Pull At My Heart Page 8

  “It means a lot of things, but in this context, it means fun.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s a funny way of saying fun.”

  “Enjoy the craic,” he urges again and goes back to work.

  I salute and turn on my heel to go over near the band. They’d moved on to something a little slower now, more modern and folksy. I’ve never heard it before and I wonder if the Stormy Crickets write their own songs. Liam is so incredibly good. If he wrote the song he’s singing, it would seem that his heart had been ripped from his chest and the devil woman who tore him up is someone he can’t get over. I’ve broken a few hearts in my day. I hope no one ever wrote a song like this about me. It’s intense.

  The crowd is buzzing with chatter, and the sounds of glasses clinking against tables and the bar and other glasses echo throughout the place. When the song ends, I’m a little more smitten with the band and a little bit blue at Liam’s heartache.

  “Sorry to bring ye down with that last one, loves. How about something a little more right for a Saturday night?” Liam says, and the band starts up a faster tune. The chatter goes up in volume along with the band and there’s a lot of laughter and a lot of happiness all around.

  Suddenly, there’s a hand pressed to my back and Eoghan is there.

  “Enjoying the craic?”

  “Yep.”

  “See what the city has to offer? You don’t want to be in Ballycoom.”

  “I get it, okay? The city is great. It’s super fun here, but I can’t figure out how to do it, Eoghan.”

  “Come with me,” he says, and grabs my hand. He pulls me through the crowd, sets my empty pint glass on the bar, and then takes me to the back of the pub toward a closed door.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, confused.

  “Upstairs,” he answers as he lets go of my hand to pull out some keys to unlock the door.

  “Why, what’s up there?”

  “My flat,” he answers, and opens the door to a dark wooden staircase.

  “Why do you want to show me your flat? Just to rub it in?”

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, he just turns on the light and holds the door open for me. “After you,” he says, and motions up the stairs.

  I don’t budge. “How do I know you’re not going to murder me up there?”

  “Jaysus, Juliana. If I wanted to murder you, I could have done it six ways from Sunday already. Go,” he orders, and I do.

  For the second time today, he’s following me up the stairs and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s trying to get a look at my ass.

  At the top of the stairs is a big open space full of boxes and junk.

  I turn back to him. “So, you are going to murder me?”

  He laughs a little and then points to a staircase. “Keep going.”

  We go up another flight of stairs and into a proper residence. It’s an open concept floor plan with a living room and kitchen. The furniture is eclectic with a brown leather couch that’s covered in all sorts of different pillows, a coffee table made of crate boxes, tall halogen lamps, and a burgundy rug. The kitchen is similar. There’s an American-sized stainless steel fridge, blue cabinets with glass inserts for doors, wooden countertops, and a big wooden kitchen island that also has a breakfast bar.

  “So, this is your place?”

  He pulls his thumb away from his teeth. “Yeah, you like it?”

  I take it all in. It’s larger than I would have expected for a flat in the heart of Cork City. I can’t imagine how much it might go for.

  He has good taste. Somehow, all the different pieces and textures and colors work together. The walls are covered with different things from framed posters and ragged canvases to a wooden Murphy’s stout lid, probably from an old barrel of it or something. That makes me smile. There’s a drawing table over in one corner covered with paper and a dinged-up wooden piano not far from it. He also has bookshelves filled with books and records and knickknacks.

  Before I can answer, he says, “Let me show you around.”

  “Okay.”

  “The living room. I don’t have a television,” he says, and shrugs his shoulders as if to apologize.

  “Hey man, to each their own.” He smiles a bit and then walks over to the kitchen. “Big fridge for Ireland, I’m learning.”

  “I like to cook, so…” he says. He leans back against the stainless-steel gas stove that I hadn’t even noticed yet.

  He walks over to one of the bedroom doors and I follow. “My room,” he says, and I poke my head in.

  There’s a dark-wood queen-size bed in the center, with gray sheets and a white duvet. There are lots of pillows there, too. He has an oil painting of a motorcycle above his bed, a mismatching dark-wood dresser, and a weathered leather armchair in the corner.

  “Nice,” I remark, unsure of what else to say.

  Next, we visit the bathroom. There’s a pedestal sink, a big oval mirror, and an old claw foot tub with a shower attached. “Nothing special, but the hot water never goes out,” he comments.

  “That’s pretty special if you ask me. Nothing I hate more than a cold shower.”

  We walk across the apartment and step into another bedroom. There’s a brass full-size bed, a white dresser, and a wooden chair and desk.

  “Whose room is this?” I ask.

  “Yours,” he replies, totally straight-faced.

  I laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  I raise an eyebrow and stare at him. “You want to rent me your spare room?”

  “It’s so much better than Ballycoom, don’t you think?”

  I start laughing from deep down in my belly and can’t stop. “You can’t be serious,” I finally squeak out.

  He doesn’t find it nearly as funny. “Completely serious.”

  “I can’t live here,” I reply and then hold on to my tummy to stop from laughing more.

  “And why not?”

  “Because, Eoghan. For one thing, I can’t afford it. There’s no way.”

  “Try me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Offer a price you’re willing to pay.”

  “What? This can’t be real. You’re messing with me.”

  “Juliana,” he says and looks dead serious. “Here, how about six hundred euros a month. Will that work with your budget?”

  Yes, yes it would work with my budget and then some. It’s way too low. “That would be stealing from you.”

  “It’s just a room, Juliana.”

  “Yeah, but come on Eoghan. That’s far less than the place in Ballycoom.”

  “I don’t need much for it, lass. That way you can travel around like you want to do, but still live in the city.”

  “I can’t, Eoghan. It would be taking advantage of you and your generosity.”

  He sighs. “If you want to make it up to me, you could work downstairs, give Ruth a hand. It’s an easy job, just whenever you feel like it.”

  “Really?” I ask, thinking it wouldn’t be half bad.

  “Yes. So that’s the first thing. What’s the next thing?”

  “Well, like you said, it’s above a super-popular bar. I have to be able to sleep for work.”

  He doesn’t say anything while he stares at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I thought we covered this earlier today, regarding your ears. Just listen,” he says.

  “Okay.” And I don’t hear much, just the slightest of sounds, like distant traffic.

  “The place was soundproofed years ago.”

  “Oh,” I reply.

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, yeah,” I say, never thinking we would get past the first two items on my list. “You’re a guy. I can’t live with some guy that I barely know.”

  “Yes, I am a guy and I can’t change that…well, I won’t. What’s the big deal?”

  “Well, I mean, I’ve never had a guy roommate before,” I tell him, and think about how much of a departure from Cara th
is would be.

  “I promise I won’t bite, okay?” he says, “And for what it’s worth, I’ve never had a girl for a roommate before, either.”

  “So I would be your first?” I ask, and then realize how silly it sounds coming out of my mouth.

  “Yes, lass, you would be the first.”

  For some reason, I like that notion.

  “Still, I don’t know you that well and honestly, my dad will absolutely shit a brick if I move into a flat above a pub in the heart of Cork City with a guy I’m not married to. I’ve told you about his protective ways. It doesn’t matter that I’m well on my way to thirty, he still sees me as a ten-year-old.”

  He crosses his arms. “What do you want to know about me?”

  “I don’t know. You can’t just put me on the spot like this.”

  “Listen, I don’t have a criminal record, I don’t smoke cigarettes anymore, and I keep things pretty clean. I can’t help what your dad will think, but deep down, he’d probably feel better knowing that you’re living with a man that can protect you, rather than out on your own in Bally-feckin-coom, yeah?”

  “Jesus, I don’t need you to protect me.”

  “That may be true, but your dad probably doesn’t think so.”

  “There’s no way I can tell him I live here. He told me that if I ever moved in with a guy before getting married, he’d disown me. He’s really conservative like that.”

  Eoghan pauses for a moment, as if making some sort of decision. “We’re just friends, right?”

  Our eyes meet for a moment as he waits for my response. Is that all we are? Today felt a little more than friendly, but maybe that’s just me. “Right,” I finally say.

  “Then we’re not breaking any of your dad’s rules. So what do you say?”

  He’s so insistent about it. He is about most of the things he wants me to do. I wonder if he’s like this with everyone. “Why do you care where I live, Eoghan?”

  He looks away for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Because we’re friends and I want you to have a good experience here. I don’t want you to be miserable in some crap flat in some crap town.”

  “So, it’s like a Cork City pride thing?” I ask.

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, let’s say that.”

  I look around the bedroom again. It’s nice and it’s in the city for a crazy-low six hundred euros. How can I possibly say no?

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” I tell him, and one corner of his mouth works its way up into that crooked grin I’ve learned to expect from him. “One more question. Do you have Wi-Fi?”

  Eoghan

  Friends. I just convinced her to move into my flat under the guise that we’re just friends.

  I can’t figure out if it’s the price I will have to pay to keep her around or if I’m simply a feckin’ liar. Either way, she’s agreed to move in.

  My heart is pounding all the way back down the stairs and into the pub.

  “Can you move in on Monday?” I ask over the noise of the crowd and the band.

  “I work on Monday. Can I move in tomorrow?”

  Sundays are hard. They always are because of my mam. “I have plans tomorrow, but maybe in the evening. How does that sound?”

  “That’s fine,” she says, and smiles so genuinely my heart grows.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Thank you, Eoghan. I can’t believe I get to stay in the city.”

  I give her arm a squeeze and say, “You’re welcome, lass. Now go enjoy the band.”

  She laughs and heads back out into the crowd, and I go back behind the bar.

  She’s going to move in.

  “What’s the craic, mate?” Dylan asks.

  “Emm…Juliana’s going to move into the flat.”

  Dylan stops in his tracks. “What did you just say?”

  “She needs a place to live, we need another waitress. We negotiated a deal where she rents the room at a good rate and works for us when she can,” I explain this as if it’s all just business. He knows better.

  “Are you gone in the head?”

  “No.” But I’m worried he’s right.

  “You’ve been giving each other the glad eye, like at any minute you might rip each other’s clothes off. How is this going to work?”

  “We’re just friends. We established that.”

  Dylan laughs harder than I’ve ever seen him laugh.

  We work a few rounds and then he comes back around. “And so, if you’re friends, is she okay with you entertaining other women at the bar?”

  “I’m done with all that.”

  “It’s good for business.”

  “Look around. Does it really make a difference anymore? I’d say we’re doing fine.”

  “Speaking of…” Dylan says and nods at a hen party that has just approached the bar.

  “You take this one,” I tell him, and then search the crowd for Juliana.

  All I have to do is look for her honey-brown skin in that electric-white camisole that’s been making me drool all night. I spot her pretty quickly and a smile naturally lifts from my lips. I’m going to live with that girl. It doesn’t last long, though, when I see there’s a man with his arm draped over her shoulders.

  What the fucking hell?

  I can’t tell if she’s all right with this or not. I drop the bar towel I’m holding, and am half a breath away from jumping over the bar to go find out when they turn toward me. It’s that langer that stood her up at the airport. They’re getting on well enough, but a little too chummy for work colleagues. Didn’t she say he’s her boss? From the look of it, he’s had too much to drink.

  The way she’s laughing along with him is draining all the joy that’s been bubbling within me. He says something and laughs really hard. Jesus, it stings and the pain frustrates me, because it’s not something I’ve felt in ages. I’ve been doing fine keeping things light and simple in the female department until this feckin’ woman appeared on Cork’s doorstep. As if my life isn’t complicated enough.

  I can’t watch anymore, so I get back to work. The hen party is still hovering around the bar and the sheer volume of their antics makes me wish I had earplugs. There’s a boisterous redhead in the bunch giving me the glad eye and when I acknowledge her, she steps up onto the foot rail and leans over to shout, “Can I get a shot?”

  “What’s your poison, darlin’?” I ask her and plaster on my work smile.

  Her body morphs into a sex panther as she bites on her bottom lip. “Surprise me. And one for yourself.”

  She knows the drill. She’s heard from friends. I hesitate, because I’m not sure I want to do this.

  Speaking of friends. I glance over at my friend, Juliana. I’m surprised to find that she’s standing alone now, watching the band.

  I grab a shot glass, pour a nice rum into it, and pass it to the redhead.

  “On the house. Excuse me,” I tell her, and start to make my way around the bar, but I’m stopped by Ruth.

  “Is it true?” she asks with a ridiculous grin on her face.

  “Is what true?”

  “Is Julie moving in?”

  “How’d you find out?”

  Ruth is full of smiles. “She told me. That is savage! And she seems so excited.”

  “Did she tell you the best part?”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s also gonna give you a hand down here.”

  Ruth’s eyes go wide and she leans up on her tippy toes to kiss my cheek. “Bless you, boss.”

  I laugh at that and catch Dylan watching us with a sly smile. God, he has it for the girl.

  “She wants a drink,” Ruth says.

  I get to work pouring another Murphy’s. “Tell her it’s from the landlord.”

  “Speaking of which, landlord, don’t be messing this up. She said you guys are just friends and I can tell she’s counting on that. Boundaries, Eoghan.”

  My gut clenches. I don’t trust myself in this situation at all. J
uliana has a way of messing with my judgment. Ruth twirls away with Juliana’s drink and then some. I step over to where Dylan continues to pull drinks like a mule.

  I nudge him. “Do me a favor, will ya?”

  “What’s that, cousin?”

  “Watch my back. Make sure I don’t do anything stupid to royally fuck this up with Juliana. She’s important to me.”

  “I’ve got you,” he says. “Now get back to work.” He nods over to the hen party, where the redhead is waiting for me.

  Julie

  Did I just do that? Did I agree to move into my taxi driver’s spare room? I’m exhilarated and in shock. This is a far better place than the one in Ballycoom, but am I really ready to live with some random guy? Apparently I am.

  I keep looking around the pub, trying to process that this comes with the package. It’s like a crazy amenity. There will always be a hot meal and a pint and a friend to talk to just down the stairs. I have my own live-in entertainment most nights. No wonder Eoghan doesn’t have a TV. Why on earth would he need it?

  I walk around the pub to see if Aiden is still here, but they must have moved on to another pub. It was so weird to encounter him in the wild like that, lit like a frat boy and not a thirty-something vice president. Apparently, this is part of the stag party weekend he mentioned on Friday. He’d been drinking all day and practically had to use me for support, at least that’s what I think he was doing when he was leaning on me.

  The music slows down and it’s a cover of a familiar song that’s been in a movie that I can’t place. A seat opens up by the stage and I grab it. This is mine, I think, and I love my life even a little bit more than I did an hour ago.

  Ruth finds me and puts down a pint of Murphy’s on the table. “From the landlord,” she says with a smile.

  “Can you believe it?”

  She laughs a little and says, “Not really.”

  I spy Eoghan talking to some redheaded tart. Ruth looks over her shoulder and smiles. “He doesn’t get serious with anyone. He just flirts. Honestly, I’m so surprised he rented the room to you.”

  “Why?”

  “He typically keeps women at an arm’s length.”

  “Oh, well like I told you, we’re just friends.”

  Ruth just laughs at that and blends back into the crowd to keep working.