He’s a man I barely know that’s simply giving me a ride, most likely out of some sense of Irish hospitality. I really need to get a grip.

  “Feel secure?”

  No, but not how he’s thinking. I murmur in the affirmative. He rocks us off the kickstand and with a flick of his wrist, the bike comes to life.

  “Hold on tight, but try to not be stiff. The bike will feel natural soon enough,” he suggests and we take off. I shut my eyes and instinctively hold on to him tighter. His belly convulses, from what I can only assume is laughter.

  We make a left turn onto the one-way road that takes us out of town and toward Ballycoom. When we’re cruising, I open my eyes a little and watch University College Cork flash by. I pray we’re going to take the back roads and not the highway, but then I remember all the curves and non-existent shoulders from my adventure with Brigid. Both options terrify me. Eoghan opts for the back roads. I force myself to stop thinking about the danger of it all and just enjoy it. Finally, I start to loosen up. As he moves side-to-side on the curvy road, I start to lean with him, in unison. I feel connected to him and to the bike in a way that I hadn’t expected. Unexpectedly, I feel safe.

  Before I know it, we’re in Ballycoom and I actually feel a stab of disappointment that the ride’s about to end. We pass the CloudSoft office and turn off of the main road onto something more residential. The apartment complex HR recommended sits at the end of the street. In short, it’s ordinary.

  We stop in front of the place and Eoghan turns off the bike. I let go because I don’t want to linger too long, even though I could stay like that all day. At our separation, he turns his head to look back at me and smiles. I smile back, exhilarated from the ride.

  “Not that kind of girl?” he says, throwing my words back at me.

  I take my helmet off and shove it at him playfully.

  With my camera and chauffeur in tow, we meet up with the leasing agent for the building. He’s a short, balding Irishman that does a decent job of showing us the apartment.

  It’s a pretty standard place—one bedroom, tiny kitchen with a mini fridge, cozy living space. The view at least looks out on a big green hill and the CloudS
oft office building. It’s almost too close to work, which I never thought was possible.

  As we roam around the place, Eoghan is making the most hilarious faces. When the leasing agent isn’t looking, he makes a dramatic yawn because of how boring it is. In front of the leasing agent, he acts overly interested in what the man has to say. I have to curb my laughter every couple of minutes.

  When the leasing agent turns on the bathroom sink in front of us, like we should be impressed, I can’t hold back my laughter.

  “So, what you’re saying is the flat has a working sink? Check that off the list, lass,” Eoghan remarks and the giggle escapes my lips. I put my hand over my mouth to not make it worse.

  The tour ends pretty quickly after that.

  “Mind if I take some photos?” I ask the man.

  “Go ahead. I’ll meet ye outside,” he says with less enthusiasm than when we first met.

  When Eoghan and I are finally alone, I burst out laughing and punch Eoghan in the arm.

  “Ow! What was that fer?” he whines and rubs his arm, as if I actually hurt him.

  “You know what that was fer,” I say. As the giggles die down, I start taking photos of the place. Eoghan hovers around me like his body is a moon connected to my planet.

  “Why even bother?” he asks as I photograph the bedroom. “It’s not like there’s anything here worth remembering. It’s a rubbish flat, in a rubbish place.”

  “Stop,” I chide.

  “I will ya. If you told me you were doing it just to play with your camera, I’d get it.”

  “The photos are for my dad,” I tell him as I take a few more.

  “Why?”

  “He’s a bit far on the overprotective spectrum. He wants to make sure I’m living in a nice place.”

  “But that’s the point, lass. You’re not going to live here.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you want to live in the city.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to know what I want.”

  “I don’t have to. This place is boring.”

  Yes, he’s right, but it might be where I end up. “Let’s go see the next one.”

  We say our goodbyes to the leasing agent and get back on the bike for a brief ride to the other end of town. The next place is more of the same, but this one has two bedrooms, a bigger fridge, is nicely furnished and decorated more in my style. It’s also above my budget.

  This time we meet with the private owner who’s renting the place. She’s nice, a little older, and downright enchanted by Eoghan. The two of them carry on together, and when they speak to one another when I’m not really part of the conversation, I can barely understand a word they’re saying. It makes me realize just how crazy thick the Cork accent is and that the people I’ve met so far have taken pity on me.

  Eoghan seems to approve of this apartment much more since he gives me the space to really look around at it. I take a bunch of photos and try to picture myself living here. The second bedroom would be nice for guests. It’s cozy and warm. It’s not bad, but it isn’t cheap, especially for having to live this far from the city.

  Eoghan

  “But do they serve Murphy’s here?” Juliana asks as we walk up to Chow’s Chinese Restaurant

  I hold the door open for her. “You’re in County Cork. Of course they do.”

  “And if I don’t like Chinese food?”

  “You’ll love it, trust me,” I tell her and she immediately rolls her eyes.

  Together we pick out a few dishes, mostly with shrimp or king prawn, and tea for two. She’s delighted that they serve Murphy’s, and that makes me smile.

  We’ve barely handed back the menus when she pulls out her camera.

  “You really love that thing, don’t ya?”

  “You know it.”

  She starts going through photos while I pour our tea.

  “You seemed to like the last apartment better,” she says.

  I lift my eyes to gaze at her from across the table. “The flat’s fine.”

  “You approve?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I repeat and take a sip of tea.

  “And why is that?”

  I set the teacup down and look at her. Our eyes lock and she waits patiently for me to say something, but I’m not going to say a bleedin’ word because she already knows why.

  Finally she gets a clue and breaks our eye contact. “I know, because it’s not in Cork City.”

  “So, your ears do work.”

  She laughs a bit at that and our food arrives.

  We dig in and she seems to like it.

  “It’s too expensive anyway,” she continues.

  I feel myself frowning and start pushing the food around on my plate with chopsticks. It’s going to be a tough sell to get her to move to the city. I’m worried she’s going to slip away. “I figured CloudShapes paid pretty well.”

  Her lips curve up at how I’ve mangled the name again…this time on purpose. “Yeah, it’s pretty good, but I have some serious student loans to pay back and I want to travel around in my free time. That’s why the flat doesn’t matter that much to me.”

  “You like to travel?”

  “Yep. I haven’t been to too many places, just England and Mexico, so I want to see more. And I know this may shock you to pieces, but I want to take photos.”

  “You any good?” I ask her, but I already know the answer. Juliana seems like the type of person to go full throttle on everything she tries.

  One side of her mouth turns up into a bashful smile. “Yeah, I’m pretty good.”

  I nod and watch her closely as she picks up a shrimp with her chopsticks and puts it into her mouth. It shouldn’t be a sexy move, but the way she drags the chopsticks over her bottom lip makes my blood rush south, and I have to adjust myself subtly.

  “Have you always lived in Cork?” she asks, and I blink a few times to come back to the present.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”

  “Cork is that good?”

  I lick my bottom lip and then nod. “It is.”

  “Well, it’s good I moved here as soon as possible. I’m just sad I missed living here until now.”

  “I’m very sad about that, too,” I reply, revealing my true feelings about her.

  She doesn’t pick up on it. “That was sarcasm, Eoghan.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” I tell her, and bring a prawn to my mouth.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone with as much hometown pride as you. Is your family like that, too?”

  I stop chewing and swallow hard before giving her a brief nod.

  “What’s your family like?” she asks.

  Warning bells go off in my head and instead of answering, I push it back to her. “Nothing special. What’s yours like?”

  She bites. “Well, you know a little bit about my overprotective dad already. I like to tease him about it, but he’s a really good man and has worked so hard to provide for us. And then there’s my mom. She is the sweetest woman in the world, when she’s not getting on our case for making a mess. She’s always got my back.”

  It sounds nice. Really nice and not something I can relate to at all. I hold it together and put on a straight face, then take a sip of tea.

  She goes on. “Brigid told me that all men from Cork are mama’s boys. Does that go for you, too?”

  I keep it simple. “Afraid so. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “An older brother, Carlos. I’m the baby. It really shines through sometimes, I’m sorry to say.”

  That makes me smile and before I even know it, I’m sharing a little bit of my family biography. “I’m the oldest.”

  “How many siblings do you have?”

  “Four brothers.”

  “Five boys? Oh, your poor sweet mother.”

  That makes me smile, too, which is highly unusual when I’m talking about my family. “Once we grew out
of being total monsters, she came to appreciate us and depend on us.”

  I regret using the word depend, because it’s probably made her even more curious, but it’s true.

  “What about your dad? Does he like having so many sons?”

  I sit back in my chair and brush over the stubble on my jaw, before squeezing my bottom lip between two fingers. No one’s ever asked me that before. “Emm…I’m not so sure.”

  I think she can tell that we’ve entered dangerous territory. “What are your brothers like?” she asks.

  “Ah, well, Derrick is the second oldest. He lives in Dublin, feckin’ traitor.”

  “What’s wrong with Dublin?”

  “Oh lass, you have so much to learn. And then there’s William…we call him Willie. He moved to New York. Danny has been in London since he was old enough to leave. And then little Seán. He still lives at home. He has the taxi today.”

  “Do you guys get along?”

  “Well clearly, I don’t get along with Derrick,” I tease, but it’s actually quite true. “Yeah, we get along for the most part.”

  “I’m going to ask a stupid question, but did you ever think of moving? Ruth told me she’s saving up for New York.”

  “Well, like I told you, I would never leave Cork. Plus, I can’t. I’ve got the pub, the taxi, and some other things I’ve had to take on.” I can tell she wants to dig deeper, but I don’t give her a chance. “Ruth won’t leave anyway. Dylan won’t let her.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in love with her. He’ll keep her here somehow.”

  “Does Ruth know that?”

  “No and neither does Dylan, but I see it.”

  “You think you know everything, don’t you?” she asks and flashes this dazzling smile that I could stare at all day. I smile back in her direction.

  We finish lunch, get back on the bike, and head toward the third and final rental. It’s further out of town and one half of a duplex. It’s definitely bigger and it has a touch of charm, but it’s just too far away, even from Ballycoom. She’d definitely have to get a car, since it’s off the bus line, and so what’s the point of saving money? I think she catches on to that pretty quickly, too.

  When we get back to the bike and put our helmets on, I ask, “So what do you think?” She smiles brightly and my heart freezes. “What? Why are you smiling?”