Ghost of a Chance
Ghost of a Chance
Loose Id
M/M Paranormal
[Ebook]
Padraig Monaghan has a problem. Most would consider dying in a bar fight ten years ago upsetting, and existing as a ghost wandering the world might be thought a real predicament. They might deem a second chance at life through a chance encounter with a dying man a serious dilemma. But for Padraig, finding himself face to face with the man he’d loved and lost a lifetime ago is the biggest thing on his mind.
Gareth Reilly stops at O’Toole’s for a drink before he heads home. Tomorrow’s going to be another lonely birthday for him until he’s approached by a stranger. There’s something about Padraig’s bright green eyes and Irish accent that reminds Gareth of a man he once knew. Unable to resist, Gareth breaks his cardinal rule and invites Padraig home.
On St. Patrick’s Day, when Irish magic is strongest, it’ll take a belief in the impossible and help from a grateful elf to give Padraig and Gareth another chance at love.
Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices, violence.
Excerpt:
Gareth sighed as he felt the weight of someone staring at him. His slender build usually led some drunk to either hit on him or pick a fight. He was getting tired of both events.
He’d come to O’Toole’s for a birthday drink, not to get in a fight or get picked up. It had been a long day, and his normal easygoing personality was fraying at the edges. He also wasn’t looking forward to spending another birthday alone.
The pressure of the staring didn’t disappear. He would have to look up and hope the person didn’t take it as a challenge or a come-on. Gareth straightened his shoulders and raised his eyes, meeting green eyes so recognizable, his mouth dropped open in shock.
He shut his eyes, sure the dim lighting in the bar affected his sight. Opening them, he realized they might be the same green as Paddy Monaghan’s, but this man was older with all-American blond hair and a golden tan.
Gareth dropped his gaze and snorted. Of course, the stranger was older. Paddy died ten years ago at the tender age of twenty-three, the victim of a bar fight gone wrong. The only thing the man approaching had in common with Paddy was the color of his eyes.
Dressed in khakis and a dress shirt, the stranger had wide shoulders and a narrow waist. His blond hair was cut short on the sides and long on top, enough for that tousled just-out-of-bed look.
“This is going to sound horribly cliché, but you look familiar to me.” The man’s voice was low and held more than a hint of Ireland in its tone.
Gareth rolled his eyes. “You’re right. It is horribly clichéd. You’re in luck, though. I happen to love clichés.” He gestured at the chair next to him. “Please sit down.”
Surprised at his boldness, Gareth took a sip of his drink. Any other man who had ever hit on him using a tired old line like that would have seen the back of Gareth’s head as he walked away. What was it about this man that made Gareth willing to break his own rules?
“Thank you.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Padraig Burns.”
Padraig was a common enough Irish name, Gareth guessed, but how common was it to have two men with the same name and the same brilliant green eyes? Something about this Padraig told Gareth he probably never went by Paddy.
“Gareth Reilly.” He shook Padraig’s hand and enjoyed the shiver of attraction skating over his nerves to pool in his groin.
“How long have you been in Boston, Gareth?” Padraig sprawled in the chair rather clumsily, like he wasn’t used to having limbs to put places.
Gareth wasn’t always the most graceful, so he ignored Padraig’s flopping. “Four years. You haven’t been here long, since you still sound like a homegrown son of Éire.”
“I’ve only just arrived in town, but it’s been ten years since I left Ireland. I don’t have much call to talk to many people, and I’ve never gotten to the point where I want to lose my accent. It’s a part of home for me since I’ve moved.” Padraig ran his finger around the top of his glass.
Frowning, Gareth remembered being at a party and seeing Paddy Monaghan doing the same thing. Maybe because it was St. Patrick’s Day or the color of Padraig’s eyes or simply the fact that he felt lonely even after being in Boston for four years. He didn’t understand the urge he had to talk to this stranger.
“How does a man who looks like a California beach bum get an Irish accent?” He waved the waitress over and ordered another drink. “Would you like another one?”
“Oh God yes.” Padraig sighed. “Jameson, straight.”
He laughed at the fervent tone in Padraig’s voice. “I take it you haven’t had a good Irish whiskey in a while.”
“In a decade.” A rueful smile crossed Padraig’s face. “Haven’t had a lot of things in ten years.”
“Why is that?”
“Same reason I look like a surfer but speak like a dockworker, I guess. I’ve been wandering the world, and being invisible doesn’t help. It tends to make it difficult to talk to people.” Padraig didn’t look up when the waitress set their drinks down.
Gareth couldn’t stop his laughter from bursting out. “Invisible? Are you serious? There’s no way a hot guy like you could ever be invisible.”
An intriguing blush dusted Padraig’s cheeks, and Gareth had the odd urge to brush his thumb over those high cheekbones.
“Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t know how totally gorgeous you are.”
Padraig shrugged, fingering the glass in front of him. “At times when I look in the mirror, it’s like I don’t recognize the face staring back at me.”
Gareth nodded. “I’ve had days like that. Why’d you leave Ireland?”
An odd look passed over Padraig’s face, like he wasn’t sure about telling Gareth the truth.
Okay, so he didn’t realize that was going to be quite a personal question. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll guess… Got mixed up in the IRA and the Brits tossed you out on your ass.” He grimaced. That one might not have been a joke. Gareth knew men that had happened to. “Here’s another one. You stopped liking football and started enjoying cricket. That would certainly revoke your Irish citizenship.”
Padraig laughed, and the husky sound rushed down Gareth’s spine like the finest aged whiskey.
“No. My life ended there and I needed to find someplace else to be. Been just about everywhere you can go in this world. Ended up here and figured what the hell. It’s not a bad place to hang for a while.” He peeked up at Gareth through his eyelashes. “Got enough Irish to almost feel like home. Why’d you move here?”
Getting to know someone was tough, Gareth thought. For four years, he’d never wanted to make the effort, yet there was a connection with Padraig he’d never felt with anyone except Paddy before. He took a drink of his Guinness before answering.
“I got to the point where I decided life was too short to live some place I wasn’t happy. Don’t get me wrong. I love Ireland, but something happened to make me pull up stakes and head somewhere new for a while.”
Padraig took a sip and hunched forward, elbows on the table. “You can be an accountant anywhere, I guess. Shouldn’t have been too hard to find a place to work here.”
Unease shot through Gareth. “How did you know I was an accountant?”
“Ummm…lucky guess.” Padraig lifted his hands in a “got me” gesture. “Maybe it’s your clothes. I always think of accountants wearing those.”
His clothes? Gareth looked down at his plain blue T-shirt, black jeans, and running shoes. Padraig’s clothes were more what Gareth thought an accountant would wear.
He wasn’t sure he believed Padraig. There was something buried in those grass green eyes, a secret that only Padraig knew, and he wasn’t going to spill it to Gareth anytime soon.
Gareth took another sip of his Guinness and asked, “Did you leave anyone behind when your life ended?”
