I would have been lying to myself if I didn't admit feeling a tinge of disappointment as I brought our drinks back to where Nick was waiting. The stranger was easy to talk to, and definitely not hard to look at, but I suppose he had better things to do than waste his time standing at a bar, chatting it up with a first-gen Irish girl.

The disappointment must have been clear on my face because Nick frowned as he took the martini. "Did that douche say something to you? Do I need to cut him?"

I gave a small smile. "No, nothing bad. Just some conversation."

That he apparently couldn't wait to get out of.

Nick held my gaze for a moment before taking my hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To dance."

"I don't dance."

"Then sway."

He dragged me to the center of the packed dance floor before I could proclaim any further objections.

It was not that the band was bad. In fact, they were exceptionally decent as they played various covers of popular songs from the 80s and on. I just wasn't in the mood. Or at least I wasn't at first. I realized I was able to put aside the day's disturbing events f while I was talking- or was it flirting? - with the Scottish stranger. But after he left as quickly as he appeared, it was like the weight of my metaphysical situation crashed down upon me once again.

I knew Nick noticed- that's why he'd dragged me out to dance.

A part of me knew it was him trying to get his bartender's attention, but I also knew he truly was trying to cheer me up.

So I danced, and I allowed him to buy me drinks, and as the hours went on, I found I didn't care as much as I had. And not just about those damn cards.

About... anything.

At some point during the night, Nick's bartender, who I learned was named Leo, joined us on the dance floor, and although we were still in a group, Nick's attention was solely on Leo. I didn't blame him; it was why we'd come out to the bar in the first place. But I did feel my gaze drifting over the crowd, searching. Red hair was hard to miss, even in the strobing club lights.

Nothing.

The night carried on, with the music getting louder and the drinks flowing faster. I heard Leo mumble something to Nick over the music as the band announced last call. Nick cast a glance towards me and bit his lip. I knew what was coming next and already had a grin on my lips when he leaned into me.

"Leo wants to get going," Nick said just loud enough for me to hear him over the music.

"Something tells me I'm not invited."

He gave me a slight smile. "I can get you a cab."

"I'll be fine," I assured him, patting his cheek.

"But I feel bad leaving you alone."

"I'm a big girl, Nicholas. I can call an Uber myself."

He gave me a look that said he wanted to remind me not to use his full name, but Leo's presence reigned him in. "Text me when you get home?"

"Yeah right," I said playfully, pushing him towards the bartender. "And even if I did, something tells me you'd be too preoccupied to check until morning."

Leo must have heard me because he gave Nick a knowing grin, and I shooed them away. Nick mouthed a 'thank you' before linking arms with the strong, dark man and guided him towards the coat check.

I watched them until the band started playing their rendition of the Dropkick Murphys' Shipping Up to Boston. Being Irish in Boston, or hell, just being anyone in Boston, you had to appreciate the effort made to cover one of the city's most beloved bands. Not only that, but to pull it off well enough for an intoxicated audience to appreciate it.

I was moving to the beat and finishing off the last of my whiskey when a pair of arms wrapped around my hips from behind.

Nick.

"I already said goodbye," I scoffed.

"No, you didn't," a Scottish drawl purred into my ear.

I coughed on my whiskey. If his arms weren't already holding me upright, the surprise would have had me spinning around so fast I'd have tripped over my own feet.

"You," I breathed out.

"Me." He appeared too please with himself.

"I almost want to punch you."

"Almost?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Almost. But before I do, I want to know why you came back."

He gave me a grin that made my toes curl in my boots. "I couldn't leave without knowing your name. Or buying you a drink."

"It's last call," I reminded him.

"Then we best hurry."

My hand was tucked in his before I had time to think about it, and he guided me not towards the bar where we first met, but away from the stage, through the lounge, and to the restaurant where only a few patrons huddled in their attempt to get in that one last drink. We found the least-crowded corner and elbowed our way to the counter, ignoring the glares and side-eyed glances we received from the people around us.

"Bushmills and a Macallan, both neat," he ordered to the first bartender who looked our way.

"How did you know?" I teased.

"Consider it a hunch."

"So where did you go?" I asked boldly.

"I thought I saw someone I knew. When I came back, you had left."

"I'm here now." I grinned.

"Yes, you are." His smile was radiant, and it made his blue eyes sparkle.

Dear God, I was staring.

He knew it too, because he was watching me just as much as I was watching him. But before he could comment further, the bartender placed both drinks on the countertop. The Scottish stranger paid cash before picking up his Macallan's and turned to me.

"Wait," I said, picking up my Bushmills. Before he could take a sip of his drink, I switched our glasses.

He chuckled, and the sound made my skin prickle. "Slàinte," he said, holding his glass up in cheers.

"Sláinte mhaith," I said as I clinked my glass against his, and we both tossed our drinks back in one shot.

The burn of the liquor was a comfort every time, but knowing this one was my last of the night, with more than pleasant company, made the heat seem to linger, travel further through my body than its devoured predecessors.

And maybe it was the liquid courage of the whiskey, but I felt the need to be adventurous. Bold, yes, but perhaps even flirtatious. Risky. And overly suggestive.

So I made a jump. A leap. An attempt to get away from that which wanted to hold me back and test my limits. To tell Fate that I was in control and not the other way around.

"I'm Siobhan," I informed him as I leaned in, my lips dangerously close to his ear. He smelled amazing. Underneath the expected sweat was a natural scent that reminded me of patchouli.

Taking my cue, he leaned in closer, his warm cheek touching mine as he purred into my ear. "Mac."

"And where are you from, Mac?" I whispered into his ear.

"Isn't that obvious?" The humor was evident in his tone, and I smiled against his earlobe.

"All over," he finally murmured, his breath warm. "As I mentioned before, I'm currently here because of my work..." A hesitation. Then, "My hotel is only a block away."

My heart beat steadily within my chest. "Well, then would you like me to walk you home? The streets of Boston can be mean at this time of night."

"I hear the Irish gangs are some of the worst."

I leaned back and gave him a wink. "Let me just grab my coat."

We left Ned Devine's hand-in-hand and walked quickly across Faneuil Hall, not only to get out of the cold night air but also to make our way to Mac's hotel room as soon as possible. The smell of burgers and cooking grease wafted over us as walked near the Hard Rock Cafe, and as much as I was suddenly very hungry, I was far more content following Mac in the opposite direction.

The Bostonian was a beautiful hotel from the outside, but I was focused on what was going to be happening inside. So, too, was Mac, for as soon as we entered the elevator and the doors shut behind us, his body pressed mine against the far wall as his lips found mine. It took us maybe a minute to realize neither of us had hit the button for his floor, and he pulled away from me just long enough to send us up to the fourth floor before his mouth crashed back into mine.

I barely registered the elevator ding that announced our arrival, as we exited in a tangle of limbs down the hallway towards Mac's room. Soon we were stumbling into his room with him kicking the door shut behind him, and I found myself on the bed.

I couldn't take my eyes off him as he worked at unbuttoning my blouse, his lips returning to my neck, my collarbone, lower. My hands roamed over his back, feeling his strong muscles beneath his shirt, and soon I was gripping it in my fists, needing to feel his skin against mine.

I may not have done this in a while, but at least my signals weren't getting crossed.

Mac knelt up from where he had situated himself between my legs, and I bit my lip as I watched him pull his shirt over his head. The strong lines of his abdomen, the vee that ran beneath his jeans, his perfectly sculpted chest, his...

I didn't realize how hard I bit my lip until I tasted the blood.

I think I stopped breathing, and concern instantly crossed Mac's face as I pushed myself up and away, stopping only because the headboard was cold against my bare back.

"What the fuck is that?" I hissed, fingers digging into the pillow so hard I thought my nails would pierce through the pillowcase.

"What? What's wrong?" He looked around, panicked, but my gaze couldn't break away from his chest.

From the tattoo on his left pectoral, right above his heart.

A tattoo of...

"The Three of Swords," I whispered. Dread coursed through me, dulling the alcohol, and heightening the adrenaline, as I looked at the perfectly crafted heart pierced by three identical swords.

"Oh," he said, and his casual tone made me want to rage.

"Why do you have that tattoo? Do you even know what it means?" I couldn't hide my incredulity.

"The release of pain. Optimism. Forgiveness."

"That's the reversed meaning."

"Of course it is." He glanced down at the tattoo on his chest. "That's how I see it from my perspective."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing- what I was seeing. The adrenaline was taking control, and my fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in.

"I need to go," I said quickly, scurrying off the bed to pick up my discarded shirt to throw it back on.

"Are you serious?" Mac asked, turning to watch me as I gathered my boots that had somehow ended up in two separate corners.

"More than serious," I muttered as I hopped on one foot, zipping the boot on the other.

"Siobhan-"

"Don't," I snapped, turning to him. "I'm sorry, but this... this was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened."

"Because I have a tattoo?"

"Because of your tattoo." I shuddered as my gaze drifted down to his chest, the black ink on his perfect skin marring everything that could have been and never would be.

I shook my head, making my way to the door. "Goodbye Mac."

"Siobhan, wait-"

But I didn't wait.

I slammed the room's door shut behind me and took the stairs down four flights until I was back on the streets of Faneuil Hall. I walked quickly, needing to get as far away from Mac as possible. I made my way across Surface Road until I was stomping through the Greenway. At that time of night, there was no lack of empty benches, and the fountains had been turned off for the winter. Sitting on the edge of the splash pad's stone wall, I held my head in my hands as I tried to process everything that had occurred.

Everything it meant.

And it wasn't until I began to shiver that I realized I had left my jacket, my wallet, and my dignity behind.