He showed up at the bar just before midnight, and outside it had stared raining hard and cold. Stepping into Grayson's, Murphy combed his hands through his dark hair to rid it of some of moisture gathered there. He rubbed his hands together briskly and moved into the crowded pub. The patrons were drunk to varying degrees, but the vibe was good, and he spotted an empty stool at the bar, close to the taps. With a grin he set up house, shrugging off his damp coat and setting his cigarettes and lighter on the bar. He slung the rucksack from his shoulder and tucked it under the bar. He felt a little silly carting mashed potatoes and buttermilk through Southie, but he didn't want to have to double back to the flat to pick up things for breakfast in the morning, so he bit the bullet and loaded up his pack with everything he'd need.

An ashtray and a coaster appeared before him. "What can I get you?"

Murphy looked up at the masculine voice and frowned, quickly scanning the bar. "Eh… is Wren here?"

The guy behind the bar chuckled and began pulling a glass of Guinness. "You must be Murphy." He set the beer before the Irishman, earning him a curious look. "I'm Bryant." He held out his hand the two shook briefly. "Wren's on break," he continued, checking his watch. "Should be back in about fifteen minutes."

Murphy nodded and raised the pint that had been set before him. "Guess I'll find something to pass the time." He grinned and took a healthy swig.

Bryant chuckled. "Let me know if you need anything else. I'm sure Wren will take care of you when she gets back," he added with a crooked smile.

"Watch yerself, mate," Murphy countered with a raised eyebrow. "That's me girl yer talkin' 'bout." He lit a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke with his own crooked smile.

"Who's your girl?" Wren piped up as she appeared at Murphy's elbow. She plucked the cigarette from Murphy's hand and took a drag.

Murphy turned and took a long look at Wren. She wasn't dressed as fancy as she was last night, but the dark denim skirt hugged her hips and thighs wonderfully, even if he thought it was a tad too short. Her top was ivory, draping at the neck to show off her amazing collarbones, and she wore flat soled boots that went just over her knees. Murphy didn't miss the way Bryant gave her a once over (probably not that first for that evening), but played it cool, and instead grinned wickedly as he ticked his head back towards a booth of women on the other side of the bar.

"The redhead," he answered cheekily. "She's cute, aye?"

Wren rolled her eyes and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray with some force. "Oh yeah?"

Murphy nodded, sucking the beer foam from his upper lip. "Aye." He winked saucily and reached for another cigarette.


She didn't miss the way Murphy's eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on her hemline, but he kept his head and didn't go caveman on her – points for him. But the cheeky remark about the redhead across the bar? Wren couldn't ignore it, and wouldn't. She smiled wanly at Murphy and proceeded to turn on her heel and head straight for the booth, ignoring her name being called. She could feel his eyes on her back – no doubt beginning to darken as the open back of her blouse was revealed. She wasn't wearing a bra – again – and she could almost hear the wheels turning in Murphy's dark head.

The redhead in the booth was a regular, had some job or another downtown but liked to 'slum it' – her words, not Wren's – and teeter on the fine line that separated downtown Boston from the rest of the city. She came in almost every other night with her coven of bitches and drove Wren absolutely bonkers. They were never rude to her directly, but she knew well enough when people were talking about her. She also knew that the redhead was an outrageous and horrendous flirt when she'd had about four drinks. And since she only drank gimlets and Wren had made three of them so far, she guessed that the redhead was well on her way to being all kinds of fun.

"Ladies, how are we doing this evening?" Wren called out as she approached the table. She took a quick check of empties and then smiled at the women gathered in the booth. Christ (Lord's name! She heard Murphy's voice in her head scolding her), they all looked alike. Other than different hair colors, they all had the same skinny jeans, blousy tops, big jewellery, and bitchy, pinched in faces.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic 'great' and 'fabulous' and Wren had to fight to not roll her eyes at the nasally tone of the blonde that seemed attached at the hip to the redhead.

"Can we get you another round here?" Wren began collecting the empty glasses from the table and decided to sweeten the deal. "On the house – you ladies always grace us with your presence, it's the least we can do for such great regulars." She almost choked on the words spewing from her mouth, but she maintained her cool exterior.

Like anyone would pass down free booze, especially after that ass kissing. Wren took note of the beverage requests and smiled sweetly at the booth. "Be right back with those!"

She gave Murphy a wide berth as she made her way back to the bar. It would do no good for him to be pawing her; her plan would unravel before it was even executed. Instead she gave him a ghost of a smile at the curious look he was shooting her and stepped back behind the bar, depositing glasses and pulling clean ones to make her order.

"What are you up to?" Bryant muttered as he pretended to be looking for something on the top shelf of liquor bottles.

"Nothing!" Wren replied brightly.

"Bullshit, you avoid Genie and her minions on most days and now you willingly throw yourself into their midst?"

Wren shrugged it off. "Just helping out. I know that we're short staffed tonight. Hand me the Hendricks, will you?"

Bryant studied her for a moment, knowing damn well that his co worker was up to something devious. He said nothing for the moment. "I think your Irishman needs another beer," he said finally, before moving off.

Wren spun towards the bar and leaned back against the counter as her gaze met Murphy's. Bryant was right; the glass of Guinness sitting with Murphy was more than two thirds done. She sauntered to the taps and reached for a new glass from the cooler.

"Was it something I said, girl?" Murphy chuckled as he watched her pour the beer.

Wren shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about," she answered lightly.

Murphy's brow furrowed. "Something wrong?"

Ah, there it was, that bruised male ego – he was obviously picking up on her slightly stung attitude but he wasn't sure why she was feeling that way. "No," Wren answered gently, giving him a warm smile as she set his beer in front of him. "I'm on the clock, Murph… I don't want to be too obvious about…you know," she finished, gesturing slightly between her and him.

Murphy processed her words and then nodded. "Aye."

"Is Connor out with Pam tonight?"

"They took over the loft at ten and kicked me out."

Wren gave him a pointed stare. "You've been wandering about South Boston for almost two hours in the pouring rain?"

Murphy shrugged. "Went to Books on Tenth – they're open late on the weekends. Grabbed a coffee at the diner round' the corner from there."

"Did you have dinner?"

Murphy frowned a bit. "Come to think of it…I don't think I did."

Wren sighed playfully and set a menu before him. She couldn't do to Murphy what she had planned if he had an empty stomach. "Let me know what you want. I'll put it on my tab."

"Ye don't have ta…" Murphy began arguing.

"But I can," Wren interrupted. She left the menu with Murphy. "I'll be back in a few, okay?"

She didn't wait for an answer and instead busied herself with finishing off her drink order and then loading a tray with the finished products. She winked at Murphy as she balanced it on her hand and made her way back out into the bar.

She caught the tail end of the conversation as she approached the booth: "…dark hair and pea coat at the bar?" She smiled inwardly. This would be almost too easy.

"I've never seen him in here before," one of the women answered. As if on cue, all heads turned to Genie.

"New to the bar? Think I should go introduce myself?" Genie cackled and began running fingers through her fine copper hair.

Wren interrupted with their drinks. "Anything else right now?"

"Who's the dark haired guy at the bar?" one of them piped up.

Wren cast a glance back over her shoulder and then looked back to the booth with a shrug. "He's been in a few times before. Always sits at the bar. Always orders Guinness." Wren picked up another empty glass that had appeared in her absence. "I don't think he's from around here – he's got an accent."

That did the trick – the interest of all the females in the booth was piqued and they immediately began talking amongst themselves, chattering about accents and how it was obvious he was Irish if he was ordering Guinness. There were comments about the breadth of his shoulders and his lean build and Wren felt the first stirrings of possessiveness. Maybe this was going to far…

"I'm going to go talk to him," Genie announced as she slid from the booth. She stood, tall and statuesque to Wren's sleek and slender build, and eyed the bartender for a moment. "Is he hot?"

Wren chewed her lip. Was the Pope Catholic? Yes, Murphy was hot, all kinds of, to be exact, but she couldn't offer that up, could she? "I guess." She affected boredom. "Dark hair, blue eyes, tattoos, accent."

"Oh, go for it, Genie! He's here alone, he hasn't spoken to anyone except for the bartenders since he got here."

Christ (Lord's Name! Murphy's voice yelled in her head again), these women were sharks! She wouldn't be surprised if they surrounded Murphy, circling, and each one darted in to take a bite. Genie was already stalking across the bar, a little shimmy in her hips with each step. Balancing her tray, Wren dashed to get a front row seat behind the bar.