Page 30 of Finding Him
It’s been about an hour now, and I’ll admit I’m a little tipsy. But I’ve only had a couple drinks. I haven’t seen Claire touch a drop of anything stronger than apple juice. Based on the toxic scent of everyone else around us, I’d be willing to guess we’re the most sober people here.
Whateverproper craicreally means, this is definitely it. I haven’t had time to think about one stressful thing since Claire put the flowers on my head. It even completely dulled the embarrassment I felt of Niall walking in on me.
Oh God, now I’m thinking about that again.I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks.
Speaking of Niall—I catch sight of Niall in the corner. He’s sitting on the sofa, holding a bright red can of Coke in his hand, talking to Finn Marshall and watching the room. No—he’s watching me. Just like he does in the lunch room. And on the field. And—
Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Olympic sport, right?
I turn away from him, facing Claire again just as she spins into JJ—who exclaims something about having been looking for her. I don’t think that’s true—he’s been standing over where Niall and Finn are, watching us for at least ten minutes—but I don’t interrupt them.
My head’s spinning, and I feel like I need a drink. I tell Claire I’ll be right back, and turn to head for the kitchen—which I know is in the back of the house. Instead, I collide with a whiskey-scented wall of a person. Two hands come out to steady my waist.
“Easy there, gorgeous,” a voice drawls.
The buzz in my head curdles instantly, as if Seamus Murphy is a drop of lemon juice and my good mood is a cup of milk.
Seamus is grinning down at me, his dark eyes slick with something that makes my skin crawl. He doesn't let go of mywaist; his fingers dig into the soft fabric of the dress, pulling me a fraction too close.
Well, to be honest, touching him with a ten-foot-pole would be a fraction too close for my liking. Being close enough to smell the beer on his breath and count the razor nicks on his squarish face, calling it a “fraction” seems like way too much of an understatement.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, his breath hot against my ear. It sends a disgusted shiver down my spine.
I shove at his chest, stepping back. I keep my face set in stone, not letting any emotion creep in. “Whatever, Seamus. Let go.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender, but his gaze travels down my body in a way that feels like he’s touching me, even if he isn’t. “Y’know, I was thinkin’... maybe we got off on the wrong foot. New girl. American blood. I should’ve been more welcoming.”
“I’m doing just fine without your ‘welcome,’” I snap.
“Come on, don't be like that. Let me get you a proper drink. None of that fizzy shite you’re drinking. A peace offering.”
I feel a wave of nausea roll through me—not from the alcohol, but from the wrongness of his presence. “I’m good. Get away from me, please and thank you.”
“What?” he laughs. “Scared yer gonna upset your boyfriend? Guess Blue works fast. You know—Iknewhe was acting awfully possessive. Makes sense, I s’pose.”
“You don't mean Niall? That’s stupid, I barely know him. He just gave me a ride.”
Seamus’s smirk deepens, and he leans in closer, his breath rank with alcohol. “I'm sure he did. Bet that’s what got you yer spot in the first place, innit? You want a ride from me next, sweetheart?”
I push past him, my skin crawling. His words, and other words I try with no success to keep buried deep within myself, ring in my ears, drowning out the music and laughter around me. My heart pounds, my vision tunneling as I stumble through the living room in an attempt to find a safe haven to throw myself into.
I need air.
I need to vomit.
I need to not be here.
I need to forget.
I push through the crowd till I get to the front door and stumble onto the porch, the cold air hitting me like a bucket of ice water. I barely make it to the railing before it all comes up—literally. I lean over, retching into the hydrangea bushes, the contents of my stomach burning a trail up my throat.
I stand here for a long time, gasping, trying not to retch again.
At least nobody—
“Classy.”
Niall’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The porch light makes his eyes look like polished sapphire.
