Let me just start off by saying that I'm not really a "beer girl".

I don't particularly enjoy the taste of it. If I'm being honest, I prefer embarrassingly girly drinks with vodka or rum. So really, there is no reason for me to spend so much time at McGinty's sipping flat beer. But I'm there all the damn time.

Why, you might ask?

Well, I'll tell you. It's because of this damn-fine Irish dickhead who barely gives me the time of day but who I still find myself drooling over at the most inopportune moments. He's always there, laughing and boozing it up with his equally attractive twin brother. They have quite a following at McGinty's. People love them and I am no exception. But I'm not close to them; I can't seem to find my way into their inner circle. I'm not one of the girls they take home at the end of the evening.

I'm the weirdo who sits alone at the bar, fending off drunken come-ons from men I don't even see because I'm so busy staring at Murphy.

Tonight, he's sitting alone, nursing a beer and half-way listening to the rambling of his hairy Italian friend. I can hardly hear the guy but it sounds like he's telling some kind of joke about cantaloupes and goats. I don't even want to know.

I'm lost in watching the way Murphy's long fingers rub the condensation off his sweaty glass when someone stumbles into me from behind, almost knocking me off my stool.

"Sorry, sweetheart," the man mumbles, moving on without a second glance.

Fuck. I stand up, feeling cold beer trickling down my back. So gross. I have to go to the bathroom and see if I can clean myself up. I spare a glance across the bar but Murphy is gone. Well, this night is going straight to hell.

I stumble a bit as I round the corner for the bathroom, cursing the dim lighting and uneven wood flooring.

And there he is. The object of my obsession.

He is slouched against the wall, smoking and peering up at the ceiling blankly. I can't help but to swallow hard, trying to still the iron butterflies pummeling my stomach. On wobbly legs, I creep closer to him, smiling a bit weakly when he glances my way.

"Hi," I say softly, my voice sounding a bit croaky to my own ears.

He acknowledges me with a dip of his head, blowing a cloud of smoke over my head.

"Waiting for someone?" I ask, looking up and down the hall curiously as I lean into the wall beside him.

"Aye," he answers softly around the cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes raking across me.

I can feel my cheeks growing hot under his scrutiny so I clear my throat, searching my muddled brain for something, anything, to say.

"Your brother isn't around tonight?" I finally ask.

"Oh, he's around," he chuckles and it sounds like a cat purring as he jerks his head towards the door beside him.

I lean forward to look around him and frown when I see he's motioning to the door that leads to some kind of storage closet.

"Oh…uh, okay."

I try to urge my feet to move on past him and in the direction of the ladies room but they won't go. His cool, blue gaze has me pinned to the spot even though it's clear that nothing is coming of this clumsy interaction.

Then his hand shoots out and grabs my arm and I could swear that I'm going to die. Honestly, my knees go a little weak when his rough fingers stroke slowly down my inner arm to my wrist, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand closes around mine, tight around the fingers and I feel the breath leave my lungs. Then I feel him flip my arm over, his eyes dropping to the watch around my wrist.

He takes one last drag as he releases me, dropping the cigarette to the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. Then he flashes me a knowing, crooked smile as he opens the door beside him and steps inside. I catch the slightest glimpse of him shedding his pea-coat before the door closes firmly behind him. There's a stern click as a lock is slid into place from the inside.

I stand there in shock for what must be a good two to three minutes, staring at the empty space where he'd stood. Where he'd stood and touched me. My skin is positively tingling from the contact. It's pathetic but I'm still a little weak in the knees.

I slide a little closer to the door, pressing my ear to it curiously. I can hear the faint, muffled sounds of something keening, moaning. What the hell? Is someone giving birth in there? Are they slaughtering an animal?

The low sounds of masculine laughter and grunting reach my ears next and suddenly it's clear exactly what they're doing in there. A female voice cries out sharply and I jerk away as if I've been burned. My feet suddenly find the will to move and then I'm running for the bathroom.

I'm embarrassed to admit that even that incident doesn't turn me off Murphy in the slightest. If anything, it turns me on more, damn him. I'm still sitting at the bar when the brothers emerge a little over half an hour later looking a bit rumpled but overly satisfied with themselves.

The crowd has thinned a bit but the people left are rowdier than ever. They greet the brothers as returning heroes so I guess it's obvious to everyone what they've been up to. An anonymous blonde girl stumbles out from behind them on wobbly knees and heads straight for the door, keeping her head down and ignoring the laughter her disheveled appearance incites.

I can feel my face burning again as Murphy catches my eye and grins. Jesus Christ, he must think I'm such an idiot. I guess I was the only one who didn't know he was waiting around to join in on a threesome with his brother. The only one who thought it might be a good time to chat him up. I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life.

I stare down at my beer, suddenly feeling a little sick. I don't even want to drink this shit. What's the point? I just want to go home. I push it away and when I look up, he's still looking at me but he's suddenly right next to me, perching on the empty stool to my left.

I jerk back in surprise and that mysterious, crooked smile is back.

"Everything alright, girlie?" he asks with that delightful Irish accent, leaning against the bar and watching me fumble with my wallet.

"Fine, everything is fine," I mutter, my fingers trembling.

"You look a little…" he shrugs, gesturing lazily with his hands as if he can't find the word he's looking for.

"Yeah," I shrug too, still feeling that nauseated ache in the pit of my stomach, "I feel a little…whatever, so I'm heading home."

"You walking?" he asks, tapping his fingers absently against the wood. My eyes are drawn to them but I finally manage to nod and he grins, climbing to his feet, "Well then, let me walk you home."

For a moment, I just stare at him in shock.

Finally his brow arches and I have to ask, "Why?"

His eyes narrow slightly as if he can't figure me out, "Why not?"

I can't think of anything else to say, so with a giddy feeling bubbling in my chest, we head out the door together, chased by a myriad of catcalls from his brother and friends. I distinctly hear his brother calling out "Two in one night, Murph?" and I'm horrified but Murphy waves them off with a smirk and then we're out in the cool, quiet night air. Alone. Together.

And…I still don't know what to say.

"I don't think I've ever caught your name," Murphy says as we head off down the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette and offering one to me.

I don't really smoke but I nod anyway and he passes the lit one to me before lighting another for himself.

"Nicole," I answer quietly, feeling the burning in my lungs as I inhale and struggling not to cough.

"Nicky alright?" he glances over at me and I nod, "How far to your place, Nicky?"

"A few blocks," I reply, managing to exhale a puff of smoke without coughing, only to be utterly impressed by the neat little smoke rings floating away from him, "How do you do that?"

"It's all in the tongue," he answers mischievously, winking at me when I look up at him.

"Impressive," I say simply, unable to come up with anything else.

He watches me for a few steps, I can see him out of the corner of my eye as he nods and says, "Aye."

All too soon, we're in front of my apartment building and I'm fumbling in my pocket for my key. He leans his lanky form against the door, chewing on his thumbnail, and I'm horrified as he watches my trembling fingers struggle to unlock the door.

Finally, I manage to insert the key and the lock gives way. He smiles, reaching behind him to twist the doorknob. The door swings open and he steps aside, bowing slightly and motioning me into the hallway with a flourish.

"Thanks," I answer hoarsely, squeezing past him through the doorway.

I'm so close to him I can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the faint scent of beer and cigarettes and something deeper and muskier.

He closes the door behind us and clears his throat as I start for the stairs.

I turn to him in surprise, taking in his raised brows and expectant look, "What?"

He snorts, "Well, can I come up?"

I freeze, unsure of what exactly he's asking. Then I ask myself, does it matter? If there anything he might want from me that I wouldn't be okay with? Hell no. I'm just dreading trying to continue making small talk with him when I clearly can't think straight with him nearby. But at this point, surely he doesn't expect sparkling conversation out of me.

I bite my lip and he looks as if he's about to say something but I finally agree, "Sure. Come on up, it's just the second floor."

I hurry up the stairs and spare a glance over my shoulder as I hear his heavy footsteps following me. He's so blatantly staring at my ass that I can't help but giggle a bit hysterically. He doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed; he just smiles rakishly up at me.

Unlocking my door is another awkward struggle but he is mercifully silent. I hurry inside, dropping my purse by the door as I flick on a lamp. I hear him taking off his coat behind me but when I turn, he's standing much closer than I'd expected. I gasp a little and he chuckles at me, tossing his coat past me onto the coffee table.

"I-I'm just going to go…" I motion towards my bedroom and he nods as I start to back away, "Make yourself comfortable, you know. There are drinks in the fridge if you want something."

I hurry into my room, frantically checking my hair and makeup and wondering if I should change into something "more comfortable" or if that would be too weird, too obvious. I hear rustling in the kitchen and the squeaking of the refrigerator door opening.

"You don't have any beer?" he calls out as I'm dragging a brush through my hair.

"No, sorry, I don't like beer!" I answer absently, shivering at the thought that he's actually standing in my kitchen right now.

He doesn't say anything and I finally open the door, halfway satisfied with my appearance. He's leaning against my kitchen counter and looking pretty damn smug.

"What?" I ask curiously, my hands automatically dropping to tug at my shirt self-consciously.

He moves towards me, "You don't like beer, eh?"

"No," I say a bit breathlessly as he stops just a step away.

"So tell me why you spend so much time at McGinty's drinking them, eh girlie?" His lips twist up into a smirk as his eyes burn into mine.

I don't know how to answer that but I don't think he expects me to. He slides his hands around my waist, his skin searing hot against mine, and yanks me against him roughly. My hands grapple for purchase, settling on his biceps. I can feel the muscles flex under the thin material of his sweater.

He ducks his head, his lips stopping just a breath away from mine as his eyes search my face. I'm practically limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the nearness of him.

Then his lips are touching mine, lightly at first, just testing the waters. And then they're surging against mine, rough and hot and wet. I can feel the rough stubble on his chin rasping against my skin. His hands slide up my back, yanking at my hair and my head falls back with a moan, my lips opening to his. His tongue slides against mine, and that's it. My knees actually give out. So embarrassing.

He clutches me tight against his body to keep me upright, his free hand on my ass pressing my pelvis into his. He grinds his hips slowly, deliciously against mine, forcing me to feel the scorching heat and the growing hardness there. I moan again and the desperate sound erupting from my own throat barely manages to break through the haze in my brain.

His mouth breaks away from mine as he takes a ragged breath, firm hands still holding me upright as I gasp for air.

"I should go," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my face.

I feel the stab of disappointment, of self-doubt, "Why?"

"Don't want to be starting something you won't be able to finish," he chuckles, that gravelly purring sound that makes my mouth water, and I can feel the rumbling in his chest.

"What?" I say stupidly, my poor brain still too overheated to process his meaning.

"I don't think you're that kind of girl," he says, his hands slowly leaving my body as if he's waiting to see if I can stand on my own again, "Are you?"

My knees are like jelly but I manage to stay upright as he takes a step back, "What kind of girl do you mean?"

He smiles as if I've just confirmed his theory, "A one-night-stand kind of girl."

My gaze drops to the floor, to his heavy boots, well-worn and lazily tied. I don't know what to say. I don't want him to leave. More than anything, I want him to stay. But not if it means being with him would only be a one-time thing. I know I'm too greedy for that. To know what he sounds like, smells like, and feels like when he's fucking me but then never have it again? Better to have never had him than to have him once and then lose him, right? Fuck.

I finally manage a nod and his fingers slip under my chin, tilting it up until I'm looking him in the eye. He's still smiling, damn him. He leans in, pressing a quick kiss against my lips before crossing the room to pick up his coat.

He pauses at the door, looking at me over his shoulder for a moment before calling out, "See ya around, Nicky."

I hardly sleep that night. I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning, throwing the sheet off and then tugging it back over me. My feet kick against the mattress, frustrated and disappointed as I replay the night's events in my head. When I finally drift off, I dream of him and wake up sweaty a few hours later when my alarm goes off. Damn him.