Roxy’s POV
I was awake at 5:35, exactly ten minutes before the alarm on Niall’s side would start its incessant beeping. I slipped out of the covers, the bones in my feet cracking as I sunk them into the plush carpet. I was a little surprised that he wasn’t up already, considering the large green circle he’d made on the calendar around this day. It was going to be a long one.
Coffee. The word popped into my brain. I pushed off from my palms and wiped the sleep from my eyes as I padded down the hallway and the stairs. I flicked the switch on the coffee pot, and peeked between the blinds covering the window above the sink. Thankfully, the sky looked pretty clear. I hoped it stayed that way.
I snuck back under the sheet and curled up against his chest, his light snoring coming to an end as he stirred. We intended to get to sleep early last night, but instead we stayed up talking in complete darkness until one a.m. You’d think at a certain point we’d run out of things to say to one another, run out of stories or questions to ask. That hasn’t happened yet. In fact, I often found myself hanging on his words, which often left his mouth a jumbled mess. He’d go back and sort through them, though, often getting carried off by an anecdote. At this point, I almost spoke his language. I could figure out what he meant, decoding his garbled sentences and random Irish terminology.
I was placing feather-light kisses on his jawbone just as his alarm went off, his arm flinging from his side and over to the table, pawing furiously to turn it off. “Fuck.” He groaned as he finally succeeded.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.” I whispered into his ear.
“You did not just say that.” He laughed.
“What?” I said. “It’s Saint Paddy’s Day! That’s what you say.”
“No.” he said, scratching his chest. “That’s what you say, because you’re fucking weird.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and rubbed his open palms over his face in attempt to wake himself. “We’ll have a proper lesson in Irish culture, but first you’ll need some coffee.”
“It’s already brewing.” I smiled. “We have a few minutes.”
St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t even on my radar as far as holidays go until I got to college, where it was taken very seriously. The bars would open at four in the morning to lines circling the block. Those that went to class did so three sheets to the wind. The professors pretended not to notice the gallon jugs of orange juice, which were actually half vodka, being passed around the back rows of the lecture hall. Around noon, campus would fall silent as everyone took a couple hours to sober up slightly, and head back out to the bars for the evening. That was pretty much it. Everyone was Irish, everyone was drinking, everyone was kissing.
The smell of the hot coffee wafted up the stairs, sending my stomach growling. “What’s for breakfast?” I groaned.
“There’ll be a brunch after the parade.” He said. I frowned. “But we can get McDonald’s on the way, if you want.”
“Authentic.”
“Don’t tell me mother.” He whispered. “Now get up, lassy! We need to find ya something to wear.”
I held the blanket to my chest steadfastly as he attempted to wrestle it loose. “How about I get a little Irish in me before we go?” I said, trying my best to keep a straight face
“No time, love.” He smiled, kissing me on the cheek. “Later.” He said into my ear, gripping my ass cheek through the sheet.
I flopped back on the pillow as he headed into the bathroom. “Can you at least put a little whiskey in my coffee?”
“I was planning on it.” He called back.
Niall’s POV
I got shit for it every year, but London really was a great place to celebrate St. Pat’s. For the last couple of years, I’d been asked to ride on one of the bigger floats, but this year I’ve decided on something a little different. She stood in the doorway watching as I rifled through her side of the closet, hangers scraping the metal rod on which they hung.
“What are you looking for?” she laughed.
“Mind your business.” I said. “Put on a pair of jeans.”
“What kind of jeans?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Jeans!” I said. Women. She pulled open a drawer and held a pair up for approval. I nodded, and went back to the search for a jumper, watching her pull the tight denim over her calves, thighs, hips and ass out of the corner of my eye.
“I don’t know why you care so much about what shirt I’ll be wearing.” She said. “No one is even going to see it underneath my coat.”
“Shit.” I muttered. She was right. “Your coats are downstairs?” I said.
“That’s where we keep the coats.” She said, confused.
“Have you got a red one?” I said.
“Yeah.” She answered. “A dark red one, why?”
“Perfect.” I smiled. “Hurry up and get dressed!” I joked, knowing I had just wasted so much time. “We need to be on the road in fifteen.”
—
“Niall.” She said, damn near running to try to keep up with my pace. “You’re yanking my arm.”
“I’m excited.” I said.
“Are you going to tell me why I am wearing a red coat to a fucking St. Paddy’s Day Parade?” she said.
“We are walking with County Westmeath.” I said. One of the best parts about the London parade was that all thirty two Irish counties had representatives, dressed in the traditional colors, that marched along the route. Some had floats, others had performers. All of them gave out candy to the people gathered on the sidewalks to watch. My mother has been walking with the County since she moved to London, but this would be my first time mixing with the hometown folks instead of riding atop one of the huge floats.
“We?” she said. “I’m walking in the parade?”
“What, do you just want to stand by yourself and watch?” I said, spotting the sea of maroon and white. My mother glanced at her watch and gave me her trademark eyebrow lift before pulling Rox into a quick hug and giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“About time the two of ya showed up.” She smiled.
The square was alive with sights and sounds. There were several bands from the local schools that were tuning up, the motors on the cars and floats revving, people laughing. Soon enough the crowd began to move, and people took up their designated spots in the line-up. I could almost see the sun poking through the haze as the kids standing at the front of our group pulled the Westmeath banner taught as we stepped out onto the road. Two burly men flanked us, one waving the Irish flag, the other the County colors.
I slipped my hand into Roxy’s as we rounded the corner, the first batch of parade-watchers coming into view.
Roxy’s POV
I had grown accustomed to the lifestyle. When you’re out in public with a guy like Niall, everything just takes a little longer, every process has a couple of extra steps. I didn’t even really notice it any more, to be honest. When we go out together, inevitably there is someone who asks for a picture, or to have something signed; I just step aside and let Niall do his thing. And that was my natural instinct as we walked along the closed-off streets of the parade route. It felt strange.
“Wave.” He said, his one hand laced with mine as the other swung wildly above his head. I pulled my free hand from inside my coat pocket and waved at an old lady before promptly tucking it back away.
“I feel weird.” I sad, making sure to not let the smile slip from my face. “These people don’t know who I am!”
“Look around you babe.” He laughed. “I’m the only one they do know, and most of them don’t even recognize me because I’m not sitting on the front of some massive float.”
It was true. Every person that walked along side of us was waving to the on-lookers, who waved right back. The woman next to me could be a lunch lady for all that I know, and it didn’t even matter. Occasionally, one of the parade-watcher would shout Niall’s name, and he’d be sure to acknowledge them with a nod and a cheery “hey how are ya”. His hand slipped from mine, and for a brief second I felt a little lost. My only connection to Westmeath was through Niall. I felt a little fraudulent. He moved his hand along my lower back as he crossed behind me, taking my opposite hand into his as he resumed waving to the other side of the street.
I squeezed his palm tightly and he gave two quick squeezes back.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!” I said, to no one in particular.
“Don’t embarrass me.” he smiled.
—
Somehow when Guinness was tinted green, it went down a lot quicker than it usually did. I wiped the foam from my lips and put my empty glass back on the wooden pub table, scanning the packed pub for our waitress so I could order up another. Any waitress would do, really. The brunch after the parade had given me a good base layer of carbs and fat to pile the beer onto, so I decided to live it up. Niall wrapped his arms around my waist and I leaned back into him. “Having fun, babe?” he said, planting a kiss on my neck just below the ear.
“Mmmhmm.”
“You finished my pint?” he said, spotting the wooden table top through the bottom of his empty glass. “We hang women for lesser offenses.”
“I was going to order you another, but I can’t find the girl!” I explained.
“And one for yourself, I’ll bet?” he said.
I didn’t bother to answer. It was only early afternoon. I had plenty of time to sober up before we had to be at Maura’s for dinner. I made a fool of myself earlier when I told her how much I was looking forward to eating corned beef and cabbage. As it turns out, that’s apparently an American St. Patrick’s Day tradition. She was serving traditional lamb. Not a big lamb fan, but I am sure she’s going to work some magic that will have me converted. That woman knew how to cook.
This pub had to be well over their approved capacity. Niall couldn’t even stand next to me at the table, our shoulders nearly touching the people on either side of us. He didn’t seem to mind. The alcohol was starting to make me feel flush and tingly, and I had a feeling he might try to capitalize. I held my breath as he circled his arms around my waist once more, pulling my back up against him. I couldn’t help but look down and confirm that his hand was actually under the hem of my shirt now, teasing the skin above the waist of my jeans, his actions hidden from view of the entire bar by the table in front of us and the people around us.
“We should get our tab.” He hummed.
“I want another beer.” I said.
“We have beer at home.”
“Not green beer.” I reminded him.
His fingertips dipped into my waistband, as I pressed my hips backward against him. His lips dotted every square inch of flesh that was left exposed at my neck, and he whispered. I couldn’t make out a single word, but it didn’t matter. I knew exactly what he was saying.
“Is this part of my cultural lesson?” I asked, pulling my hips back just slightly, not wanting to get him too worked up.
“I’m not sure there’s anything I can teach you.” He said. “You’re pretty fucking fantastic.”
“Two more?” Our waitress shouted, three people over. I smiled as Niall shook his head, removing his hand from beneath my shirt and reaching into his pocket.
“It’s all set.” He said, handing her a wad of bills and quickly taking my hand, pulling me toward the door.