Getting Lucky

It’s St. Patrick’s Day in New York City, and Mavis, a librarian, has decided to have a margarita at Dionysus’s Bar, to get away from all the green beer and all the charming Irishmen.

But no sooner does she belly up to the bar, than an another Irishman walks in…

His name is Luchtaine, son of Lugh, known to everyone in the immortal community as Lucky, and although Mavis doesn’t know it, he’s also the Celtic god of woodworkers.

And he’s there because Eros, Greek god of love and owner of Made in Heaven Matchmaking Agency, has found a girl he wants Lucky to meet...

You’d think a Greek bar, in the middle of the biggest Greek settlement in the world outside Athens, would be a safe place to hide from the rivers of green beer flowing down the streets of New York, and from the crowds of charming Irishmen looking to get laid in celebration of St. Patrick and the snakes. 

You’d think so, but you’d be wrong. 

No sooner had Mavis boosted herself up on a barstool inside Dionysus’s Bar and ordered a margarita—pink, not green—from the gorgeous Greek bartender, than the door opened again and an Irishman came in. 

There was no mistaking him, and not just because of the top hat with the shamrock in the band.

No, it was his eyes, the brilliant green of emeralds, the same color as the T-shirt that pulled tight across his shoulders. Kiss Me, I’m Irish was written in white letters across a broad chest.

But mostly it was the face. Soldier, dreamer, poet, and fighter were all rolled into one in that face. Prominent cheekbones, strong jaw, straight nose, and a mouth shaped for blarney. 

And kisses.

Mavis’s stomach twitched, and because she was trying hard to convince herself that she did not have a weakness for good-looking Irishmen, she banished the thought. When the newcomer bellied up to the bar and shot her an appreciative grin, she gave him a fishy stare in return. 

The bartender chuckled as he put Mavis’s drink in front of her. “Here you are, sweet cheeks. Bottoms up.” 

He turned to the newcomer. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Did O’Leary’s run out of green beer?”

“Ross called,” the Irishman said, in a voice flavored with the music of Ireland. He glanced around. “Said there was someone here he wanted me to meet.”

The bartender shook his head. “Ross isn’t here.”

“I can see that. When do you expect him?”

“Dunno,” the bartender said, reaching above his head for a glass. “He hasn’t been in for a couple days. How about a Guinness while you wait?”

“Sure.” The Irishman scooted up on the seat next to Mavis and put the green hat on the bar. He ran his hand through hair the color of sunshine and grain and old Limerick gold. “What’s keeping Ross busy?”

Mavis sucked on her margarita until her cheeks were hollow, and realized a second too late that it was strong enough to put hair on her chest. She didn’t know Ross, but if he looked anything like the other two—Greek god and Celtic hero—she wanted to find out about him. 

“Annie,” the bartender said, as he manipulated the taps to build the Guinness. “She’s got him turned inside out, and probably tied to the bedposts.”

Never mind. Whoever he is, he’s taken. And good for Annie. 

“He’s a lucky guy,” the Irishman said, and Mavis spent a few seconds imagining him tied to the bedposts—her bedposts—before banishing that thought, too. 


“The gods preserve me from that kind of luck,” the bartender said piously. He put the beer on the counter, and the Irishman nodded his thanks. 

“Don’t you get tired of playing the field, Dion?” He wrapped a hand around the glass. It was broad and strong, with long fingers and square nails. One of them was blue, and the hand was covered with tiny nicks and scratches. 

Craftsman, Mavis thought. Probably good with his hands

Hands he couldn’t use if they were tied to the bedposts. 

She sucked on the margarita again, and coughed.

“When you’re the gods’ gift to women,” the bartender—Dion—said, with a wicked grin, “you gotta spread it around.”

“I thought that was Adonis,” the Irishman answered, and the bartender’s smile turned genuine. 

“I guess nobody’s told you. He’s a goner, too. Won’t be long till there’s just you and me left, to uphold the old honor.”

The Irishman grunted. 

There was a moment’s pause, and then Dion said, “Where are my manners? Mavis, this is Luchtaine. You can call him Lucky. Everyone does. And this is Mavis. She’s tired of the green beer and blarney, so don’t try to sweet-talk her.”

Lucky shot her a glance out of those emerald eyes. They were fringed with the longest lashes Mavis had ever seen. Darker than the hair, tipped with gold. The whole package, from his feet to the top of his head, was one big temptation. 

Oh, yeah. He probably got lucky all the time. Every day, and twice on St. Patrick’s Day. 

 “Nice to meet you,” she said grudgingly. 

And nice of the bartender to do the introductions, although she had no idea how he knew her name, or that she was here because she was avoiding the St. Patrick’s Day revelry. She must have mentioned something about it when she came in. Couldn’t remember doing it, but how else would he know? 

“Likewise.” Lucky lifted the glass, and ended up with a foamy mustache. Mavis giggled, and then put a hand over her mouth. Oops

His eyes narrowed, and that only made her giggle harder. He turned his glare on the bartender, who shrugged innocently. His phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it, leaving the two of them alone.

“I’m not drunk,” Mavis said, with her hand still over her mouth. “I swear.” 

Lucky nodded. “Sure.”

A minute passed. Mavis sipped her margarita carefully, and just as carefully, kept her mind off bedposts. Lucky drank more beer, and wiped his upper lip afterward. It was anyone’s guess what he was thinking about, but it probably wasn’t bedposts. The bartender spoke into his phone, with occasional glances over his shoulder at them. 

“Must be Ross,” Lucky said. 

“Excuse me?”

“On the phone. With Dion.”

“I’m sorry,” Mavis said. “It’s my first time here. I don’t know anyone.”

Lucky smiled, and Mavis’s toes curled inside her Manolos. “You know me,” he said. “So how did you find the place?”

“I walked by,” Mavis said. “There was this guy on the subway who was hassling me, so I got off early and I was walking home. And there it was.” 

Lucky nodded. “It’s that kind of place. The kind you don’t notice till you need it.”

Mavis nodded too, pleased. “Exactly. I’ve never seen it before, but I thought it would be a safe place to hide.” And take a load off. Since the Manolos hadn’t exactly been designed for sidewalk trekking. Honestly, she was sort of surprised her toes were alive enough to curl. 

“And then I walked in.” Lucky grimaced.

Mavis shrugged. 

Another minute passed.

“So what do you have against the Irish, anyway?” Lucky wanted to know. “With a name like that, you’ve probably got some Irish in you, your own self.”

More than a little. Enough to be a sucker for any good-looking Irishman who came along. “Charming,” Mavis said darkly. 

Lucky grinned. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not if you’re soft in the head.”

Lucky arched a brow. “I’m not soft in the head. Either head.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Mavis said, and thought, I bet there’s nothing soft about any part of you. “I was talking about me.” 

“You’ve only got one head.” He reached over to tap his knuckles against it. “But it doesn’t feel soft.”

“Trust me, it is.” Just listening to his voice was doing things to her insides. Once he started whispering sweet nothings in her ear, she’d be a lost cause. 

That meant it was probably time to go. Mavis drained her margarita and looked around, but the bartender still had his back to them and was talking into his phone. “So who’s Ross?” Mavis asked.

“Eros,” Lucky said.  

“Sorry.” She must have misheard the name earlier. “Who’s Eros?”

“Don’t you know your Greek mythology?” Lucky grinned. “Eros is the god of love.”

Sure. “I’m talking about the guy on the phone. The one who wanted you to meet him here. Who’s he?”

Lucky looked at her for a moment. Mavis got the idea he was assessing her, but for what she had no idea. “He’s a matchmaker,” Lucky said eventually, and surprised a snort out of Mavis.


Lucky nodded. “Seriously.”

“So he was trying to fix you up?”

“So it seems.”

Huh. “With who?” Mavis looked around the bar. There were no unaccompanied women here that she could see. A beautiful brunette in a business suit was at a corner table, talking to an older man, while a gorgeous blonde in a turquoise dress was playing pool. It might have been the blonde, were it not for the fact that there was a guy with her. Tall, brown-haired, reasonably good-looking, with glasses, who was watching the blonde with a mixture of possessiveness and dumbstruck awe at his own good luck. 

“Brita and Harry,” Lucky said. “And that’s Ariadne over in the corner with Len.”

“She’s pretty.” And probably not involved with Len, who was old enough to be her father.

Lucky nodded. “And totally hung up on Dion.” 

Ah. Yes, it was easy to see why. Harder to imagine why Dion wasn’t interested in Ariadne, although maybe he was, and they were just keeping it quiet.

Mavis turned back to him. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

Lucky shook his head. “I don’t know anything about you. But some of these people I’ve known a very long time.” He took another swig of beer. 

“You don’t want to know about me,” Mavis said. “I’m not interesting.” 

He looked her up and down. “You look interesting to me.”

“You only think so because you don’t know me. I’m a librarian.”

“Librarians are interesting,” Lucky said. “I hear they do it by the book.”

“Depends on the book.” Mavis tilted her head to look at him. “What are you?”

“A carpenter,” Lucky said. “I do it with wood.” 

He grinned. Mavis groaned. And on that note, it was definitely time to go.

She slid off the stool and took a second to find her balance. The margarita on top of the green beer and the Manolos seemed to have upset her center of gravity. Lucky’s shoulder came in handy as she swayed. 

He arched a brow. “Still not drunk?”

“No.” A little tipsy, maybe. The margarita had been stronger than she was used to. But mostly it was just that her feet hurt.

“Let me pour you into a cab,” Lucky said, sliding off his own seat and taking her arm to steady her. 

“I think I’ll walk. It’ll help to clear my head.” And the agonized screaming from her feet might take her mind off the fact that he was back here waiting for his matchmaker to show up with the perfect woman.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” Lucky said. “And make sure some other Irish bastard doesn’t try to bamboozle you with blarney on your way home.” 

“That’s nice of you.” By now, the only Irish bastard she wanted bamboozling her, was him. “But don’t you want to stay and meet the girl of your dreams?”

“No,” Lucky said. He tossed some money on the bar and snagged his green hat before raising his voice to get the bartender’s attention. “I’m gonna take Mavis home. Tell Ross I said thanks.”

Dion nodded. 

“Thanks for what?” Mavis wanted to know when they were outside on the sidewalk and he’d put his hand on her back. 

Lucky grinned down at her. “For getting me here in time to meet you.”

She shook her head. “That’s crazy. He couldn’t have known I was there. You heard Dion. Annie had him tied to the bedposts at home.”

“Then let’s just call it the luck of the Irish and leave it at that,” Lucky said. 

And looking up at him, Mavis thought that maybe getting lucky with Lucky wasn’t such a bad deal after all. 

© 2015