Larry might be a solid bartender, but he’s not so great of a curler. He overshoots, and the beer slides past me. I reach for it but bump hands with another patron doing the same.
“Sorry.” We both say it at the same time before I register the emerald eyes staring back at me, and my fingers start to tingle.
“You’re stealing my beer now.” His words are curt, but his tone is playful.
“I thought you left.” My gaze takes a quick trip around the bar and confirms that Sunny isn’t here.
He nods toward the front door. “There was a cab in the parking lot waiting. The person who called it didn’t show or something. Sunny insisted that she take it and I come back inside.”
I make a mental note to take back any negative thoughts I may have been emanating out into the universe about the woman.
“Well, it appears we are both Guinness drinkers. I was certain Larry was sending this to me.”
Dax looks at Larry, who is too engaged in an animated conversation with two bar patrons to identify the beer’s proper owner.
“Why don’t you take it.” Dax nudges the glass toward me. “You’ve had a rough day.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, and then an idea strikes. It’s mixed with a memory. Twirled and swirled together in such a way that I can almost see exactly how the next two minutes are going to play out.
“What about this?” I propose. “The beer should go to the one of us that’s more Irish. It’s a Guinness. That’s practically universal law.”
Dax smiles that same slow, easy half smile he gave me the first time I suggested this little wager. In another life.
His fingers tease the cuff of his henley, lifting it slowly, revealing the flesh of his forearm like a slow striptease, but before he reaches the patch of skin where I would bet my life the McGuire family crest is, he looks up. His eyes meet mine and—poof. It happens. The rest of the bar dissolves around us.
“Ah…” he drawls in his soft Irish brogue. “I’m afraid you’ve made a terrible decision. You see…”
He tugs his shirt. My fingers reach for his skin to trace the outline of the knight on horseback. My heart knows this is how we start. We’ll be planning road trips by Friday.
“Sorry to interrupt…”
Fuck.
Sunny stands just behind Dax with at least the sense to look like she’s intruded on something.
“So sorry, guys. Turns out the women who called for the cab were smoking around the corner of the building.” She holds up her phone. “The closest Uber is twenty minutes away, and they really need me at work. Any chance…” She glances from Dax to the front door.
He stands, pulls down his sleeve, and slides the Guinness in front of me in a single fluid motion.
“Looks like the universe wants you to have this beer. See you around, Gemma.”
For a second time, I watch him leave without me, wondering what kind of fucked-up universe I’ve walked into.
Chapter 8
“Dax has a girlfriend? Doesn’t that kind of fudge up your plans?”
My sister is hands-free in her minivan. She’s driving my nephew, Riley, to school and my nieces, Lucy and Jan, to daycare while talking me through this fudging crisis.
“I don’t think she’s his girlfriend,” I clarify. “I’ve dealt with girlfriends before. They stick around for three months tops before Dax finds some lame reason why he’s not into them. No, this is worse. I think she’s his best friend.” The words leave a terrible taste in my mouth, one that I’m attempting to rinse away with my second Gemma with a G oat latte of the morning.
“Well, that’s good, then,” Kiersten says, not getting it at all.
I guess in the grand scheme of the plan, it’s good. It’s a lot easier to kiss an unattached Dax than a happily-in-love one, but truth be told, it feels like Dax is cheating on me. It’s irrational, I know. Dax didn’t meet me in this timeline until yesterday. But the idea that he could find another me feels like a karate chop straight to the throat because I don’t think I’d ever be able to find another Dax. And part of me wonders if maybe he’s gotten an upgrade.
“So if he doesn’t have a girlfriend, when are you going to see him again? Make your moves? Seduce him with the famous Wilde sister charm? Wait! Hold your answer for just a second.”
There’s indistinguishable white noise on Kiersten’s side of the line, followed by the sound of a car door opening and closing and my sister’s distant voice yelling, “Have a great day, sweetheart.” Then there’s a second or two of shuffling and an under-the-breath curse word before Kiersten’s voice comes through clearly. “Okay, she’s gone. You can dish. How terrible is this woman? Feel free to swear and use awful language. My car is child-free.”