O'Gallagher Nights: The Complete Series Read online

  Copyright 2016 by Mignon Mykel

  All right reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a media retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book, excepting of brief quotations for use in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Designs by Dana

  Formatting: oh so Novel

  Editor: Jenn Wood

  All images and vectors have been purchased.

  ONE NIGHT STAND

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  ABOUT LAST NIGHT

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  ALL NIGHT LONG

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  HOT HOLIDAY NIGHTS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COMING SOON

  ONE NIGHT STAND

  book 1

  Mid-March

  O’Gallaghers was the place to go if you were looking for a good time. The local sport teams hung out there after games, for one, but also because the O’Gallagher siblings were a sight to behold.

  At least, in my opinion.

  I grew up with the siblings, once upon a time. From the time I could walk and all throughout high school, my parents and I lived next door to the O’Gallagher family. Brenna, the youngest of the trio, and I had been best friends up until the fifth grade. Conor, the oldest, and Rory, three years younger than him, were wild, flaunted sex appeal like nobody’s business, and were fiercely protective of their baby sister.

  They also didn’t seem to think she was every bit as wild and crazy as they were, which was actually part of the breaking point in my and Brenna’s friendship. By the age of ten, I was no longer good enough for Brenna.

  While I remained the quiet, timid Mia, the only part that was wild and crazy about me was the brown, curly locks on my head. Two years after our friendship ended, and I still held on to my baby fat while Brenna was the first in our grade to get breasts, then her period. She was the first to grow tall in our class, too. Sure, we eventually all caught up and she became the shortest in our class, but it didn’t stop the boys from noticing her. She was a five-four, C-cup beauty with raven black hair and piercing green eyes, and we were only twelve years old.

  By fourteen, rumor had it she lost her virginity in the back of a high school senior’s van. A classmate of Rory’s, no less.

  By sixteen, the rumors started circling she was pregnant. She wasn’t, I don’t think, but it was a popular story, told again and again.

  The thing with the rumors was that the people spreading them, the people responsible for them, were extremely careful to keep their words clear of Conor and Rory.

  Brenna left for school in her conservative clothes and always returned home in them. She left clean-faced and was sure to wipe the make-up off before heading home.

  I’m sure her brothers weren’t stupid, but with everything else going on in their lives—senior year, college, and the like—if Brenna showed up clean and fresh and like the angel they thought she was, they could go on and pretend the same.

  Even though our friendship had fallen apart over petty things, I never spread the rumors.

  It wasn’t that I was afraid of her brothers; quite the opposite, actually. At all of eight years old, I had fancied myself in love with fifteen-year old, Conor. He shared the same jet-black hair Brenna had, but his eyes were the type of blue you could see from a mile away.

  So incredibly brilliant. Piercing.

  As much as I had missed Brenna’s friendship in our pre-teen and teenaged years, it was the easy smiles her brother always had for us that I missed the most.

  Currently, I sat at a high-top table in O’Gallaghers, my eyes on the man running the bar, hoping to catch that blue brilliance, willing it to aim my way.

  Conor O’Gallagher.

  I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years so I doubted he would recognize me—but I certainly recognized him.

  Gone was the lanky, tall, clean-faced kid from our youth. In his place was a taller, broader man with a short, yet thick, black beard. The only time he flashed his smile was when he was flirting and he always paired it with a sexy wink. Tonight though, was ladies’ night, which meant he brought the charm up one-hundred-fold.

  The O’Gallagher siblings were second generation Irish-Americans; their grandparents were from Northern Ireland. Anyone with any knowledge of Irish history would know that the Irish didn’t wear kilts, but rather tunic things called lein-croichs.

  Ok, maybe I looked it up.

  But I had been pretty sure kilts were a Scottish thing.

  Anyhow.

  Thursday was ladies’ night, and Conor and Rory brought it up a notch by wearing solid black kilts—last week’s was saffron colored—paired with the forest green shirt that was part of the bar’s uniform. No other bartender did the same, just the O’Gallagher boys.

  They also both wore tan work boots, which should have made the ensemble ridiculous but rather…

  It was fucking sexy as all get out.

  I had been coming in a few times a week for the last three weeks, trying to get the nerve to go up to Conor. Re-introduce myself. See if he wanted to sit and talk, ease him into what I really wanted from him. Yet, every time I came in, I sat at this table, away from the bar and away from Conor.

  I licked the corner of my lips as I lifted the glass of Irish ale to my lips, my eyes still on the man of the hour.

  Each time I was there, I was helped by one of the female barmaids. If I wanted to be helped by Conor, if I wanted him to truly notice me, I would have to sit at the bar but I still had to form a plan because I wanted more than to just sit and talk and catch up.

  You see, for all of Conor’s flirting, he always backed it up. Sure, he flirted with damn near every female in the place, but if he gave you extra special attention, you just knew where your night was going.

  Allegedly at bar close, he took one of the remaining ladies up to his apartment for a wild rendezvous. Never a virgin; he wasn’t quiet about his lack of desire to take a virgin to bed. He liked the wild women who knew their own way around the bedroom.

  Thursdays, rumor had it, h
e brought two up with him.

  I didn’t want to be one of two tonight, no.

  But I did want one night with him.

  A night to learn the ropes of sex.

  Because if anyone knew what he was doing, it was Conor O’Gallagher.

  And I was going to be his first virgin.

  Conor

  I set the mixed fruity drink in front of the sexy blonde sitting at my bar and gave her a wink. Her drink choice needed work, but she would probably still be fun in bed.

  Maybe she’d stick around for bar close.

  I wiped my hands on the bar towel hanging from my belt and glanced up as one of my regulars-turned-good-friends came up to the bar, pounding on it twice with his fists, a huge grin on his face. “Yo, Conor.”

  I chuckled and nodded upward, working on a drink order one of my barmaids brought up. “What’s up, Cael?”

  Caleb Prescott was one of my regulars, yes. He played hockey for the city’s NHL team and often came in with his brother or the team as a whole. He and I would sit and shoot the shit sometimes and I grew to like the guy. He was younger than me, my sister Brenna’s age actually, but he was a good guy.

  “I talked Syd into a date for the wedding.” Caleb moved to sit in what had to be the only open stool at my bar and leaned forward on his arms. Caleb met Sydney during a dating show.

  I take that back. Sydney was the casting person, and Caleb fell for her, hook, line, and sinker.

  “She finally decided she was going through with it, hey?” I grinned and slid the glasses I’d filled over to the end to be picked up. “Your mug is good enough for her?”

  Caleb grinned wide. “Fuck you, Conor. But yes, we decided on a date. And I want you to be there.”

  I stopped wiping my hands on my towel. Caleb and I were friends, yeah, but I didn’t realize we were invite-you-to-the-wedding kind of friends.

  “It’s cool if you don’t want to, or can’t come. We’re having it back in Wisconsin. But you’re one of my few friends here that isn’t on the team and Sydney likes you, so.”

  “Nah, yeah, absolutely,” I said, reaching up to flip my baseball cap backward. “I’d be honored to go. Thanks for the invitation.”

  “I only asked because of Sydney,” Caleb said with a smirk.

  “Yeah, whatever, fucker. You love me.”

  Caleb shot me the bird before standing to pull an envelope from his back pocket. “Don’t tell her I gave it to you bent to shit, though. She spent a lot of time on them.”

  I laughed and shook my head. The guy was whipped. I couldn’t imagine one pussy for the rest of my life, but hey, if he was happy…

  I reached for the envelope and put it back by the register and legal pad, which I would have to take back to my office before the night was over.

  “You want a beer?” I asked as I turned.

  Caleb shook his head as he pushed back from the wood. “Nah. Chief made dinner and we have a game tomorrow, so I need to pass. See you tomorrow though? You get those tickets?”

  I nodded, holding my finger up to a pretty girl waving in my direction. “I did. Rory was fucking ecstatic. They’re great seats, thanks.” Rory’s birthday was coming up and Caleb hooked me up with tickets to the Enforcers-Wild game the next night.

  “Absolutely. Happy to help. Talk later,” Caleb said, holding his hand up in the air in salutation as he turned to leave. I shook my head, grinning, and went back to work, heading down the bar to the girl who flagged me down.

  “What do you have on under that kilt, Conor?” she asked. She was certainly hot, with her dark hair and grey eyes, and her most definitely surgically-enhanced chest. Maybe she’d be willing to play tonight. Her blonde friend beside her was pretty easy on the eyes, too. Maybe she’d be up for some play time as well.

  I chuckled and lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Everyone with a true Irish bone in their body knew that kilts were a Scottish thing, and the kilts worn by the Irish were typically an American thing. When my brother Rory and I were trying to find ways to keep the bar from falling under the red line, we decided to go with the kilt idea. It didn’t matter that kilts weren’t a true part of our heritage, regardless of the Gaelic ancestry we had; we were Irish, and Irish-Americans liked to wear them.

  That, and the ladies seemed to fawn over them.

  So we wore them on Thursdays, which quickly became our best night of the week.

  For the business and the bedroom.

  I wasn’t exactly private about my affairs. Many a drunk woman would stick around until bar close, hoping I’d pick them in my nightly game of eenie, meenie, miney, ‘ho.

  Some of those ladies were disappointed to learn that I wore boxers underneath, but only dimwits went bare under a kilt.

  That and the phrase was “True Scot” and, like I said, I was Irish.

  I walked down the bar to pour a lager that was ordered up from the floor when I could feel someone staring at me.

  Keeping at task and filling a lager glass, my eyes scanned the bar as my ears kept focus on any requests from the patrons sitting at the bar. Finally, my eyes settled on the woman who had been coming into my bar a few nights a week for the last number of weeks. She sat at a high-top a few tables back from the bar, in the same spot she’d been a few other times.

  I’m not sure what snagged my attention, to be honest, the first time I’d noticed her. She wasn’t striking like the half dressed women who sat at my bar. No, she wore little makeup on her face and had a crazy mass of curls that looked like she fought to put back in the bun behind her head.

  She never came in with anyone, never met up with anyone. It was only just ever her, sitting at one of my high tops, nursing some lager or another. I idly wondered what her story was, and what kept bringing her in. The bar had regulars, don’t get me wrong, but she just didn’t strike me as such.

  When her eyes shifted and met mine over the bar and a couple tables, she quickly looked down.

  Ah, so she had been spying on me.

  She didn’t look the adventurous type, but I had been surprised by women before. Maybe she wanted in on my fun tonight and was just too timid to make a move.

  Sometimes it was the quiet ones that turned out to be the freaky-in-bed ones.

  Recalling her drink, I poured her another and set it with the lager that had been ordered. When Emily, the quiet but beautiful—and therefore, great for business—barmaid we hired last week came back for the lager, I pushed the extra glass toward her. “High-top four.”

  “Sure, Con,” she said with a small smile. I watched as she delivered it, my hands slowly wiping and bunching at the towel at my hip.

  When Emily sat the glass down, Curly Locks looked up, wide eyed. I couldn’t hear whatever Emily told her, but before Emily left the table, Curly’s eyes met mine again. I offered her a wink then went back to manning my bar.

  One of my bartenders, Greyson Stone, walked behind the bar from the swinging kitchen doors. Yeah, his parents were fuckers for naming him that. “Hey, bossman.”

  “What’s up, Stone?” We clasped hands and pulled into one another, bumping chests with our hands between us. Typical greeting.

  Stone came to work for Rory and me three years prior, when O’Gallaghers re-opened for business. I needed a trustworthy bartender and while I hadn’t known Stone from Adam at the time, he’d proven to be one of my best employees and a pretty damn good friend. That and he didn’t hit on my sister.

  I filled orders as I talked to the man who wasn’t supposed to be working tonight.

  “What brings you in tonight?”

  “Ah, Rory asked me to cover his last hour.” Stone began going through coolers and chests, making sure all the fridges and condiments were how he liked them. The man was slightly OCD about it.

  “What the fuck is Rory doing?” I glanced over at Stone, my peripheral on the lager I was pouring.

  “Something about a girl,” Stone said around a chuckle. He grabbed a towel and hooked it into
the back pocket of his cargo shorts.

  I shook my head. Everyone knew I’d take a woman home at the end of the night, just like everyone knew Rory wasn’t above taking one home in the middle of his shift. “Always a girl.”

  “You take a break lately?” Stone asked before his attention was snagged by a customer at the far end.

  We split the bar, each taking a side, as the night hit a busy spurt. Thirty minutes later, the rush ended for the moment, and I remembered Curly Locks. I looked toward her table, sure she would have left by now.

  But nope, she was still there, nursing the glass I had Emily send over.

  “Stone, I’m going to take that break,” I said over my shoulder. I grabbed two bottles of water and, carrying them in one hand, made my way out from behind the bar. I tossed my towel on the back counter by the register just before clearing the bar.

  “Hey, Conor.”

  “Conor, my man, how’s the night?”

  Everyone knew who my brother and I were. Not only had we grown up in this town, but O’Gallaghers had been a prime establishment since our parents opened the doors twenty years ago. Five years ago, the doors closed when our parents decided to do the empty nester thing, traveling around the country in a fucking RV of all things. When I mentioned wanting to take over, I refused to accept the bar as a gift. They went on and on about how it was us kids’ namesake and I should be willing to just take it, but I wanted to give them a sensible down payment. Between Rory and me, we accomplished that in just about a year, and roughly eighteen months after the doors closed, we re-opened.

  The patrons who came on Thursdays were generally the younger crowd. And the ladies, of course. I would say that on any given night, I knew at least half of our patrons from either back in school or around town.

  I made general small talk with customers, some I knew, some I didn’t, on my short journey toward my destination.

  The entire time, my eyes were on Curly Locks. She knew I was coming for her.

  There may have been loud conversation and music playing all around me, but the only thing I could hear was my breathing and the slight thump of my Timberland work boots.