by L.H. Cosway
“Yes, he’ll be here. You should’ve done your research. Apparently, he’s into some serious kink.”
Oh no, I knew instantly that they were talking about Will. I frowned so hard at the backs of their heads, I got an ache between my eyebrows.
“Maybe I’ll ask about it,” said the woman.
“Not if I get there first,” the man replied.
A knot formed in my throat. Will was going to get grilled by these journalists and all I wanted to do was save him from the scrutiny.
The chatter died down when the head coach, Ronan Fitzpatrick, Bryan, Will, two other members of the team, and their publicist emerged. Cameras snapped pictures as they each took a seat at the long table.
Will and the rest of the players had changed out of their workout gear and were now wearing sharp suits. Will looked droolworthy in his navy, fitted blazer and shirt, though I did notice him tug on it a little uncomfortably. I remembered him saying something to me about never being able to feel comfortable in a suit, even when it was tailor-made.
Now I felt even worse for him. Not only was he wearing uncomfortable clothes, he was about to face some uncomfortable questions.
The conference began with the usual opening statement from the coach and sports-based chat. It was a lot of statistics and strategies that I wasn’t all that enthralled by. I was mostly holding my breath, waiting for someone to address Will. When the coach was finished speaking, the publicist opened the room up for questions. Someone asked Bryan about his leg injury (healing up nicely), and another asked Ronan if he thought Ireland could snag the Six Nations this year (hell yes, he did). Nobody addressed Will, and I hoped maybe time would run out before they got a chance.
My hope was short-lived when the publicist pointed to the male journalist in front of me. He’d persistently had his hand up for a good five minutes.
“I’d like to ask Mr. Moore if he has any comment on the recent stories circulating about his private life.”
I saw the coach shoot Will an encouraging look as he leaned into the microphone. My roommate and friend with benefits spoke with a quiet, confident reserve. “The stories have been greatly embellished. I did not and would never solicit prostitutes.”
“So, you don’t pay people to allow you to watch them having sex anymore?” the guy probed.
Will’s expression flattened. “I never paid anybody.”
“But those sex workers told the papers—”
“There were never any sex workers. That part of the story is completely fabricated.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. White. I believe we’ll move on,” the publicist interjected.
But this guy wasn’t letting up. “I don’t see why they’d lie.”
“They lied so they could get paid. I think that’s fairly obvious,” Ronan Fitzpatrick put in grumpily. He was known for having a low tolerance for nosy journalists.
“Well, isn’t that a bit of a lazy stereotype? Maybe these women simply wanted their story heard,” the guy continued, clearly happy he was getting a reaction.
“There is no story. Not where they’re concerned. I’ve never met or interacted with any of those individuals,” Will said, his face still flat and unreadable. He was very good at showing no emotion. He had to be irritated by this guy by now, but from his expression you could never tell.
“All right, we’re moving on,” said the publicist, pointing to a woman on the other side of the room. “Miss Sherwood, we’ll take a question from you now.”
The woman bit her pen, glancing between Mr. White in front of me and the panel. “Actually, I’d like to know how Mr. Moore feels about the public’s reaction to his paying those women to perform sex acts for him. Does he believe their outrage is justified?” She paused and looked directly at Will. “By doing so you were supporting an industry that takes advantage of poor, underprivileged women who have few choices but to sell their bodies to survive. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Oh, jeez. This whole thing was taking a turn for the worse and Will’s calm mask started to slip. This was a real issue for him. I mean, the man didn’t even look at porn because it went against his ethics.
“As I already said, I didn’t pay anyone. I’ve never met or interacted with any of those individuals.”
“Oh, come now. We all know behind every lie is a grain of truth. The story didn’t come from nowhere.”
There was no way these people were ever going to accept any explanation Will might give. They were out for blood and they were going to say whatever it took to create the biggest amount of drama.
“Mr. Moore is no longer accepting questions pertaining to his personal life,” the publicist said. “Now, if we could get back to rugby.”
“I just want to know what he has to say. Surely, you’ll give him the chance to explain himself,” the woman persisted. There were noises of agreement from various others present, noises that only grew louder. The publicist looked supremely irritated, but I think she knew every other question was going to be aimed at Will no matter how she tried to steer the conversation back to sport. She exchanged a look with him, then said, “Fine, but this is the last question Mr. Moore is going to take and that’s final.”
Every set of eyes in the room landed on Will, and despite his calm façade, I got the sense that he was stressed. He probably didn’t even remember the question he was supposed to be answering at this point. And I felt for him. I wanted to swoop in and save him from this nightmare, because he didn’t deserve this sort of persecution.
A long beat of silence fell, and still he didn’t speak. He was drowning up there. I had to help him. My brain was a frantic scramble of thoughts as I tried to think of something, anything.
Then, without taking a second to consider the consequences, I shouted at the top of my lungs, “SCROTUMS!”
The entire room fell silent. People glanced around, searching for the source of the sudden intrusion.
The female journalist in front of me turned around and gave a look of sheer disapproval. “What on earth is wrong with you?” she hissed.
I folded my arms, lifted my chin, and looked her dead in the eye. “Didn’t you know? It’s Scrotum Awareness Day, madam. Good day.”
With that, I turned and walked right out of the conference room before any cameras could pan to the back and spot me. As I left, I heard the publicist speak through her microphone. “Okay, everyone, I think that’ll be all for today.”
Yes! Will was off the hook. I’d saved him with my lewd battle cry. I just hoped he’d be grateful and not mad when he found out it was me. I went to the bathroom and hid in there for a couple of minutes. When I emerged, the first person I saw was Bryan. He grinned wide as he clasped his hands around his mouth and whisper-yelled “SCROTUMS!” then burst into a fit of laughter.
I hit him on the arm. “Someone had to come to Will’s rescue. They wanted to eat him alive in there.”
He just kept laughing, and I scowled. “How did you know it was me?”
“Oh, come on. That moment of insanity had Josey Kavanagh written all over it. Scrotum Awareness Day?”
I couldn’t help smiling a little. Of all the nutty, weirdo things I’d done in my life, this definitely took the cake. “I guess you’re right.”
He nodded toward the exit. “Come on, we’re all going to get food. Will’s waiting in the car.”
I followed him out of the building, and then climbed into the waiting vehicle. Inside was Will, Ronan, and the two other players who were on the panel. I think their names were Finley and Harris. Everybody got called by their surnames.
I bit my lip nervously as I slid in beside Will. I was worried about his reaction, but when I met his gaze, he was smiling.
“Come here,” he said, and pulled me into a hug. I felt him press a soft kiss to the top of my head.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It was inappropriate and embarrassing and I completely understand if you—”
He placed his thumb over my lips, his
hand cupping my jaw, and stopped me mid-ramble. His eyes were warm and full of affection. “Josey, thank you.”
I blinked, flustered by the touch of his thumb on my mouth. He let it drop, and my voice returned. “Yes, well, I just wish I’d shouted some other word, like jelly or cupcake. News stations all across the country are going to be broadcasting my voice yelling about dangly male body parts. It’s not my finest moment, and believe me, I’ve had some bad ones.”
“In all likelihood, they’ll edit it out,” Ronan said. He sat in the front seat next to the driver. “I mean, someone randomly yelling about cocks and balls from the back of a conference room doesn’t really fit into any narrative. It’s too weird to be included in a normal sports piece, but too tame to be considered a scandal. If you’d decided to streak, or ran into the room screaming “It’s your baby!” then maybe they’d use it. But nah, you’re good.”
“Jean, our publicist, apologized to the room and explained that you’re a team family member who suffers from Tourette’s,” Bryan chuckled. “I have to say, that woman really knows how to think on her feet.”
“You’re officially a legend as far as we’re concerned,” the player named Finley added with a smile. “Those press conferences can be such a bore. You definitely made this one memorable.”
Their reassurances made me feel a little better, and I relaxed into Will’s side as we headed further into the city. The large chain hotels transformed into shops and restaurants, and the driver stopped outside a funky-looking Mexican place. I could definitely go for a margarita right about now.
Inside, we were seated at a long, narrow table, and I was wedged in between Finley and Will. I ordered the chicken tacos and ceviche. When the waiter returned with a tray of drinks, I had a feeling we’d all be sporting hangovers in the morning. Will didn’t drink a margarita, instead opting for a shot of some fancy tequila. I noticed that was his drink of choice and it struck me as odd. He seemed like he’d be more of a beer man. Lager, maybe.
“When did you start drinking tequila?” I asked as I watched him down the shot.
“My neighbors back home were from Mexico. Well, I say my neighbors, but really their farm was miles down the road. I was good friends with their son, Carlos, and some weekends he’d steal a little of his dad’s homemade tequila, filling the bottle up with water so he wouldn’t notice any was missing.” He paused to chuckle. “When his dad figured out what he was doing, he chased him around the cow sheds, holding a cattle prod, fisting the tequila bottle, and yelling out swear words in Spanish. It was the funniest and scariest thing I’d ever seen, but I never did lose my taste for the stuff.”
I laughed. “That certainly is something. When I was a teenager we used fake IDs to buy alcohol from the local off-license.”
“My nearest liquor store was over an hour and a half away.”
“You grew up in the boondocks, huh?”
Will nodded, his gaze moving over my face. “I loved the quiet though. Still do.”
He likes quiet? It was a wonder we were still roommates.
“Why did you come to Ireland?” I asked.
Back home, we’d talk for hours in the evenings, but in retrospect I realized that I’d been doing most of the talking. I wanted to know so much about him.
“Well, they didn’t play rugby at my high school. I started out playing American football, then when I went to college, in the off-season, I’d play rugby. I fell in love with the sport and I wanted to go professional but there weren’t really any teams in the U.S. that I could play for. Since my dad moved from Ireland when he was eighteen, and my mother was of Irish descent on her mother’s side, I qualified to try out for the Irish team. I flew over, and the rest is history.”
I thought it was pretty brave of him to move to a whole other country all by himself. “That’s amazing.”
Will gave a small smile. “That might be too strong a word, but I’ll take it.”
He held my gaze for a prolonged moment. Tingles skittered down my arms. It felt like we hadn’t been alone in forever, even though it had only been a couple of hours. I wished for us to be back at the hotel room. I wished for him to be kissing his way down my body until I came apart under his tongue.
“So, Josey, have you done much sightseeing yet?” Finley asked.
Will shot him a vaguely annoyed look, which was strange. I thought he liked Finley.
I shook my head, turning to Will’s teammate. “No, actually. I haven’t had the chance, but I would like to go see the Sydney Opera House and maybe do some exploring.”
“I could take you if you’d like,” Finley offered, taking me completely by surprise.
“Really?” It was all I could think to say.
“Sure. This is my first time over here. So I’d like to make the most of it. We might as well do it together.” He lifted his glass towards mine, giving me what looked like a flirty smile.
“Josey and I already have some tours for two locked in,” Will interjected, his voice gruff.
I glanced at him, wide-eyed. “We do?”
“Yes,” he replied firmly, looking at Finley. “We do.”
“Well, if you find yourself at a loose end, come find me,” Finley said, ignoring Will and clinking our glasses together. I nodded, feeling flushed.
I was. . . awkward and exhilarated all at once, and I couldn’t pinpoint precisely why.
After dinner, and a number of drinks, we all headed back to our hotels. Will was mostly quiet during the short walk, his hands shoved in his pockets, his face thoughtful. I wondered what he was thinking. I was a little buzzy from the alcohol, and a little swoony at the way he’d thanked me earlier for my outburst at the press conference and cupped my chin in the car, how he’d brushed his thumb against my lips.
When we finally made it back to our room, I was sweaty from the heat and clammy from my roller-coaster of emotions. Will held the door as I entered first and I sighed, grateful for the room’s air conditioner.
“I think I’ll take a shower,” I said, yawning and placing the bag with my textbook on the couch. I stretched my arms over my head, twisting slightly at the waist as I shuffled towards my room.
A vague sense of being observed as I walked from the living room caused the fine hairs on the back of my neck to rise. I shivered, but Will didn’t say anything as I left. He didn’t make any sound at all.
Truthfully, I was too busy trying to untangle why the conversation at dinner had pleased me so much to fully take note of his watchful silence. The sense of exhilaration from earlier, a giddy kind of happiness, hadn’t dissipated one bit.
Stripping as soon as I entered my room, I tossed my dress, bra, and undies to the bed. Once I was under the spray, I closed my eyes and ran my hands down my body, blindly reaching for the soap just before I heard a noise, a soft snick of the shower door.
My eyes flew open and my breath caught. Will stood just outside the shower, completely and deliciously naked, his gorgeous cock thick and already erect. He didn’t hesitate, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, his hot gaze moving over my body with obvious—and hungry-looking—intent.
A thrill of excitement, amplified by an edge of alarm, had my heart jumping, racing. I gulped, watching his approach, his eyes on my mouth. My knees wobbled and I took an automatic step back. The force of his stare was honestly a little intimidating. The way he looked at me, I felt . . . hunted, like prey.
I must’ve been an odd bird, because I liked it. I couldn’t bring myself to mind.
Not one little bit.
Sixteen
@FinleyIRE to @WillthebrickhouseMoore: Are you and J coming to dinner tonight?
@WillthebrickhouseMoore to @FinleyIRE: No.
@FinleyIRE to @WillthebrickhouseMoore: What’s her avatar / handle?
@WillthebrickhouseMoore to @FinleyIRE: @GoF-YourselfFinley BTW sorry about your face.
@FinleyIRE to @WillthebrickhouseMoore: No, you’re not.
@WillthebrickhouseMoore to @FinleyIRE: You�
�re right. I’m not.
WILL
“Do you want me to go?” I asked, reaching for the soap in her hand, and stealing it.
Her lashes fluttered against her cheek, inky black against ivory white. “You are welcome. In here”—she motioned to the bathroom and shower, and then crossed her arms over her chest—“With me. To stay.”
She’s nervous.
I swallowed around a sudden thickness in my throat, gaining another step forward. She retreated, her back connecting with the tile.
“Are you sure?” I rubbed the soap between my hands to give them an occupation, so I wouldn’t reach for her. Determined to not allow this vision of her—wet, naked, flushed—to eclipse my integrity, I kept my eyes affixed to hers.
What I wanted to do was press her against the shower wall and touch every part of her body with every part of mine.
But based on the look in her eye, and the way she’d stepped back when I’d stepped forward, I needed to make sure that’s what she wanted, too.
Despite what she’d said a moment ago, about me being welcome in here with her, I felt dread. I dreaded her rejection. I dreaded the moment she changed her mind. I would accept it, if or when it came, but I dreaded it.
Would this be the last time?
Josey licked her lips, her gaze moving over me. A moment later, she stepped forward, meeting me halfway, but left at least two feet between us.
“I’m sure,” she said, reaching out and placing her palm on my chest, caressing down to my stomach. I forced myself to hold still as she took another step forward, turning her fingers so that the back of her knuckles grazed my side. All the while, she watched the path of her hand.
“Your body, it’s so perfect.” She sounded distracted, giving me the impression she was speaking mostly to herself.
This moment—or rather, the possibility of it—had been on my mind all day. Just the two of us, together. Being with her alone wasn’t the same as being with her around other people. With other people, we were interrupted, I was expected to share her time and attention, her conversation.
