Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(49)

My hangover is suddenly forgotten. “What’d you have in mind?”

He shrugs. “I figured I’d teach you how to drive on the right side of the road, maybe?” We share a chuckle. “Then maybe see an artist about some ink.” A pause. “Unless you’d rather get that sleep.”

“Yeah. No . . . I mean . . .” I stumble over my words with excitement. “That all sounds great.” Any time with you is good. “When do you have to be at work?”

He glances at his watch. “In three hours. So I’ll pick you up in an hour? Is that enough time?”

I nod, holding my breath as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek.

I watch his easy movements as he runs down my path. Much like he did last night. Only the dread I felt before is gone, replaced with anticipation.

I tear up my stairs toward the shower, peeling my clothes off as I go, the throb in my head forgotten.

My chest heaves with relief as I park.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?” River sits in the passenger seat of his car, his legs splayed, his elbow resting on the armrest. The picture of calm. As if I didn’t go the wrong way down a roundabout and almost crash his car and put us in the hospital.

“I’m actually a good driver,” I promise, peeling my white-knuckled fingers off the steering wheel to open my driver’s-side door and climb out. His car is just like my car at home, only backwards. And everything about driving these streets feels wrong. Except having River here, beside me.

“I believe you. It’s not your fault.” He meets me at the front of the car and entwines his fingers within mine, a sly smirk turning his lip. “You’re just used to driving on the wrong side of the road.”

I smile, his harmless teasing so much more appealing because of the way he says it. I’ve had to ask some of the locals I’ve met to repeat themselves, their accents are so thick. “What part of Ireland are you from?”

“Northern. We grew up in County Louth, just south of the border.” He leads me past the heavy yellow door of The Fine Needle. “Why?”

“Because I can actually understand you. It’s nice.”

His laughter fills the quiet cave-like shop that I’ve now been in twice in twenty-four hours. Somehow it feels different this time.

Ivy is standing at the computer, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, highlighting the shaved sides of her head. Her gaze bores into the forehead of a heavyset woman with a dozen rings through her left ear—much like Ivy’s piercings—who is busy scribbling her signature across the bottom of a sheet of paper. “First room on the left. I’ll be there in five minutes,” she instructs the woman with a light tone that I assume is reserved for clients. She even flashes a polite close-mouthed smile her way as she points in the direction. Urging the woman to move.

As soon as the customer is out of sight, Ivy tosses the clipboard with the signed waiver to the side, that professional smile replaced with a scowl.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

She rounds the desk, her knee-high boots exchanged for low ones and black leggings. The giant plum-colored shirt that reaches mid-thigh looks more like a potato sack than an article of clothing. “Like I want to stab myself in the eye with my needle,” she says, deadpan. “Seriously, I probably should cancel my appointments for the day and just throw myself into a well.”

“So you would recommend that I wait to get this done?” River grins, pulling a tucked sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolding it for her. It’s the same stag that’s on the Delaney T-shirts.

“If you want me to do it, then yeah. That woman back there?” She drops her voice and thumbs back toward where her customer left. “She’s so screwed. My cousin, Ian, could maybe do it for you today, though. If you don’t want to wait.”

“You said he’s not as good as you, though.”

“Not even close.”

“I’ll wait for you, then. If you think you can do a good job of this.”

“Oh, I can do a great job of that.”

River smiles, reaching out to pinch my elbow. “What about you? You want Ivy to mark that perfect skin of yours?”

“Are you kidding?” Now Ivy’s brows spike. “I’m not putting a tattoo on Miss Sheriff’s Daughter. She’ll have something to hang over my head until the day I die. I’ll never be able to go back to Oregon. Not that I’m missing much.”

I glare at her.

“I take it you two didn’t just meet yesterday.”

“You actually believed that?” Ivy snorts. “Alright, I’ve got to get back there now, before I kill myself.” She drags her feet as she turns to leave.

“So I guess you wouldn’t be interested in going out with us tonight, then?” River asks.

And my heart rate skips a few beats. This is new.

Ivy stops and turns, that owl-like gaze of hers shuttering between the two of us. “The three of us?”

“Four. My brother, Rowen, will come out, too. You remember him from last night?”

“The grinning Irishman. Yeah.”

I don’t even have to ask to know that Rowen isn’t her type, despite his being charming and hot. Her type is broody and dark. Basically, my brother.

“So you’ll come? We’d love for you to come.” He ropes an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. “Right, Amber?”