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Chapter Three
Asmooth hand brushed my hair, and the smell of an intoxicating perfume filled my nostrils. It was vaguely familiar, and I prised open my eyes to the sight of Daisy’s piercing eyes staring down at me. “I’m only kidding, you don’t have to work. You must be tired after your flight.”
Slowly, I sat up and brushed my hair back from my face just like Daisy had been trying to do. She stared back at me a frown. “I should have left you sleeping,” she said, looking disappointed with herself.
“No. I’m glad you woke me. I’d have hated to have missed my shift at the dance.”
“Ceilidgh,” she corrected me with a smile. “It’s an Irish dance.”
“Ah, right… Ceilidgh,” I replied.
“You’ll want to put on a clean shirt,” she stated.
I leaned down and sniffed my armpits and Daisy prodded playfully at one of my pectoral muscles.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with the way you smell, but I’ll have a hard time not jumping you if you don’t get something on that smells more like detergent… and don’t be putting on any more of that cologne either. I’ve been squeezing my thighs together since the first time I hugged you.”
A wide smile spread on my lips and I shook my head as she shoved herself away from me. For a moment I figured the dilemma she mentioned was real.
“Ten minutes, Jamie no later… and you’ll be needing another name to throw everyone off the scent, no pun intended. How does Barney sound?”
“Fucking awful,” I remarked and chuckled.
“Ah, Barney it is then. With those looks I’ll need all the help I can get to fight off competition, so anything that detracts from that smoking hot body and those fuck-me-now eyes is a winner.”
“Daisy, you need to stop with the compliments or I’ll be getting the idea you’ve got designs on me.”
“Designs? You’re fecking Gucci, Prada, and Louis V all rolled into one.”
“They’re the designers, not designs,” I replied.
“Whatever. If you were wearing them, they’d look great on my bedroom floor. Come, you’ve only got five minutes now.”
Once again, Daisy didn’t hang around, and left me scrambling to make myself presentable as Barney, the glass collector.
Grabbing a cotton t-shirt from my bag, I turned on the shower and spent all of three minutes washing the grime of my journey away. It had to have been one of the quickest changes in my history as I stood eyeing myself in the mirror, dressed in a navy-blue t-shirt and my only fresh pair of jeans.
Once I had combed my wet hair back from my face I emptied the pockets of my other jeans and found my phone, but without a charger I was sunk unless I could find someone to lend me theirs.
No-one appeared to use the new smartphone my assistant had bought for me and I wished I’d stuck with the two major companies that were universal. Tossing my phone on the nightstand, I made a mental note to ask Daisy to use her internet and turned on my heel to head down to the bar.
“Can I borrow the internet and a tablet or something?”
Daisy spun, took one look at me and quickly shoved me back into the small room behind the bar.
“Oh no you don’t,” she said in an urgent bossy tone. “No way are you walking around my bar with your wet hair and your shiny clean face. You look like sin personified and you’ll be a magnet for the women. I have a hairdryer somewhere,” she informed me, ignoring my original question.
“Aw you want to keep me for yourself?” I replied as I teased her.
“Damn straight. I’m not having women hitting on you all night otherwise I may get barred from my own pub for fighting.”
“Fighting? Like strip to the waist fighting, or mud wrestling? Oh wait, a paddling pool full of jello?”
“Not funny, you have no idea the effect you have on women, Jamie Fontaine.”
“Tsk… Barney,” I said, correcting her with the stupid name she had chosen.
“Whatever. Let me get that hairdryer for you,” she offered as she shrugged her shoulders.
