She shook her head, sheer panic clawing at her, as she studied the sleeping form on the bed in the dimly lit room.
Not Robbie.
Padraig’s clean-shaven face was peaceful as he slept.
Kelli’s brain was on system overload as she tried to figure out what was going on.
Padraig had been drunk last night. Very drunk. And sad about Mia and upset about almost losing Seamus.
Had he sought her out? For sex?
No.
Jesus, no. He wouldn’t do that. It didn’t make sense.
He shifted again and she reacted before she could think.
Escape.
The headache she’d thought bearable was now a blinding migraine, and she suddenly felt nauseous.
She had to get the fuck out of there.
Kelli quickly reached for her dress, shoving it on, only bothering to zip it halfway up her back.
Where the fuck are my shoes?
Downstairs. The rest of her stuff was downstairs.
Tiptoeing to the door, she left the room, managing to get her stuff and get out of the apartment—and closed pub—without running into anyone.
Dashing across the street in her ridiculous ballgown—talk about the ultimate Halloween walk of shame—she got into her car and stared out the windshield without seeing anything around her. Her hands were trembling as one thought kept beating a tempo in her aching head.
What the hell have I done?
Chapter Six
Kelli stood outside Pat’s Pub a week later and cursed herself for being such a damn coward. Running away last Saturday had been wrong. Stupid.
But she’d been hungover, shocked, and God…so freaked out.
So she’d gone home, taken some Advil, crawled into her own bed, and slept until dinnertime. After that, she’d gone on autopilot, sleepwalking through her days, tossing and turning all night.
At work, she was able to forget what they’d done before coming home and staring at her phone for hours, wondering and worrying what it meant that Padraig hadn’t called or texted her.
Then chastising herself for not calling or texting him.
On Wednesday, Padraig put her out of her misery.
Sort of.
He’d texted to see if she’d recovered from the party. She’d responded with one tentative word.
Yes.
Just yes.
Then he’d given her a “me too—barely,” followed by LOL and “See you Friday?”