The Four Leaf (A Holinight Novella)

“Ineed a drink. Strong, please.”

I nearly hurl myself onto the only empty barstool next to Tommy. The bar has begun to fill up again, but with the nighttime parade, it’s still a manageable crowd.

He and my sister exchange a quizzical look before Willow finally drops a shot glass in front of me. “So, I’m guessing the talk didn’t go so well?”

The guilt in her voice is so thick I almost want to lie and bask in the rarity of it. But the confusion and shock whirling around in my system are already more than I can handle.

She overpours her hand as she gapes at me, causing some of the liquor to seep over the side. I snatch the shot and down it quickly, relishing the burn as it radiates down my esophagus, burning away any words I had to explain what the fuck just happened.

The glass bounces as I slam it back down and nod my head for a refill. “Did you know a Shamrock is a three-leaf clover and was once called a ‘seamroy’? It was a sacred plant that was a visual–”

“Representation of the Holy Trinity. Yeah, we know.” My sister fills the shot glass again, before leaning across the counter. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head so fast, little spots decorate my vision. “What about that the first-ever St. Patrick’s Day parade held in America was right here in Boston?”

This time, Tommy nods and lifts his beer mug. “In 1737.”

Willow blows out an annoyed breath, but I ignore her and take back the second shot. “It’s why we named the hotel, The Four Leaf. Our parents signed the lease on St. Paddy’s Day and thought it was their good luck charm.”

“That and they said it cost them a pot of gold to buy the damn place,” Willow tells Tommy. “Would you give us a minute?”

He holds up a hand and nods. “Got to go to the John anyway.”

She smiles an appreciative thanks, before narrowing her eyes at me. “Samantha Rayn, tell me what happened. You are–oh my gosh, are you okay?”

It’s only now I’ve realized I haven’t eaten anything but the breakfast hoagie this morning. Which was over nine hours ago. My head is already fussy, but I think it’s more from working on an empty stomach than it is the liquor just entering my gut.

“You have a snack back there?” I mutter, pushing the glass toward her with my index finger.

She scoffs, gesturing to one of her barbacks. His name is Klien. Such an odd name, though also unique. I remember him telling me it was German, and when I researched it, I thought it was ironic. It means little. He’s almost as tall as Adrian, which for me means I have to tip my head almost the whole way back–

The double snap of my sister’s fingers forces me to stop staring at Klien. “Sam. Answer me.”

I blink twice, my brows furrowing as I try to recall her asking me something.

Willow blows out a hard, irritated breath. “I asked what you wanted to eat, ass.”

“Well, I definitely don’t want ass to eat.” I smile, trying to lighten her snappy mood. But then I consider a song I once heard that gloried what a good tongue can do to the back door. “Well, I mean, not right now. I’d prefer something digestible.”

“For fuck’s sake.” She turns to Klien, clearly exasperated. “A croissant, please. Butter on the side.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite.” I sit up straight, my mouth already watering at the promise of food. “I hadn’t realized how much I’ve done without eating. Also, why are you so crabby?”

“Because my relatively straightforward sister is acting like an elusive dingbat rather than facing her one fear head-on.”

“Rude,” I mutter, tracing the bar top’s grain with my pinky.

“Tell me what happened between you and Adrian.”

Heat blossoms across my cheeks as the mere mention of his name makes me recall what he did. What I did.

My feet were freaking stuck to the floor when he said my name. I couldn’t help but turn around–see if he’d stop if he knew I was there. But he didn’t.

He kept going, and I stayed. I listened to the whole ordeal while my pussy clenched so tight it hurt. Like physically ached from how badly I wanted to… give in?

I bite the inside of my lip too hard and wince when I taste the copper spread across my tastebuds.

The realization–the concrete evidence, finally settles in, sending goosebumps down my arms.

Adrian Stokes was masturbating to me. Me. His best friend.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Are things about to be awkward as hell? Or do we dive right in and make out on the couch?

If I’m being honest, I never thought about the beginning of what would happen if it ever did. Only the middle. The good parts. The place where we’re comfortable with each other and everything just flows. Never in the fragile space where I could do something clumsy and possibly drive him away.

Funny thing–in Irish Lore, St. Patrick was known for driving snakes out of Ireland.

“You’re trying to deflect. I see your mind working on another Saint Patrick’s Day fact as we speak.”

I swipe my hands down my face before peering over my shoulder. Tommy still hasn’t returned, and all the patrons are too engrossed in their own conversations to give us a second glance. When I turn back to Willow, her amber eyes are wide, and her head is tilted to the side dramatically as she waits for me to speak.

“Fine, but for once in your life, please, please, Willow, don’t say anything.”

She takes an extensive pause, and for the first time, I realize what a “pregnant pause” is. It’s one that lasts abnormally long, and when you think it’s supposed to end, it keeps going, building anticipation.

It makes me feel jittery, so I decide to perform a C-section. “Promise, now.”

She holds her hands up before throwing a rag over her shoulder. “Alright, alright. I promise.”

I hesitate, but not nearly as long as she did, before I give her a very quick play-by-play, revisiting some details I already told her earlier today. The tension, the obvious shift, the feelings, my fifteen-year-old lie, and then… the shower incident.

By the time I finish, I’m flushed all over again, and my heart is doing a weird palpitating thing. Meanwhile, Willow seems completely unbothered and maybe even a bit entertained. Her eyes are creased in the corner, and one side of her lips is curled.

She remains silent as my pulse rages on, accepting my snack from Klien and nodding to Tommy, who returns to his seat.

My knee bounces against the metal of my stool, the entire thing vibrating as my legs shake. She gives me a deep look before nodding slowly, pushing my plate of food toward me. When I don’t move to touch it because of the anxiety gripping my limps, she finally speaks.

“As your older sister and the more forward of us two, I have to say I’m pretty damn proud.”

“Proud?” I gawk, surprise sweeping through me.

“Yeah, I mean. I would have thought you would have run out with your tail between your legs.”

I yank the plate closer and tear off a corner of the croissant, biting it a little too aggressively. “I’m not a prude, Will.”

“Didn’t say you were, but clearly, you’re having a bit of trouble processing. You experienced a little more sexual liberation and you don’t know what to make out of it. But let me ask you this…” She leans over the bar, narrowing her eyes as she draws closer. I suck in air and hold it, unsure what to expect.

“Did you like it?”

The air escapes as my lips part, my mind floating back to every sound and movement he made. The ache and desire coil low in my stomach, telling me just how badly I liked it. My voice is barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The loud pop of my sister slapping the countertop makes me and Tommy simultaneously jolt upright in our chairs. “Alright then, good. Because something tells me he likes more adventurous things than a little self-exploration.”

I pinch off another piece of the croissant, slowing down enough to spread some of the butter across the top. When I pop it into my mouth, I really taste it this time, the flavor spreading over my tongue and making my toes curl. Hmm… maybe that’s the liquor. “What do you mean?”

Willow tends to a small group of men who approach the bar. “You’ve seen him on the field, Sam. I don’t think you’re going to get soft kisses and foot rubs.”

“I’ll lose the foot rubs?” Adrian has given me plenty of massages while lounging on the couch, and let me tell you something, I’d probably go mental if I never got another one of those.

She huffs, clearly annoyed as she pops the tops off each of the mens’ beers. “You’re such a ditz.”

One of the guys wearing a pair of khakis and a tropical print shirt, leans over. Even close to the bar, I can smell the potent liquor seeping from his pores. He nudges me with his shoulder before clasping a strong hand over my wrist, and his smug sneer causes my stomach to curdle. “I can give you foot rubs, doll.”

Maybe because I’m a tad inebriated or still teetering on low blood sugar, but the next few things happen in slow motion. My sister grabs an empty bottle from the bin under the bartop, her intent clear as she lifts it up, but in the next second, she smiles and drops it back into the disposal.

I assume it’s because she sees I’m turning to tell the asshole to get his grubby paws off me, but instead, an ominous chill stops me before I get a word out.

“I’d like to see you manage such a feat after I break both your hands.” Adrian’s husky voice is deadly, shooting through my core and raising the fine hairs over my entire body.

The man’s neck cracks when he whips his head around to look at Adrian, probably ready to say something he’d regret. But the moment he makes eye contact, it’s clear he wants no part in whatever he sees raging in Adrian’s eyes.

He mumbles a quick apology, but when he releases my arm, Adrian grabs his. “A proper apology is in order.”

It isn’t a request. It’s a downright order. There’s a frightening shift in the air, and the instant sheen across the guy’s forehead lets me know he feels it too. His murky blue eyes flit to me. “I’m sorry I touched you. I-I should have politely offered to rub your feet.”

My gaze flashes to Adrian’s, who’s looking at the spot on my arm where the guy was holding me. There’s a fire and anger I’ve only ever seen on my TV when he’s smashing into an opponent, and even then, it pales in comparison to right now.

My body hums its approval as I nod to the guy, keeping my eyes on Adrian. “Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Appreciate it,” he replies, his voice tight with Adrian’s lingering hold.

Another beat passes before Adrian releases him and lets him rejoin his friend who vanished the second he had his drinks.

“You didn’t need to do that.” I don’t say it as loud as I intend to, my nerves still a jumbled mess. “He wasn’t any–”

“No one touches you, Bambi. Not without your consent.” Adrian nods to Willow, who smiles and starts making what I assume is his regular drink. He turns to the side and places one forearm on the bar and the other hand on the back of my chair. His hazel eyes burn a trail up my frame until he reaches my face, to which he grins. “And I’m the only one who gets to massage your feet.”