the time. He smiled at the memory of her handing it to him on his 18 th birthday. This would give him luck—Irish luck, she’d said. That had been nearly twelve years ago before he’d buried her and his father. The charm had brought him luck—and tonight he planned to use it once more.
“There you are! Been looking all over for you,” shouted Kevin O’Bryan.
It spooked Doran out of his memory. At once the noisy sounds of the party crashed in, fully immersing Doran back into the current time and place. He huffed and looked at his cousin.
Kevin’s shot of red hair seemed bright tonight, because of the bright green KISS ME! I’M IRISH T-shirt, and beads he wore. He looked the part of an Irishman—green eyes, freckles, and that shock of red hair. His last name was O’Bryan to boot—the same as Doran’s mother’s maiden name. Doran drew from his father’s Irish lineage—dark hair, blue eyes, and darker skin. He and Kevin just didn’t differ in terms of genetics, either. Kevin loved women, but he didn’t really love committing to them, so he often didn’t. Doran, on the other hand, searched for a life partner, not just some casual roll in the meadow.
Doran internally groaned. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“Not whatever, whoever ! It’s St. Patrick’s Day. We’re both good, solid Irish descendants. There are two equally beautiful Latina descendants ready to take our party off site. If you know what I mean.”
Kevin slapped him on the back and at the same time pivoted him to face the doorway. Sure enough, two pretty and rather scantily clad women waved to them. Doran removed Kevin’s hand from his shoulder, cleared his throat and tried to rein in his budding anger.
“I’m already at a party,” he explained. Kevin rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to go wandering off after two strange women.”
“They’re not that strange!” Kevin scoffed, shaking his head.
He gulped down some of the green-tinted beer in his mug and peered at Doran over the glass’s bottom. When he drained it of its contents, he sat it down on the neighboring end table.
“You’re a hot blooded Irish lad, aren’t you?”
Doran didn’t even dignify the ridiculous question with an answer. He sipped more beer and tried to look beyond Kevin to the spot where Kenyatta stood.
Gone!
Where was she? He eyed the French doors that led out to a balcony, but they remained locked and a guard stood in front of them. He doubted she left the party or had gone outside. Besides, the March winter had dropped the temperature in the GSO to around thirty degrees. Snow had been forecast, but so far none had fallen. People walked around with shepherd’s pie and bread pudding. The buffet took up the entire right wall, and tables with chairs for eating purposes crowded most of that part of the room. He scanned the people eating and didn’t see Kenyatta there either.
“…and if two women want to take you back to their hotel room, you go.” Kevin finished and slapped Doran’s back once more. “Are you listening?”
“No.” Doran fingered the four-leaf clover on his necklace.
No offense to the women, but he had already spied the one he wanted. It wouldn’t just be for the night. Kenyatta possessed a sense of style unlike any other woman at CAKE or any other place he’d worked. She worked in the accounting department with him. Each work day, he got the privilege of inhaling her sweet, floral scent, hear her lyrical laugh, and be rewarded by her warm and engaging smile—every day. Risking those daily gifts for two attractive women didn’t seem worth it.
“So, let’s go have a real party,” Kevin said, grinning at him.
Doran sighed. Whenever Kevin gave him that look, nothing but trouble ensued. So, he shrugged off his cousin’s hand once more.
“No. I meant what I said. Just because you dump women the way some people do garbage, doesn’t mean I am interested in doing the same.”
Kevin’s eyebrows rose and
“There you are! Been looking all over for you,” shouted Kevin O’Bryan.
It spooked Doran out of his memory. At once the noisy sounds of the party crashed in, fully immersing Doran back into the current time and place. He huffed and looked at his cousin.
Kevin’s shot of red hair seemed bright tonight, because of the bright green KISS ME! I’M IRISH T-shirt, and beads he wore. He looked the part of an Irishman—green eyes, freckles, and that shock of red hair. His last name was O’Bryan to boot—the same as Doran’s mother’s maiden name. Doran drew from his father’s Irish lineage—dark hair, blue eyes, and darker skin. He and Kevin just didn’t differ in terms of genetics, either. Kevin loved women, but he didn’t really love committing to them, so he often didn’t. Doran, on the other hand, searched for a life partner, not just some casual roll in the meadow.
Doran internally groaned. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
“Not whatever, whoever ! It’s St. Patrick’s Day. We’re both good, solid Irish descendants. There are two equally beautiful Latina descendants ready to take our party off site. If you know what I mean.”
Kevin slapped him on the back and at the same time pivoted him to face the doorway. Sure enough, two pretty and rather scantily clad women waved to them. Doran removed Kevin’s hand from his shoulder, cleared his throat and tried to rein in his budding anger.
“I’m already at a party,” he explained. Kevin rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to go wandering off after two strange women.”
“They’re not that strange!” Kevin scoffed, shaking his head.
He gulped down some of the green-tinted beer in his mug and peered at Doran over the glass’s bottom. When he drained it of its contents, he sat it down on the neighboring end table.
“You’re a hot blooded Irish lad, aren’t you?”
Doran didn’t even dignify the ridiculous question with an answer. He sipped more beer and tried to look beyond Kevin to the spot where Kenyatta stood.
Gone!
Where was she? He eyed the French doors that led out to a balcony, but they remained locked and a guard stood in front of them. He doubted she left the party or had gone outside. Besides, the March winter had dropped the temperature in the GSO to around thirty degrees. Snow had been forecast, but so far none had fallen. People walked around with shepherd’s pie and bread pudding. The buffet took up the entire right wall, and tables with chairs for eating purposes crowded most of that part of the room. He scanned the people eating and didn’t see Kenyatta there either.
“…and if two women want to take you back to their hotel room, you go.” Kevin finished and slapped Doran’s back once more. “Are you listening?”
“No.” Doran fingered the four-leaf clover on his necklace.
No offense to the women, but he had already spied the one he wanted. It wouldn’t just be for the night. Kenyatta possessed a sense of style unlike any other woman at CAKE or any other place he’d worked. She worked in the accounting department with him. Each work day, he got the privilege of inhaling her sweet, floral scent, hear her lyrical laugh, and be rewarded by her warm and engaging smile—every day. Risking those daily gifts for two attractive women didn’t seem worth it.
“So, let’s go have a real party,” Kevin said, grinning at him.
Doran sighed. Whenever Kevin gave him that look, nothing but trouble ensued. So, he shrugged off his cousin’s hand once more.
“No. I meant what I said. Just because you dump women the way some people do garbage, doesn’t mean I am interested in doing the same.”
Kevin’s eyebrows rose and
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