She sighs and stands back up. "Whatever. I'm done trying to talk sense into you."
"Good. Because it's an absolute waste of your time to try to deter me. So, I'm ready to go whenever you are. And I'll see you home, safe and sound."
She wavers just a minute, and I can see that she's probably trying to come up with a really good curse to let loose. Then she deflates and turns away, stomping off to grab her purse from behind the bar.
CHAPTER 5
Renner
This is the fourth night in a row that Cillian has come in to eat dinner at The Hibernian. He always sits in my section and nurses a few beers. He eats his meal and either types on his laptop or scratches stuff on a pad of paper. Whatever he's writing, he gets very involved and has no clue what's going on around him.
Sometimes he'll peek up and look around the pub. His wandering gaze will stop when he finds me and makes eye contact. Then he'll give me a sly grin... sometimes a wink ...and go back to working.
And it bugs the shit out of me that I know all this because I find myself staring at him all too much. For instance... like right now.
He looks incredibly hot tonight, wearing nothing more than jeans and a dark gray t-shirt that molds well to his chest and upper arms. He has a beanie on his head covering most of his hair, except for some thick locks than hang down over his forehead. And I'm not sure if it's weird or not, but I find it incredibly sexy that he's wearing wire-rimmed glasses tonight. I've noticed him take them off a few times and rub the bridge of his nose. This caused me to notice more details about the tattoos he has on the inside of each wrist. One says "Love" and the other says "Hope" and he has his band’s logo inked on his left forearm.
Shamefully, I've apparently watched him enough to know that he has a habit of tapping the end of his pen on his side-by-side lip rings when he's concentrating.
Yes, I stare at him a lot.
For the last three nights, Cillian has walked me home and I hate to admit it but he’s wearing me down. That first night, I didn't say a word to him. He tried to engage me, but I refused to answer any of his questions. So he just started talking and I had no choice but to listen for the fifteen minutes him to walk me to my apartment.
I learned all about his band it was actually interesting stuff. He met his drummer and best friend, Sean Lundie, while they were both attending The Royal Academy of Music in London. Surprised would not even describe the emotion I was feeling when Cillian told me he was there on a scholarship, but I refused to budge and ask him more about it. He motored on with his one-sided conversation, telling me that he and Sean dropped out before completing their first year and formed OTE. They picked up their keyboardist, Daniel Paden, and bassist, Maeve Mullowney, after holding open auditions at The Hibernian one night.
Cillian had just started to tell me about their rise to success when we reached my apartment door. I hate to admit it, but I wanted to hear more because, regardless of whether or not I wanted to get involved with Cillian, I did find him fascinating. Instead, he just watched me patiently as I unlocked my door. I didn't look at him as I stepped inside and heard him murmur, "Good night, cailín álainn," before shutting the door on him.
The next night when he walked me home, I couldn't help but ask why he dropped out of The Royal Academy of Music. I had been thinking about it all day, particularly because I had always thought about dropping out of college on more than one occasion but never had the guts to do it. And even more perplexing to me, was that The Royal Academy was prestigious... I mean, world-renowned. I know this because I Googled it. I wanted to understand why he would leave that behind.
He merely shrugged his shoulders. "It just wasn't for me. I wanted to be a musician but didn't want the formal education. I was anxious to start a good band because I felt that I had the talent to make it without getting a degree."
"But aren't your parents upset?"
"Hardly. They're dead." His voice was low and flat.
That surprised me so much that I had stopped walking. Cillian stopped too, turning to look at me with curiosity.
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"Don't be," he growled. "It has nothing to do with you." His voice was brittle and his normally warm and expressive eyes held a shade of frost. Still, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
"No. It doesn't have anything to do with me, but it doesn't mean I can't feel sympathy for you."
He sighed and I was relieved when the warmth returned to his expression. "You're right and I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just not something I like to talk about."
"I get that. We all have things we don't like to talk about."
We started walking again and he looked over at me. "So what are some things you don't like to talk about?"
I just shot him an exasperated look, and didn't bother to respond. We were just barely starting to converse, so there was no way I was sharing my secrets with him.
The third night he walked me home, he got me to open up just a bit. He asked me questions that were harmless and benign, and because I was starting to get tired of the silent treatment game, I went ahead and humored him with some background info on my family. He got me to tell him about where I grew up and about my time at college. Luckily, we reached my apartment before I figured out how to gloss over my Delta fiasco should he ask, and I was shutting the door on him as he murmured again, "Good night, cailín álainn."