My attention was being pulled in too many directions and I almost missed the round of introductions. Sam I knew, of course. Black T-Shirt became Henry Blackburn, while MacKenzie was introduced as Mac Walsh, which sounded familiar. I tried to remember from where until the gray-haired man was introduced as Mason Reads and Beck’s reaction distracted my thoughts away.
“The artist,” she said. “Sam said he knew you.”
Beck looked star-struck while Mason looked uncomfortable with the attention. Now that she mentioned it, Mason Reads did sound familiar. Something I’d absorbed through osmosis, a name spattered across the cover of The New Yorker and The Times and other things I didn’t read but passed often enough on newsstands.
“That would be me,” he admitted. “Do you like art?”
“I love it,” she said.
I almost missed the flash of irritation on Sam’s face and would have paused to consider the implication if Mac Walsh hadn’t taken that moment to clear his throat, sit up straight in the booth, and say directly to me, “My god, you have to be about the most delicious-looking piece of arse I’ve seen this side of the Atlantic.”
He said it so clearly and with such confidence that it literally stunned me — and the rest of the table — into silence.
Henry was the first to react. “Mac!” he said sharply. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Wuh?” The drunken tinge was back in his voice.
“Don’t— Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to defuse the situation before it exploded. I grabbed Daniel’s leg beneath the table and squeezed it as tightly as I could to keep him from speaking up while simultaneously glaring daggers at the drunk man in front of me. He had the balls to give me a lazy wink in return.
Despite my hand, Daniel started to make a biting remark, but I nudged him, hard. I could feel the annoyance radiating off him and it infected me, mirroring it back in equal forces at the both of them.
“Forgive him,” Sam said wearily. It sounded like this wasn’t much of a surprise. “Mac is the owner of Mac Walsh Liquor. It’s practically his job to be a drunk.”
So that was why his name sounded familiar. I’d always assumed Mac Walsh was just the brand name, like Jack Daniels, not connected to an actual person.
“And because he’s Irish,” Daniel spat out.
Mac’s face went from smugly self-satisfied to angry in a flash. “What’d ya just say about me?” he demanded.
“Daniel, shut up,” I hissed to him and then rounded on Mac too. “And leave him alone.”
Kylie stepped in, trying to change the subject by addressing Henry Blackburn, the one she’d been eye-banging since the moment they’d stopped us in line. “And what do you do, Henry Blackburn? I’m prepared to be impressed.”
The group gladly moved on as Henry started talking about investing and bank accounts.
Mac was still staring at me with a mixture of lust and playful glee. He knew this was making me angry and he was loving it, maybe as much as he loved riling up Daniel. Well, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me. Daniel, on the other hand, was the one I had to worry about.
Mac was pretending to ignore him, staring at me instead. When he ran his tongue over his top lip and wiggled his eyebrows, I preemptively stuck a foot out over Daniel’s and caught him as he tried to lash out at Mac under the table. That wasn’t going to get him anywhere other than the hospital.
I heard Sam ask a question and latched myself onto it so as to escape the mental confrontation these two half-drunk idiots were having across the table. I could feel myself losing any control I had over Daniel and I was checking out. It wasn’t even about me, if it ever was. It was the proverbial dick-measuring contest. If either of them had a single ounce of self-awareness, they might realize they should be standing back-to-back instead of whipping it out.
And I wasn’t going to have any part of it.
The question Sam asked had been about what we were up to tonight. It was a low ball. I was a New Yorker in my mid-twenties — talking about where I’d been and what I drank came as naturally as flight to a sparrow.
“Well we started off at Hopcat, just a couple rounds and an appetizer. That was back at five. We,” I nodded at Beck, “came right from the office and met up with a few friends. Kylie and Jordan didn’t come until…” I looked at them questioningly.
“Caesar’s,” Jordan said. “That creepy place on West Eighth Street.”
“Yep, that’s right,” I said.
“What makes it creepy?” Mason asked. “And why do you go there anyway?” He was listening, interested, while Sam seemed to have checked out the moment I started talking and was instead staring in Beck’s general direction with a concentrated look of doubt and dilemma. Beck was staring at the floor with a pretty similar expression. Yeah, those two were definitely going to bang again.
“Uh, well the prices are great, and it’s near everything. But…” I trailed off and looked to Jordan for confirmation.
“Yeah,” she said, “it’s full of old, creepy drunk dudes. Serious wandering hand syndrome. You won’t leave untainted when it’s crowded. Plus they have a whole ‘Ancient Rome’ theme and way too many guys come in wearing togas like they’re fucking hilarious. And trust me, when the cloth falls the wrong way, you can see everything.”
Mac laughed. It was a deep boom, and the entirety of his body shook with it. “Sounds pretty damn funny to me,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. They’d both moved on and the night would be—
“Yeah, must make you feel right at home with all the drunks and cocks.”
Do I even need to mention who said that? Yeah, it was fucking Daniel. And Mac was far from pleased. Pretty damn far from pleased.
“What the fuck you sain’ to me, boy? Who the feck are you? Seriously, who the feck is this son of a bitch comin’ in to my bar, drinkin’ my booze and talkin’ down to me like I just feckin’ rowed over here in a goddamn po-tater!” The tirade exploded out of him in a drunken roar, snapping Sam and Beck out of their trance and getting the attention of the other VIP couches nearby.
“Hey, hey,” Mason said loudly, grabbing Mac’s arm, trying to calm him down.
Daniel crossed his arms and his mouth curved into a smile at getting the reaction he wanted. “Come on,” he cracked. “Why are you so offended? It’s not like I stole your pot of gold.”
I punched him in the shoulder as the three guys groaned almost in harmony. Beck, Kylie, and Jordan had their mouths open. Oddly the statement seemed to calm Mac more than anything. A decision flicked behind his green eyes. He stood and cast us in his shadow.
“All ‘ight. Outside. Now.”
Daniel’s smile slipped off his face. “What are you talking about?” Finally there was a note of hesitation in his voice.
Mac cracked his knuckles and I noticed just how big his hands were. They looked like anvils. “I’m not kicking yer ass in my favorite bar because I’d like to come back inside when I’m done.”
Sam looked like he was trying to hide a smile, but even though Daniel was acting like a complete idiot, I wasn’t about to stand by while his loud mouth got his ass handed to him.