Mismatched (19 page)

We park far from the edge and walk to the cliffs, ignoring all the silly danger signs.

“We haven’t drunk enough to worry about falling,” says Erin. To my Guinness-buzzed brain this makes perfect sense.

Donal walks in my general vicinity but not exactly close to me, which pisses me off. I get the sense that he’s once again acting like nothing passed between us earlier today when he knows very well it did. Why else would he jump into a moving Bambino? I turn my nose up and walk faster.

Erin’s trying to act nonchalant about
Micheál being there, but she keeps looking at him and her expression is so hopeful and sad at the same time, it’s sickening. I try several times to get her attention to tell her to knock it off, but she can’t see me. She only has eyes for the Irishman with the half smile and the admittedly great shoulders.

“So, this is your first time at the Cliffs?” Donal says, getting a little closer to me.

“Yep.” I look sideways at him and catch his expression. It matches his wary tone. “Is there something about this place you don’t like or what?”

He turns his gaze to me. “Why do you ask that?”

I shrug. “Because. You look like you’re expecting to see a ghost.”

He looks at the ground and a bitter smile appears for just a few seconds before it disappears again. “No. No ghosts.”

Micheál stops abruptly, his attention shifting from Erin to Donal. He looks stricken. “Oh, Donal, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight when I agreed we’d come.
”

Everyone but Donal stops walking. Erin and I are instantly curious about what’s going on.
Micheál sounds really regretful
. I expect Donal to say something, but he doesn’t. He just keeps on going, right up to the edge of the cliffs. He looks out into the moonlit night, the breeze from the sea ruffling his hair around his head.

“What’s going on?” Erin asks
Micheál.

Micheál shakes his head, looking at the ground. “It’s not for me to say.” He looks up with a rueful smile. “Come on, then. Let’s have a look.”

I follow behind everyone, wondering what the big secret is.

Erin and Micheál wander off to the left until they disappear into the dark, leaving me to either follow them and be the third wheel that keeps them from the hanky panky we swore not to indulge in or to join Donal, the guy who obviously wants nothing to do with me tonight, other than to hitch a ride in my car to the edge of a cliff.

I sigh heavily as I choose door number two, stopping when I get to Donal's side.

“Wow.” The view takes my breath away, making me momentarily forget my position as unwanted person in the group. Whoever made those warning signs was not kidding. It
is
dangerous up here. And gorgeous. Looking down at the moonlit white-capped waves and rock formations way below me, I can almost imagine why people would choose this spot to end it all. I mean, if you’re going to go, let your last sight be of one of the most beautiful places in the world, right?

Donal just stares out into the water, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. When I see him in profile, I think that Ireland’s tourism board should put him on a postcard. This country’d be overflowing with tourists every day of the year.

“Soooo …,” I hesitate, wondering if I even want answers to the questions that are percolating in my brain, “…I guess you and this place have a history, eh?” I shove my hands in my pockets too. It helps ease both the awkwardness and the bone-deep cold I’m feeling. It’s frigging freezing up here on the edge of the world.

“You could say that,” he says with a coarse voice.

“Do you come here often?” I say, trying for a joke, but failing miserably when I see his reaction.

His chin drops almost to his chest. “No. Haven’t been here in a long while.”

“Did you used to come here with a girlfriend or something?”

“I came here once with someone I cared about, yes.”

“Did she break up with you?” I could imagine that would hurt, being dumped in a place so magical. It would make you think all the good had been sucked out of your life permanently.

“Not exactly.” His head lifts up and he takes in a long breath. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

I shrug, trying not to be offended. “No, it’s fine. No problem. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to.” I shift so I’m facing a little away from him, looking out into the darkness, trying to ease the sting of his obvious rejection with a careless attitude. A beam of moonlight reflects off the top of the water, making me imagine that God has a big old flashlight and he’s searching for something at the bottom of the cliffs. Something or someone.

“They say lots of people commit suicide here,” I mention without thinking. A half second later, I want to slap myself in the face. If he was dumped here, he sure doesn’t want to talk about suicide. Hell, maybe he contemplated jumping himself.

“Yes, they do.”

I hear gravel crunching and turn around in time to see Donal walking back to the car. My jaw drops as I realize I’m being ditched. Am I that unattractive that I’m not even worth standing next to on a pretty night? Are my conversational skills so wanting that it’s more fun to sit in an empty car than to exchange a few words with me? Man, I really have lost my touch. No wonder I’m so confused over here. The Irish and I function on a totally different wavelength.

“Would you come away from the edge a bit?” Donal says from behind me. He’s stopped halfway to the Bambino.

“I’m not near the edge.” Something inside me makes me take a step closer. There’s a good ten feet between me and the edge; I don’t know what he’s worried about.

He seems agitated. “Now, don’t go doin’ that, lass.”

I look over my shoulder. Did he really just call me lass? And did it really just make my heart flip in my chest cavity? I take another step towards the edge. “Worried about me?” I ask in my saucy sexy voice.

His face hardens. “I mean it. Don’t take another step. I won’t be there to save ye. You’ll be on your own.”

I smile. “Is that what you said to the girl who dumped you?” Of course I meant it as a joke, but when I see his expression, I know I’ve hit a nerve and gone way too far.

He looks positively sick, like he’s going to vomit, and then he turns and lurches into the darkness, passing the car at a fast clip.

I turn around and run after him. “Donal, wait! I’m sorry! I was just joking! Why are you so upset?” I hate myself for what I’ve done and I don’t even know what it is.

I’m almost caught up to him when he answers. He’s definitely mad. “You know exactly why, and I cannot imagine why you think it’s something worth joking about.”

“No, I really don’t know why, I promise.” I’m running out of breath, trying to chase after him in my heeled boots. My ankle keeps threatening to sprain itself whenever I land on a rock wrong. “Please slow down. I’m going to break something trying to keep up with you.”

“Just go back to the car. I’ll walk to town.”

“You can’t walk back, don’t be …
Ack!”
My ankles can only take so much, and now they’re done for the night. I stepped on a really big stone and my joint has given way, sending me to the ground. My knee is stinging like hell after its impact with the ground, so I know there’s going to be blood involved. Looking down, I see a gaping hole in my jeans at the knee.

“Oh, no, my pants!” I try to sit up into a less embarrassing position, but then the pain in my leg makes itself really clear and I stop worrying about appearances. “Oh, shit … I mean poop. Poop, my ankle…” I have no idea why I’m suddenly concerned that he’ll hate me for using swear words. What do I care what he thinks of my colorful language? He’s probably halfway to Lisdoonvarna by now.

And then out of the darkness his giant form appears. Donal stops next to me and crouches down, his expression unreadable. “Are ye okay?”

It’s then that I notice the heel has broken clean off my boot. These are my favorite pair in the entire world! Now I’m really pissed. This is all his fault. Why did he go running off like a little brat, leaving me all alone on the cliffs? What kind of gentleman does that?

“No, I’m
not
okay. Clearly I’m not okay, since I’m sitting here on this wet ground and my favorite boots are ruined.” I grab the heel and hold it up so he can see it’s not where it belongs.

He holds his hand out. “Here, let me help you get up.”

I slap his hand away. “No, go away. You’ve already done enough.”

He stands. “Me? I’ve done enough? What have I done?” He sounds genuinely confused, so I decide not to completely unload all my frustration and anger on him.

“You left me standing out here in the middle of the night. It’s dark, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You have a lift back. The car’s right there.” He points to the Bambino.

I get to my feet, putting most of my weight on the boot that still has a heel. I have the errant heel in my hand and I use it to point for emphasis. Sarcasm laces every word.

“Yes. Thank you. The car is over
there
, and yet you are over
there
. Walking in the opposite direction of said car. And why is that? Because you’re a brat.”

“A brat.”

“Yes, that’s what I said. You’re a brat.”

“Why? Because I decided to walk home?”

“No, because you got mad at something I said, pretended like you weren’t mad, and then left in a huff.”

His chin backs up into his neck. “I never leave in a huff. I’ve never left anywhere in a huff in all my life.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” I lift my chin. ”Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go sit in the car, in the dark, by myself, and wait for my friend to come back with the keys and bring me and my twisted ankle home.”

I try to leave with flair, but my plan is foiled when my ankle gives out. I barely catch myself, walking towards the car looking like drunken fool. “I’ve only had one beer!” I shout.

He’s next to me after only a few short steps. “I’m not a brat.”

“Says the guy who acted exactly like a brat.” I accept his offer of help, that help being a shoulder to lean on and an arm behind my waist, but I refuse to look at him.

“And I’m pretty sure I saw you drinking two beers at the pub.” He pauses. “When you were matchmaking.”

I sigh really loud because I don’t have time for his stupid games. Does he like me, or doesn’t he? You’d think not, but then he has that jealous tone when he drops the little hint about me matchmaking. I stop at the car and turn to look at him.

“Listen, Donal, I’m leaving here in less than a week. There’s no point in us playing games, okay? It is what it is.”

He stands there and blinks at me a few times.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

He moves a little closer, staring at my mouth.

I’m a little nervous now, but not in a worried kind of way … more like in a he’s totally hot and I can’t tell what he’s thinking way, but that mouth of his makes me have some very naughty thoughts.

I decide to try again, hoping the words will convince us both. “I just said I’m not going to play games with you.”

He stops when he’s just a couple inches away and bends down to kiss me on the lips. Compared to the freezing cold night, his lips are like fire, they’re so warm. My heart leaps and swings around and dances a jig inside me. I hate that I’m so easily bent to his will.

I yank my head back to cut the connection. It’s making my head spin to be touching him like this, and what I said was the truth. I’m leaving here this week and I’ll never be back.

“What was
that
all about?” I ask, trying to play it cool.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I point my heel at him. “Okay, you stay right there.” I start hobbling around the car, using the top of it as support.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going on the other side of the car from you so I can think straight.”

When I get to the passenger side, I see him across the top of the vehicle and he’s smiling.

“Ye make me happy,” he says.

“And you make me crazy,” I say back.

“I wouldn’t have left ye out here in the dark,” he says, more sober now.

“Sure seemed like that’s what was happening.”

“I just needed … I just needed to get away. From the edge.”

“Do you have a fear of heights?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just a fear of horrible death.”

“You do realize you make no sense at all.”

He nods. “I can see how ye’d think that.”

“And yet you don’t feel the need to explain yourself.” I tilt my head, curious about what makes this man tick. He’s like no one I’ve ever met before, and I’m wondering if it’s an Irish thing or a Donal thing.

“Maybe another time,” he says.

“When?”

He shrugs. “I hear ye’re leaving in less than a week.”

I nod, knowing when I’m beat. “Yep. That’s me. The girl who’s leaving in a week.” I look past Donal and sigh. “Where did those two get to, anyway? I need to get back. I’m tired.” I fake a big yawn to bring home the point.

“Wait here,” Donal says, turning around and walking away, “I’ll go find them.”