your feet up in the air.”
I nodded. “Emhmm, emhmm. And a keg reverse cowgirl?”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s no such thing as a keg reverse cowgirl,” he said, but without complete certainly.
I shrugged. “Okay then.”
Ronan’s eyes darted back and forth between my own.
“Wait, is there?” he asked in something almost like a panic. “Is there such thing as a keg reverse cowgirl? Can we do that?”
I ignored him, which I knew would drive him crazy, and instead reached out to grab his hips.
“Let’s see how these work,” I said, rotating Ronan’s hips in a circle.
He laughed when I mimicked a rusty creak, creak, creak as I guided his movements.
Ronan pushed my hands away and said, “I can dance quite fine, thank you very much.”
“Sure,” I said. “Maybe you can foxtramp—”
“Foxtrot.”
“And quartz—”
“Waltz.”
“Polka dot—”
“I most certainly do not polka.”
“And limbo—”
“Tango?”
I grabbed Ronan’s hips once more and this time pulled myself close, pressing my body tight against his.
“But can you writhe sweatily?” I asked, maybe (a little bit) drunkenly.
“I’m afraid I’m not aware of that particular dance, Ms Evans,” Ronan said, grinning down at me.
“Can you grind?”
“Actually Benson prepares all my coffee for me.”
I ran the back of my hand against Ronan’s cheek and whispered, “Can you do the stanky leg?”
Even I couldn’t manage to hold back laughter.
I stepped back and giggled as I said, “This teaching thing is pretty hard.”
“Right?” Ronan laughed.
I wiped at my eyes, probably smearing my make-up around but not caring because half the girls inside The Jar already had mascara streaming down their cheeks either from sweat or tears: it was that kind of joint.
“Back to business,” I said. “I take my teaching duties very seriously, like you, obviously.”
Ronan nodded sombrely. “Obviously.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling myself up straighter. “Now repeat after me: fucktard.”
Ronan waited for an arm-in-arm older couple to pass before looking at me and saying, “Fucktard.”
I tilted my head from side to side and said, “Eh. Not bad. But you’re kind of saying it like it’s an earl’s last name, Earl Fucktard. Instead try saying it like a peanut shell you’re spitting out of your mouth in the nose bleed seats at a baseball game in the middle of July: fucktard.”
Ronan shook out his hands and bounced from foot to foot there on the sidewalk like he was getting ready for the second round of a boxing match and tried again, “Fucktard.”
“Fucktard,” I said.
“Fucktard,” he said.
“Douche canoe,” I said.
Ronan’s lips drew together like he’d zipped them up. I clasped my arms behind my back as I leaned slightly forward.
“Douche canoe,” I repeated more emphatically.
“Do I really have to say that?” Ronan asked, glancing at the people passing by on the sidewalk. “Can’t I reserve at least a small measure of dignity?”
I raised my voice significantly and said once more, “Douche canoe!”
“Alright, alright,” Ronan hissed, his cheeks reddening. He scratched at the back of his neck and whispered, “Douche canoe.”
I grinned and started to pace back and forth in front of him, similarly to the way he had in the library. I only wished I had a similar pointer to smack him with, too.
“Tell me,” I said, glancing at Ronan. “How would you ask for the bathroom?”
He huffed impatiently and threw up his arms.
“I don’t know. Like everyone else, I guess. ‘Where is the restroom?’”
“Wrong!” I said, striking out to flick the tip of his nose.
“Hey!”
“You may say either ‘Yo, where the shitter at?’ or ‘Bro, gotta take a massive leak.’ Do you understand, Mr O’Hara?”
Ronan was too busy rubbing his red nose to answer. “Retribution?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
I nodded, grinning. “Precisely.”
I resumed my pacing, wrists clamped again behind my back. “What is appropriate to order inside?” I asked.
Ronan eyed me warily and then answered uncertainly, “Guinness?”
“And?” I stopped to cup my ear.
Ronan hesitated.
His voice nearly squeaked when he said, “And more Guinness.”
He flinched like I was going to smack him again, but I just waggled my finger at him.
“Very good. You’re not as dumb as you look.”
Ronan rolled his eyes.
“Let’s move on to your appearance,” I said, stepping toward him.
I clicked my tongue and went to tug loose his bow tie. But the moment my fingers touched the fine silk I became conscious of how close I was to Ronan. I cleared my throat as I arranged the loose ends of the bow tie against his shirt. I could smell his cologne up this close, see the fine hairs just beneath his ear up this close, feel the thudding of his heart up this close.
My