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“Hey there, lovely. What are you into?”
Reece turned her head to see who had just spoken to her and at that moment walked beside her. The sight she saw was near cartoonish; bright red hair, bright green eyes, stupid amount of freckles. Ask someone to describe a perfect example of a stereotypical Irishman, this is exactly what one would get.
“Women,” she curtly answered, and expected that to be end of it. She was 5’11”, lean muscled, and walked proud, so, while queer women regularly have to deal with men that, when they're told ‘lesbian’, all they hear is ‘challenge’, and she did, too, she got a bit less of it. Only the dumb try to hassle someone clearly willing and able to Knock. You. Out.
She was to learn that this boy was dumb, but a different flavor than that. She saw St. Patrick light up with delight at her words.
“Ah, gorgeous!” he crowed, “You know the gay clubs, then? I've only just got here, see, I'm needing a guide.”
She blinked at him. “Why would I be guiding you?”
He grinned then, a rogue’s smile. “I'll be your wingman. I'm a very good wingman. You'll be crawling in it.”
She stopped her walk so as to properly stare at this weirdo, and he obligingly stilled as well.
She normally would've told him to fuck off.
But, earlier today, she had learned her ex-girlfriend was engaged. Engaged. Her ex-girlfriend, who had been first person she had slept with, and the last.
More than a year ago.
And this asshole did have some weird kind of charm.
What the hell. If he failed and was a pain, she would shake him off then.
“Alright. We're going to The Monster tonight.”
He punched the air. “Ha! Divine! Mark me, you'll be wearing your face off.”
Reece raised an eyebrow. “‘Wearing my face off’?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed rather than explained. His smile changed, and seemed to assess her expression of poorly disguised skepticism. “I promise you, even if we have to be up all night, we'll both get lucky.”
She closed her eyes and groaned. “Damn you. Now I got Daft Punk in my head.”
He laughed at her.
They finally exchanged names after she had told him the address and time they'd meet.
She had ‘gotten lucky’ that night. The girl she woke up next to in the morning told her she’d been amazing.
Great to hear, since she didn't remember a thing that had happened after midnight.
Up until that point, she did have memories of a damn good time, however.
He'd given her a fun night, and had gotten her laid, as promised.
So. Okay. She'd stay friends with Irish.
But she'd never go drinking with him again, that was for damn sure.