Too late to take the money back now without looking like a crazy person, though. And between crazy and an easy lay, I think I’ll go with the latter.

Flushed, I back away. Malachy leans forward, grabs my wrist, and tugs at it. Electric heat courses through my veins, like a snakebite. I gasp.

I’m staring down at my shoes, but he crouches and peeks into my face, a brash, lopsided grin playing on his lips.

“Any requests, Baroness Rothschild of good fortune?” he drawls.

Can I get my money back? I need to buy you drinks with it so you can tell me about my father, I try to convey to him with what I’m sure is a sweet-but-seriously-psycho look.

“None that I can think of.” I slant my gaze sideways, playing nonchalant but secretly wanting to die.

Bright side: I’m no longer thinking about my dead father. Silver lining and so forth.

“The Copacabana!” someone suggests.

“Cavan Girl!” another shouts.

“Dick in a Box!”

Malachy looks around and laughs, and the minute his eyes leave my face, the warmth is snatched away. Still, his rolling laughter is like hot wax seeping into my stomach.

He straightens up. “Who’s the rale Bulgarian who suggested that?”

Some guy in a green beret and orange tweed jacket raises his hand and waves his fingers.

“Not Bulgarian, English.” He grins smugly.

“Jesus, much worse,” Malachy deadpans, and everyone around us erupts in more laughter.

I use the opportunity to gentle my pulse back to normal, smiling along. Ha-ha indeed.

Malachy swaggers back to his spot and secures his guitar strap over his shoulder. He has the slender, yet muscular body of someone who works in the field, not in the gym. He points the guitar pick at me, and everyone’s heads turn to see who he’s pointing at.

“I’m not keen on girls who don’t know what they want.” He quirks a dark, thick eyebrow. “But I’ve a feeling you’re here to change that.”

He starts playing, and maybe it’s because I’m feeling small and vulnerable and broken, but I allow myself to cave to the sound of him, close my eyes and let go. I can tell this one is an original, because I don’t know the lyrics. It’s too good not to be a hit. He sings it completely differently from the way he did “One.” Like every single word cuts through his flesh. A welt, a scar, a burning thing.

Weakness, hate, desire,

How I’d love to light your soul on fire,

In a room full of pretty lost girls and bad broken boys,

You will find me, dip me in ice, and drown all the white noise,

I want to see the world through your eyes and fall in love,

But most of all, I am frightened you don’t really exist,

Because then my fairytale has no beauty,

Just a sad, lonely beast.

This guy can move me without touching me, and touch me without laying a finger on me. His grandfather was right. He’s trouble.