Read Online Triple Love Score by Brandi Megan Granett - Free Book Online

cute, I wouldn’t let you in here. But you start singing, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’ll kick you out again.”
    “Again?” Miranda asked.
    “Ssshhhh,” Ronan said. “Let’s not speak of it. Guinness, Jameson, and Baileys please.”
    Lucille cocked her head at him.
    He put a twenty up on the bar.
    She still didn’t move.
    Miranda reached into her purse and put another twenty on the bar.
    “Oh, so it’s not a date,” Lucille said, swinging around to grab the whiskey bottles.
    “Not a date,” Miranda said. “He’s my student.”
    “Oh, so you’re one of the ones that teaches him those fancy words he uses. You watch out, he might just use them on you.” Lucille poured out two glasses of Guinness, put out two shot glasses, and walked away.
    “She’s right,” Miranda said. “We really shouldn’t be doing this. You’re my student.”
    “But we aren’t doing anything. We’re just drinking. Even the bloody poetry department serves wine at functions. This is just a small function.”
    He poured the Baileys on top of the Guinness and then dropped the shot glass of Jameson on top. “Drink fast,” he said, sliding hers over. “It curdles.”
    “Curdles?” she asked. “What kind of small function?”
    “Yes, curdles, now drink. Any kind of small function. You’re a poet, be creative.”
    She took two sips and then set it down. “You’re a poet, too. What’s your reason for this gathering?”
    “I thought you were good with language,” he said. “Drink, woman, the whole thing.” He picked up his glass and downed the whole thing.
    “All right,” she said, doing the same. She set down her glass, and then said, “Another?”
    “I thought you’d never ask. Lucille—two more?”
    “You still didn’t answer my question,” Miranda said. “Why did you ask me here tonight?”
    “You said you could use a drink,” he said.
    “That’s all?”
    “Can’t a man just want to a drink, too?” he said. “Now do you want to talk or drink?”
    Lucille brought over two more glasses of Guinness; he poured out the liquors and passed hers over. This time she didn’t need prompting.
    There are certainly rules about being with students outside of class and probably a few about inviting them into your home along with a bottle of Baileys you bought on the walk home. But after three Irish car bombs, Miranda certainly couldn’t remember them.
    “Don’t worry,” Ronan said. “I am a gentleman.”
    “A gentleman, what good is that?” Miranda asked.
    “That’s just the drink talking.”
    “Funny, I don’t hear it talking,” she said.
    Ronan chuckled. “You have clearly proven you’re not Irish.”
    “WASP. We aren’t supposed to drink this much or at least not admit to it.”
    She pulled out the Scrabble Board, not to show off her Internet meme-creating self, but to play.
    “Who’s your favorite poet?” she asked him.
    “You’ll laugh if I tell you,” he said. “They will take back my degree if they find out.”
    “I doubt that. Spill it.”
    “Shel Silverstein,” he said as he picked five more tiles out of the bag.
    Every time she put down a word, he quickly put down an even better one.
    “Shel Silverstein? Where the sidewalk ends, Silverstein?”
    “Yes, well, not the whole thing. The Unicorn. This band my mum liked, The Irish Rovers, had an album, The Unicorn. She used to play it all the time. She’d get this dreamy look on her face and dance me and my sisters around the room. I found out the band took the lead track from Silverstein.
    “But why that? There’re lots of songs in the world and not all of them come from a poem.”
    “But not all of them made my mum dance like that. It was the first time I realized that words could be something that make people happy. I wanted to find that person and be just like him.”
    Ronan handily doubled her score. Doing the poetry sculptures threw off her gift for two-letter Scrabble words with maximum score value placement. The drinks