Then.

I met the MacManus brothers on a sullen St. Patrick's Day when I was twenty-one. Fresh from the pile of college drop-outs, I'd moved my way from Sacramento, California to Boston, Massachusetts with my shitbag of a boyfriend only a month before as somewhat of a rebellious act against my parents. After a long, drawn-out fight, I found myself alone at an Irish pub down the street from our apartment.

When I first opened the doors to McGinty's, I was greeted like I was already part of a family that regularly had dinners together every Sunday night. A crowd of drunken men cheered upon my arrival and lifted their glasses toward me. I flashed a shy smile and edged myself onto a table furthest from the bar. I just wanted a few hours alone to watch people make idiots of themselves.

"Evenin', lass!" an old man practically yelled as he approached me. He wore a black apron, so I automatically assumed he worked there. "Wh-What'll ye be havin'? Fuck! Ass!"

His outburst startled me to the point of cowering from him, pushing my hair to cover my left eye. I didn't mean to – it was just that I didn't think I could take that level of voice again. Almost instantly, his smile dropped into a hard frown. "So-Sorry," I stammered. "I'm just a little on edge right now."

"My ap-ap-apologies," the man stuttered, this time much calmer. "Got a b-b-bit of Tourettes, I do. C-Can't help it." He held a giant hand out toward me, flashing his smile again. "A b-bit new to the area, are ya? Ain't s-seen yer face b'fore. Ya can c-call me D-D-Doc."

Before I could shake his hand, two men appeared at his side, wrapping their arms around his neck in a playful manner. They both looked to be in their mid-twenties. "Doc?" one of them questioned in a heavy Irish accent. "Don't ya mean yer name is Fuck-Ass?" Exchanging cocky glances, the two broke out into a melodious laughter.

I fought back my own smile as I slipped my hand into Doc's. "Its nice to meet you," I told him, wondering if he actually heard me. The two men stumbled into the seats across from me. The first thing I noticed was the matching tattoos on the left side of their necks. I couldn't make out what they were, though.

The two each held their opposing hands out to me. I could almost see the drunken haze in their eyes. "Connor," the first said, a tattoo reading "Veritas" running along his pointer finger.

"Murphy," the other added. "Aequitas" had been tattooed in the same spot as the other.

"MacManus," they finished simultaneously. "The pleasure is ours."

I felt an overwhelming sense of humiliation as I placed my hands into theirs. They brought my knuckles to their lips and gently planted a kiss on my skin. At first, I wanted to yank my hands from them, but the last thing I wanted was to come off as rude, especially in a town where I basically had nobody.

"Ridley Gillespie," I said, paying notice to the blush forming on my face. "You're brothers?"

"Twins, actually," Murphy replied, grinning at his brother. "Fraternal, o'course. If only we'd been identical, Connor would've gotten my good looks. Poor bastard."

Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Ay, Fuck-Ass! Get this lass a drink, would ya?" he yelled, even though Doc was standing only a foot from us. The old man smacked the back of Connor's head with his palm.

"I'm tr-tryin', ya little shit!" he barked, spittle flying into the younger man's hair. "If ya would shut the hell up f-for two se-seconds!"

I shrunk back into my chair, hoping and praying that Doc wouldn't ask me what kind of drink I wanted. The world of alcohol was still so new to me that I had no idea of any names to tell him. I tried to remember what my mother would drink back home. It was the name of a famous actress, I knew that much. Curly hair...dimples...God, what was her name?

"Can I have a, um," I started once the three paused in their bickering, "uh, a Shir...Shirley, um..."

"A Shirley Temple?" Connor finished for me, the look of pure disgust written on his face. I nodded slowly. "Ya want that?"

My eyes darted from his face, to Murphy's, then finally to Doc's. "U-Um, I think so," I mumbled. It felt as if I'd just been scolded by a parent.

Beside him, Murphy broke out into another drunken fit of laughter. "Yeah, Fuck-Ass! Get the girl a Shirley Temple!" he hollered, peeking sideways at me. I nibbled on my bottom lip uncomfortably, inconspicuously tilting my head for more cover of my hair. "Heavy on the ginger ale! She'd get a helluva buzz from that, yeah?"

Doc glared at the two men, then cast a softer gaze toward me. "Sw-Sweetheart, Shirley T-Temples are v-v-virgins."

It was like I'd stepped into an entirely different world with a whole new language. "Virgins?" I repeated. "How can a drink never have sex before?" At this, the twins started to laugh again. Connor slammed his palm on the table, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. Murphy curled over, holding his gut with his arms. I suddenly felt like running far from the pub.

Doc's face turned crimson as he curled his hands into fists and drove them into the back of their heads. "Sh-Shut the f-f-fuck up, you two!" he yelled.

After grunting in pain, the brothers lifted their eyes to me and mumbled, "Apologies."

"What do you suggest I order then?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

Murphy didn't hesitate to form his lips into a wide smile and say, "Whiskey sour. Actually, make it three, Fuck-Ass!"