”Last time I checked, needing breathing space because your boyfriend publicly labeled you a slut doesn’t constitute as a good enough reason to get drunk and stick your dick in the closest available female. But hey, what do I know about the workings of the male teenage mind.”
“I swear to you that it didn’t mean anything,” he bit out. “It wasn’t even that memorable, Aoif. Honestly. It was just sex.”
“That’s fine, Paul. I believe you,” I told him. “But just so we’re on the same wavelength, you should know that sex isn’t just sex to me.”
“No,” he bit out. “Because sex is just a mythical fucking word in the world of Aoife Molloy. Oral is perfectly acceptable, but God forbid you let a dick inside you!”
I rolled my eyes. “Your tantrum isn’t gaining any support for your cause, asshole.”
“What the hell is it going to take to pry your legs open?” he muttered under his breath, tone laced with resentful sarcasm. “A fucking ring?”
I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, when Garry, my boss, flagged me over with a tap of his watch.
“I need to get back to work, but consider this conversation over,” I said, rising from my seat, and re-pinning my apron to my waist. “I’m not discussing it again until I’m ready, but once I am, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Is it him?” Snatching my wrist, he pulled me back to him and asked, “Is it still about him?” He narrowed his eyes in disgust. “Because he doesn’t fucking want you, Aoife. He’s too busy sticking his dick in half the—“
“No, it’s about me, Paul. It’s about me not being ready,” I snapped, yanking my hand away. “I need to get back to work.”
“Whatever,” Paul grumbled, waving me off. “Enjoy being leered at.”
“Hey, Gar,” I said, ignoring the big sulking dope behind me, as I hurried behind the bar. “Sorry about that. I lost track of the time.”
“You’re grand, love,” the old man assured me. “The back lounge is after filling up again, so plenty of tables to serve – but only take the food orders and clear away glasses. Whatever you do, make sure you don’t take any drink orders, ya hear?” He cast a glance to where my boyfriend was sitting, and muttered, “We don’t need any little birdy running home to daddy with tales that his seventeen-year-old girlfriend was serving alcohol.”
“Don’t worry, Gar. I’m always discreet.” I patted him on the shoulder and winked. “And what the Gard’s son doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”
“That you are, Aoife,” he replied, with a relieved smile on his wrinkly face. “Right you are, so.”
With my notepad and pen in hand, I headed into the back lounge, and was immediately bombarded by a surge of both hungry and thirsty punters.
Smiling to myself, I straightened my shoulders, stuck out my chest, and walked towards to a table full of rowdy men. “Hello, gentlemen, what I can get for you today?”
Oh yeah, I was going to make a fortune in tips today.
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I ended up staying on at work for a couple of extra hours to help out with the never-ending rush of punters out on the town celebrating Christmas. Instead of finishing at six like I had been scheduled to, it was after nine when I finally left the pub and made my way across town, with the hope of snagging a spin home off my dad.
When I reached the garage, it was in darkness.
“Shit,” I muttered, kicking the metal roller door. “This is just perfect.”
Groaning loudly, I let my forehead rest against the cool metal while I contemplated my options.
Walk home after an eleven-hour shift in four-inch heels?
Not happening.
Phone up my father, only to have him tell me drive myself?
Nope.
My fingers grazed the car key in my coat pocket, and I instantly rejected the notion, as a ripple of fear coursed through me.
I hated driving.
I literally detested the whole ordeal.
I detested and feared it so much that the rust-bucket of an Opal Corsa that my father had done up and given to me back in September for my seventeenth birthday remained parked at the garage.
That’s right; I was so fearful of driving a moving vehicle, that I didn’t want it anywhere near my house.
Unlike a lot of other places, the law was pretty relaxed in Ireland regarding learner drivers. Basically, you took a theory test, got your green license from the tax office, and off you went. We didn’t need to undertake a shit ton of lessons or abide by a million laws like my cousins in London had to. Hell, my own mam had been driving on her green license for twenty years now. The Gards always looked the other way. It was no biggie.
The only damn reason I had applied for my provisional driving license was so that I would have photo I.D to go out drinking with when I turned eighteen next year.
I didn’t want it to drive, but that’s exactly what my father assumed I would do.
“I hate to point out the obvious, Molloy, but when a shop door’s locked, and the lights are out, it means the place is closed.”
Joey’s familiar voice filled my ears, and I quickly swung around to see him coming from the side of the building.
“Jesus,” I whisper-hissed, startled to see him in the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”
“Locking up,” he replied dryly. “If you’re looking for your old man, you’re out of luck,” he added, as he used a set of keys to lock the side gate behind him. “He went on the beer with the rest of the lads at lunchtime.”
I feigned sadness. “And they didn’t take you?”
“Sadly not.”
“I suppose you need to turn eighteen to enjoy the full perks of the job, huh?”
He smirked. “I need to turn seventeen first before that can happen.”
“That’ll be soon, right? Your birthday is close to Christmas, right?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, sliding his work keys into his pocket. “Christmas day.”
“That’s so shitty,” I groaned, feeling a flash of sympathy for him. “I bet you’ve been cheated out of so many presents down through the years, with the whole two-for-one gift bullshit.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever noticed, Molloy,” he replied. “I’m not the present counting type.”
“Well, you’re a better person than I am, Joey Lynch, because I would cause ructions if I had to share my birthday with Jesus.”
Joey laughed, actually laughed a genuine laugh, as he closed the space between us. “So, are you going to ask me, or are we going to stand out here all night?”
My heart flipped in my chest. “Ask you what?”
“To walk you home.”
“Okay.” I blew out a shaky breath. “Walk me home, Joey Lynch.”
“That’s telling,” he teased, leaning against the door, as he smiled down at me, green eyes dark and full of heat. “You need to ask nicely.”
My god, it was something else when that boy smiled.
He was just so beautiful.
“I have a better idea,” I heard myself say, and then I did something incredibly fucking reckless. Reaching into my coat pocket, I withdrew the set of car keys and jingled them in front of his face. “How about you drive me, instead?”