My Limerick Lad: A St. Patrick's Day Bad Boy Curvy Woman Instalove Romance (Kiss Him, He's Irish! Book 4) by Mazzy King

Author:Mazzy King [King, Mazzy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MZK Publishing
Published: 2021-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

6

Olivia

On Saturday afternoon, I sit in a diner across the street from Ronald’s Quick Loans, where I’ve been most of the day, waiting for the perfect time.

In order to make the wait staff not hate me, I ordered breakfast and lunch. My laptop is out on the table so I can work—or at least appear that I’m working.

“More lemonade?” my server Amanda asks.

If I have another glass, I’m going to burst. I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ll take the check, though.”

She nods, eyeing the table briefly before she leaves, probably wondering how much longer I’m planning to stay.

Outside, I spot a man in holey, dirty clothes who looks like he’s down on his luck. He sits on a bench at the curb, leaning over as an idea forms in my mind.

“Amanda?” I call to the server. “Could you also throw a club sandwich meal with a lemonade to go on my tab, please?”

“You got it,” she calls back, jabbing buttons into a computer.

While I wait, I pack up my things, keeping an eye now on the man and on the office. I’m not sure if the office closes over lunch, so I need to be quick.

Amanda brings my check and order. I hand her my card and pop the lid of the takeout box—a triple-decker sandwich, seasoned steak fries, coleslaw, and two kinds of dipping sauce, and the lemonade is in a huge Styrofoam cup.

Amanda returns with my card. “Everything look okay?”

“Perfect.” I sign the receipt and hand her a cash twenty-dollar tip. “Thanks a lot.”

I toss my bag over my shoulder, scoop up the box and drink, and hurry outside. The man on the bench doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, but I’d rather not take the chance.

I plop down beside him. “Hey.”

He raises his head slowly, as if unsure I’m speaking to him. His gray-streaked brown hair is messy, and the lower half of his face is covered in a bushy beard, but his green eyes are sharp. They lock onto the meal on my lap.

“Hello,” he says cautiously.

“You hungry?”

He nods quickly.

I hand him the box and the drink, and he opens the lid and dives in. “Good?”

“Wonderful.” He shoves several fries into his mouth.

I pull three hundred-dollar bills from my pocket—borrowed from John’s prize money. “That diner has a lot of good food.”

The man stops mid-chomp and eyes me, the money, then back to me. “What is this?”

“This is three hundred bucks,” I say. “For you. I just need a favor.”

His brow knots. “What favor?”

I nod across the street. “See that shiny black car in the alley beside the loan office?”

“That Mercedes with ‘RON P’ on the license plate?”

“That’s the one,” I say. “In about fifteen minutes I need you to set off the alarm.”

The man lowers his sandwich. “Why?”

“I can’t really get into specifics, but it’s really important.”

“So important you’re willing to buy me lunch and pay me three hundred bucks?”

“Exactly. You get the money afterward. Just walk past the car, tug on the door handle, then meet me in front of the bookstore two blocks over.

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