Feeling like Claire and I were somewhat back on track, I was determined to make sure that she had a good night. Maybe, with a bit of luck, I might end up wooing her to the point where she gave me a hall pass on my Dee-scretions.
Catching a hold of her hand the moment we got inside, I took my girl for a spin around the dance floor to the live band’s cover of The Beatles’ “Twist and Shout”, not giving two shits if I was missing out on sacred time with the lads.
Tonight’s mission consisted of making my girlfriend happy. I’d seen the tears on Claire’s cheeks when I’d finally hauled my ass across the street tonight.
She looked genuinely surprised to see me.
Like she was prepared for me to let her down.
Not on my watch.
Now, it didn’t take a genius to know that I was, hands down, the best male dancer within a ten-mile radius of Ballylaggin, but I was only as good as my partner. The blonde bombshell herself who taught me everything I knew.
I’d been dancing with Claire Biggs since I could put one foot in front of the other, and we moved together on the dance floor the same way we moved together under the sheets.
Effortlessly.
I didn’t know how she managed to do it, but she healed the broken pieces inside of me. She patched me up in such a way that I was a functioning man again. For her.
Only for her.
Happy to hand her off to her female bestie when she came looking for her, I continued to bop around to the band, quite content to be my own dance partner, because, in all honesty, my moves were wasted on the rest of them.
However, when the band kicked off their own haunting rendition of Sinéad O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U”, I decided it was time for shots.
Squeezing past Katie, who was clinging on to Hugh for dear life, as they half-danced/half-hugged along to the poignant lyrics, I made a beeline for the lads’ changing room where I knew I would find my people.
The minute I stepped through the door, I was greeted with a choir of cheers from my teammates and a bottle of tequila.
“Come to me, you beautiful devil, you,” I mused, gulping down as much as I could in one go without puking, which was surprisingly a lot more than most. See? There was a reason my mam called me special.
“Well, if it isn’t mister nine lives himself,” Johnny chuckled, clapping my shoulder when I joined him at our usual spot on the bench. “I don’t know how you managed to put that smile on Claire’s face, lad, but keep that shit up.”
“It’s a gift,” I replied, necking back another swig from the bottle. “Fucking cheapskates really shafted us out of the ski trip for this poxy dance?” I gestured around us. “Bad form, lads.”
“Agreed,” my best friend said. “But the girls seem to be thrilled with it.”
“Speaking of girls.” Feely rose to his feet. “We better get back out there before they come looking.”
“We?” My brows shot up in surprise. “Who’d you bring, lad?”
He shifted in discomfort before saying, “Lizzie asked me to go with her.”
“And you said yes?” I gaped at him in horror. “Are you mental?”
“Yes, I agreed to go with her, and no, I’m not mental,” he replied, calmly. “And no, it’s not up for discussion.”
“Fair enough.” Shrugging, I downed another decent dollop of tequila before muttering, “It’s your funeral, lad.”
