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  “You’d do that for me?” Liam asked, quietly.

  “Fuck no,” I said, then paused to look at Tommy. “Well, Tom might, but hot pants would make my arse look big. But I will march shoulder to shoulder with you and kick the arse of anyone who has a problem with you being gay.”

  “I’d do the hot pants too, but that’s because I’m a better mate than dickface,” Tommy added, pointing a thumb at me. “Women fucking love gay guys anyway.”

  “I’m pretty sure that marching in sparkly rainbow hot pants is something you’ll never see me doing, but I appreciate the support. This shit’s been weighing heavy on me for a long time. Frankly, I expected you guys to give me a harder time about this,” Liam said.

  “Why? More women for me,” Tommy replied. Liam finally cracked a nervous smile, and I loved that Tommy could do that for him.

  “I can’t say I’m not shocked. If Tommy came out, I wouldn’t be at all surprised. It’s just a matter of time really, but you? Well, you kept that secret pretty good,” I said.

  “It’s not like it’s something I’ve always known. You grow up taking it for granted that you’re straight, until you meet someone that makes you feel different. I fought it for a long time, but it ain’t something that goes away,” he explained.

  “But how can you be sure? What if you just like the idea, but then you get with a guy and realise you don’t actually like riding the meat train?” Tommy asked.

  We all looked at Liam, waiting for the answer. I mean, he was the youngest son in a strict Irish Catholic family. Coming out was a big fucking deal in our world, especially if he’d never been with a guy before and wasn’t absolutely certain. He didn’t say anything, but his cheeks reddened and the corner of his mouth tilted slightly in a wry smile that had us all grinning.

  “You dirty bastard. You’ve already done the deed, haven’t you?” Tommy said. “How is it possible that we haven’t seen you on the pull?”

  Liam’s answering grin was almost smug. “I’ve met someone,” he said.

  “Fair play, you don’t hang around, I’ll give you that,” I said. Inside, I was kind of relieved. What Liam was facing ahead would be a lot easier with someone by his side who knew what he was going through.

  “So, when do we get to meet him?” Con asked. It occurred to me then that Con knew all about this and hadn’t told me. I’d be having words with my so-called best friend later.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He’s just come out to his family, but he hasn’t told his mates yet. You guys are my family, so I’m telling you first. But when people see us together, it’s only a matter of time before me ma finds out. I was just hoping we could have more time together before we have to deal with all the shite me family’s gonna throw our way.”

  “So don’t tell them yet,” Con suggested. “Besides Em, and probably Earnshaw, there’s no one outside this circle who needs to know yet. As long as you ain’t all over each other when we’re out as a group, there shouldn’t be any reason for people to put two and two together. Bring him tomorrow. You can introduce him to everyone and spend the day with him without raising suspicion.”

  “And if they guess he’s gay, then we’ll just say he’s with Tommy,” I suggested. “That’s totally believable.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I am not gay!” Tommy said, getting riled up before he looked at Liam and remembered. “But don’t worry, mate, if I ever thought I was, you’d be my first port of call.”

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Liam replied sarcastically.

  “Speaking of gay boys, where’s Earnshaw?” I asked.

  “I’m here, but it’s nice to know you guys are missing me,” Earnshaw replied, putting his bottle of Bud on the table and joining us. Heath Earnshaw looked like your typical all-American golden boy. He’d left a high-flying US sports agency when Danny hired him to be Con’s Manager. He’d also left all of his family behind in the States, except for his younger sister who had a job in London. I couldn’t pretend that we’d given him the warmest reception, but he’d more than proved his loyalty and was pretty much one of us now.

  “What did I miss?” he asked.

  “Liam told us he’s gay and in a relationship, but his family don’t know he’s got a boyfriend or that he bats for the other team,” I explained.

  “Shit, that’s a surprise. It can’t have been easy telling everyone, but your family loves you. That’s not going to change just because you’re gay,” he replied.

  We all stopped and turned to look at him, Liam included.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Not to burst your happy bubble, but he’s the youngest son in a strict Catholic family. We might as well be back in 1950’s Ireland for how this news is going to go down,” Tommy explained.

  “I think I’m gonna puke,” Liam admitted, and ran his hands down his face in despair.

  “Could you give him up and keep pretending to be straight?” Con asked. “If all of us and your family told you to, could you break it off with him today and never see him again?”

  “No. Never,” Liam replied firmly.

  “Then you know what to do,” Con said, smiling sympathetically. “Your ma and da might tear you a new one, but they have lives of their own, and if they want to be part of yours, they need to learn how to accept things. And if they don’t, that’s their choice, not yours. All you can do is the best you can to live a happy life and do right by the one you love.”

  Liam nodded as he accepted the truth of what Con had said.

  “It changes you, doesn’t it? Meeting that one person that knocks you for six,” Liam said.

  “Shit yeah,” Con replied. “But I wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.”

  The band, back from their break, plucked at their instruments as they warmed up for their next set.

  “Well, girls, as fun as this sharing your feelings and shit has been, I’m off to find myself a warm body for the night,” Tommy said, knocking back the last of his drink and wandering off into the crowd. It wasn’t too long ago that I’d have been following, but things were different now. Whilst I wasn’t ready to talk to the boys about it, I’d met my game changer too. The only difference between me and them was that I had absolutely no fucking clue what to do about it.

  Chapter Two

  Marie

  I stood in front of the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, held up both tops as I tried to decide what to wear. I’d never celebrated St Patrick’s Day before, and Em had told me to dress casual. I wasn’t exactly a converse and hoodie sort of girl, so casual with me usually meant skinny jeans, heels or boots, and a form-fitting top with a scarf and jewellery. It was probably the dressmaker in me that couldn’t abide baggy, misshapen clothes. My clothes were me. Even on my worst days, they gave me confidence—and that was the most important thing a girl could wear. Finally deciding to go for festive, I settled on the emerald green one. After dressing quickly, I curled my hair with the irons and added a little light makeup. If I took a bit more care than usual, it was because it was going to be a fairly big day out. It had absolutely nothing to do with a certain sweet-talking, brown-eyed Irish charmer.

  Absolutely nothing at all.

  The taxi beeped from outside, making me jump. Deciding against carrying a bag around, I stuffed my card, money, and ID into my pocket and locked the door behind me. It didn’t take me long to get to the pub where I’d arranged to meet Em. A few months ago, I’d moved apartments to be closer to my mum. My new apartment was a little smaller than the old one, but living closer to my friends was a bonus. When the cab pulled up outside the bar, I started to have second thoughts. It was only midday, but an Irish band was pumping out tunes and the place was so packed that patrons had poured out onto the pavement. Knowing it would be rude to back out on the girls, I took a deep breath and braved it.

  The music was loud, but the sound of the crowd belting out songs along with the band was almost overwhelming. Typically, I wasn’t great with crowds, but th
e atmosphere in here was absolutely electric. I was accosted by a girl who insisted on stencilling a shamrock onto my cheek and successfully fended off two proposals of marriage before eventually finding the girls. Liam, Heath, Nikki, Max, Albie, and a load of other guys from the gym sat around two tables that had been pulled together. Em was sitting across Con’s lap. He smiled smugly as she leant back to whisper something in his ear. Sometimes, it was as though they were both in an untouchable bubble, where everyone else in the world ceased to exist. It often made me yearn for something I would never have.

  “Marie!” Tommy shouted at me. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here for ages!” He seemed a little hyperactive and very excited, like a little kid at Christmas. Given the number of hot girls in here wearing tight jeans and low-cut tops, it probably was a little like Christmas for Tommy.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Liam said. “He’s already kissed two girls, and we haven’t been here for more than a couple of hours.”

  “Is that right?” I asked, one eyebrow raised in mock disapproval.

  “It’s not my fault! Amy just lost her job and needed cheering up. Then Amelia got jealous,” he said, like that totally explained his locking lips with both women.

  “Sisters?” Liam asked.

  “Twins,” Tommy confirmed, winking knowingly at him.

  I smiled, because total manwhore that he was, you just couldn’t help loving Tommy. He exuded life and fun, and I adored that about him.

  “Hey, you made it!” Em said, climbing off Con’s lap to give me a hug.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I said. “I can’t believe I’ve never celebrated St Patrick’s Day before!”

  “Well, the Irish don’t do anything by halves,” she replied.

  “Hey, Marie,” Con said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “First things first, let’s get you a drink. I’ve a feeling you’ve some catching up to do,” he said, nodding towards Em.

  “How many have you had?” I asked.

  “Two leprechauns and a shamrock shake up,” she replied, reaching for some green concoction on the table.

  “Fucking criminal to be drinking anything other than Guinness today,” Tommy said, shaking his head as he looked at Em’s drink.

  “The pub’s doing two for one on all cocktails today, but I have a feeling that Jerry got a bit carried away with the rum when he knew it was for Em,” Con said, keeping his hand on the small of Em’s back. It took a long time for Em to feel comfortable in a crowd after going through some difficult stuff with her dad, and I knew that Con’s touch made her feel grounded.

  “So, do you fancy one, or would ya like something else to drink?” Con asked me. The guys were so generous and chivalrous. Whenever I went out with them, they rarely let the girls pay for anything, despite our protests.

  “You should try one. They’re delicious!” Em said, her rosy cheeks a testament to how much liquor was in them.

  “Maybe later, I think I’ll just stick with a beer for now.” I didn’t drink much, and I didn’t want to be throwing up in the bathroom in a couple of hours.

  “I’ve got this, Con,” said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see Kieran holding a pint and a bottle my favourite beer. It was pretty weak and one of the few drinks I could handle. I had no idea how he knew what I’d order. Maybe it was just coincidence, but a small part of me hoped not.

  “Thanks,” I said, trembling slightly as I took the bottle from him. Whether it was adrenaline or excitement, he was the only man to ever make me feel that way. I feared and craved it at the same time. He was so tall that I had to tilt my head to look into his eyes.

  And damn those eyes.

  He had eyes that made love to a woman before he even took her clothes off. Big, brown orbs that made you feel like you were swimming in chocolate. And boy did he know how to use them. That slight head tilt and half smile was so obviously a ploy, and I mentally kicked myself for falling for it. Kieran was a player. He’d probably always be a player. If only my stupid, treacherous body would listen to my brain, I’d be fine.

  “I haven’t seen you around for a while. How’ve you been, darlin’?” he said with that deep Irish lilt that just about melted my knickers off every time I heard it.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I replied. “Wedding season’s coming up in a few months, so I’ve been pretty busy getting my orders ready.”

  “Em said that you’re making a lot more of your own designs now,” he said.

  “I started off doing one or two and putting the dresses in with the others in the shop, but now my designs are outselling the other stock,” I told him proudly. A few years ago, I’d scraped just about enough money for a deposit on my own business, and with a loan from the bank and a lot of help from my family, I started my own wedding dress boutique. I loved my shop, and I was proud of what I’d achieved.

  “I don’t know how you do it. How do you even know where to start?” he asked.

  I paused, not wanting to start waxing lyrical if he was only making conversation. But he seemed genuinely interested, which made me relax a little.

  “I haven’t really had any formal training, but my mum and her mum were both dressmakers. They made their own patterns too. That’s the real talent behind it. You can learn to follow a pattern, but designing the dresses and creating patterns takes a lot of skill,” I said. Anyone listening would probably say I sounded smug and conceited, but I didn’t mean to. I loved what I did for a living, and I couldn’t help but let my passion and enthusiasm for it bubble over.

  “So they taught you how, but where do you get inspiration from? I mean, sorry to sound like a guy, but all wedding dresses look alike to me,” he said.

  I smiled, knowing that lots of people thought the same thing. Honestly, I felt a little flattered that he was taking so much of an interest.

  “I get inspiration from everywhere. It could be seeing flowers while walking through a park, or reading a magazine on the bus. I have a notebook that I keep all of them in, and whenever I see something that inspires me, I whip it out and sketch it before I forget it.”

  “Why wedding dresses?” he asked. “Why not just dresses in general?”

  “Hopeless romantic, I guess. There’s nothing more magical than helping a girl become a princess for a day. I love that I get to be a part of it.”

  “So, have you designed one for yourself?” he asked. It may have been my imagination, but I thought his voice dropped slightly when he asked, like the answer was important to him.

  “Of course not,” I replied. “That would just be weird.”

  Of course I did! The most perfect design, and the one dress I’d never make.

  Two women, who were clearly drunk, came barrelling into us. The place was packed, but most people dancing to the band had congregated on the dance floor. These girls were dancing right next to us, meaning that I was taking the brunt of their revelry. As soon as Kieran saw what was happening, he put down his beer and moved behind me. With his hands on my waist, he steered me to swap our positions.

  My calm demeanour disintegrated with his touch, and I shivered from the heat of his palm so close to my skin. I couldn’t rationalise my reaction to him and the nervous butterflies that took flight as I caught the faint scent of soap and aftershave. I wanted to move deeper into his arms as I imagined how it would feel to have those huge biceps around me.

  His left arm was tattooed in a full-coloured sleeve that ended at his chrome watch. The other arm was completely bare, but I’d bet he had more tattoos somewhere. These boys loved their ink. He moved away from me, just in time to take an elbow in the back.

  “I’m so sorry,” the drunken girl who staggered next to him said. “We were just having fun. I totally didn’t see you there.”

  “No problem,” he replied with a grin. “It might be safer if you hit the dance floor though. This place is filling up pretty quick.”

  “Oh my God, I love your accent. Say something else!” she screeched, pulling at her friend to witness t
he spectacle that was an Irish accent in an Irish bar on St Patrick’s Day.

  “Tommy!” Kieran called out. “This lady over here wants you to show her the pot of gold at the end of your rainbow.” Apparently this was code for something because Tommy rounded the table with lightning speed to throw his arms around the girl’s shoulders. The one who’d ploughed into Kieran looked disappointed at the brush off, and I couldn’t help feeling a little smug. He leant in towards my ear to talk when the band struck up a lively tune and the place erupted.

  “Come on,” Kieran shouted, a mischievous smile on his face. “Let’s dance!”

  “What? No!” I said in a blind panic. Unlike most women my age, I was a rubbish dancer. I could belt out a good tune, but shaking it in public was not my forte. Someone once told me that seeing me dance was like watching a zombie on speed get a cramp. The horrified look on his face told me that he wasn’t joking. Up until that point, I’d been convinced I was totally killing it on the dance floor. Now, when absolutely forced, I did the two-foot shuffle until I could politely make my escape. Of course, in my bedroom with a hair brush, I was still freakin’ Beyoncé.

  Apparently my objections didn’t carry with the rest of the noise, and I was in the middle of the crowd before I knew it. I needn’t have worried though. Alcohol had evened the playing field as far as coordination was concerned, and I was far from the most tragic case there. In any event, Kieran led most of the time and, eventually, the dance floor became too packed to do anything other than jump around and sing. By the time we made it back to the table, I was hoarse.

  “Another drink?” he asked me.

  I could tell how fit he was. Apart from a light sheen of sweat, he looked fresh as a daisy. I was so exhausted from dancing, I felt like I was about to cough up a lung. I managed a nod and a “yes please,” and he disappeared to the bar.

  Em was back sitting on Con’s lap, but looking at me starry eyed.

  “What?” I asked, fanning myself with a beer mat to try and cool down.