Snookie chuckled to herself. Since she’d been visibly delighted by his accent, it had grown thicker by the second.
He raised his glass and she followed suit to clink hers against his.
“Sláinte.”
“Sláinte.”
They both took a sip. She’d expected him to throw his back, but saw the special bottle must be for sipping.
“Now that we’re settled, can I ask yer name?” he asked, raising his voice over the sound of the revelers behind them.
“Snookie.”
He leaned in as the background music ended and another song began. “Did you say Snookie?”
She nodded. “Snookie Moore.”
“Really?” He looked as if it took all his strength to keep from saying a thought running through his head.
“What is it?” she asked. People had all sort of reactions to her nickname, the only name she’d ever used except on legal documents. Though, things had been tough when Jersey Shore was popular.
Seamus shrugged. “I was just thinking I could use a little more Snookie.”
Snookie laughed. She’d heard that one before but it was a good one and it had been a while.
She scanned the bar from behind her whiskey glass, spotting an open pool table in what looked like the quietest corner of the bar.
“You play pool?” she asked.
“Do I play pool?” He jerked back his chin. “I invented the game.”
“Really? You’re older than I thought.”
He laughed a genuine belly laugh that made her feel appreciated and endeared him to her.
You are trouble, Uncle Seamus.
“Ye want to play?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He held out a hand to assist her from the stool.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Always,” he said with what she was starting to believe was a trademark wink.
Seamus said something to the bartender as she hopped off the stool. They bumped through the crowd, reaching the pool table as another man reached for one of the cues on the wall.
“Ours,” said Seamus. The man frowned and toddled off.
Seamus handed her a cue and racked. “Eight ball?” he asked.
“Sure. You seem to know this place pretty well. Are you the manager?” she asked as she chalked her cue. Knowing he owned the place didn’t stop her from giving him a chance to tell her.
“It’s mine,” he said, beaming. “You want me to break?”
“Please.”
A girl arrived with another round of drinks and set them on a small corner table.
Seamus leaned over the table and broke the racked balls. The five ball spun into the corner pocket and he grinned.
“So what brings you to my fine establishment?” he asked, sinking the two.
I’m looking for an escaped serial killer.
“Just driving through on my way east.”
“Aye? East where?”
“Jupiter Beach. My sister lives there.”
They made more small talk and played a few games, Seamus winning every one.
Even though he played like a man whose game had only become passable since buying a bar with a pool table in it.
“We should be betting,” said Snookie. The whiskey had kicked in and she felt great.
“What would you like to bed? I mean, bet?” asked Seamus.
Cheeky monkey.
“How about a hundred?”
“A hundred dollars? Darlin’, you know I just beat you three times as easily as if I’d been born with a cue in my hand?”
“I feel like I’m warming up.”
“Nah, nah. I won’t take yer money.”
She moved to him and whispered in his ear. “Beat me and you can take me home.”
Seamus’s eyes bulged wide.
“For a nightcap. Just a nightcap,” she added.
“Right. Nightcap. And what do you want if you win?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe the same thing...” she purred.
It is so much fun to flirt again.
His eyes sparkled. “Deal.”
Snookie chalked her cue. “Will you be riding out the hurricane here?”
He nodded. “I live upstairs.”
Damn.
Her intel said he lived with Declan. Her plan had been to let him take her there.
“Seamus, they need you in the back,” called a voice.
Seamus pouted and rested his cue against the wall. “Just a moment, darlin’.” He walked off to disappear in the back.
Snookie chewed on her lip. She needed to be near Declan, Charlotte and Stephanie if she was going to find out whether Jamie had returned to their orbit.
Her gaze settled on a tray of dirty dishes sitting against the wall near the bathrooms. One plate had a half-eaten cob of corn on it.
She smiled.
There’s a thought.
She moved to the women’s bathroom door and, checking to make sure the stalls were unoccupied, locked the door and pulled it shut from the outside. She did the same with the men’s room.
She snatched the nibbled corn cob from the tray and bolted up the stairs where Seamus had insinuated his apartment was.
The top of the stairs opened into a small storage room decorated with barely more than a sofa, a scratched coffee table and an enormous flat screen television. Boxes, most with liquor brand logos stamped on their sides, lined every wall.
It didn’t take long to find Seamus’s personal bathroom. She jogged inside and, grimacing, pushed the corn cob down the toilet until she could no longer see it. Turning her head, she fought a gag reflex.
Gross.
Snookie washed her hands with body wash from the moldy shower and sprinted downstairs again.
Seamus hadn’t returned to the pool table. She huffed a sigh of relief.
A young woman tried the ladies’ room door and then queued up, thinking someone was inside.
Snookie smiled.
Let’s get this party started.
She motioned to the bathroom. “They’re broken.”
The girl’s face went white. “Both? The men’s, too?”
“You can use upstairs.”
The girl nodded and jogged upstairs. Several
