Play On

by Samantha Young

  I looked across the table at Seonaid to find her frowning at her brother. She shot me a look of concern. “Jim—”

  “Seonaid, I love ye, but this is none of yer fucking business.”

  The awkward silence that fell over the table seemed even more pronounced in contrast to the noise of the pub—from the groans and cheers shouted at the TV screen and the happy Sunday chatter at the bar, and around the tables scattered throughout the large room.

  But if there was anything Roddy was particularly good at, it was breaking an awkward silence.

  “Ye ken what is yer business, Cee-Cee? How lonely I was in ma bed last night.”

  Despite the tension radiating off Jim, I almost spat my beer out in laughter.

  Amusement glittered in Seonaid’s dark eyes. “As long as you have your right hand, Roddy, you’ll never be lonely.”

  Jim shook against me with light laughter, and I laughed loudly, possibly more out relief that he was letting the last conversation go.

  Roddy grinned at her. She was the only one who ever made him really smile like that. “I’m ambidextrous, sweetheart.”

  “A wanking insurance policy.” She raised an eyebrow. “So life did throw you a bone after all. Pun intended.”

  Chuckling now, Roddy opened his mouth to retort when his gaze suddenly drifted over Seonaid’s shoulder, and the smile fell right off his face. He grabbed his lager and before taking a long swig, he announced, “The arsehole just arrived.”

  Seonaid’s latest lover, Fergus, was walking toward our table. Seonaid threw Roddy an exasperated look. “Be nice.”

  He ignored her, staring determinedly at the television, something I knew he would do as long as Fergus was around. Roddy was never nice to any of Seonaid’s boyfriends, and she’d had a few since I’d been here. How it hadn’t occurred to her that Roddy’s flirtatiousness might actually be hiding real feelings, I did not know.

  Or maybe she was in denial too.

  Or it could be that she had a particular type and Roddy wasn’t it.

  Sympathy for my friend made it hard for me to truly like Fergus. That and the fact that Seonaid was always attracted to really good-looking guys who knew they were good-looking and were fuckwits about it.

  Roddy was far too rough around the edges to compete looks-wise with those guys, but despite his claims earlier, Roddy was never short of a girl or two. He had a brusque standoffishness that seemed to work for women. They sensed what I already knew—that beneath that rough, abrupt, cocky exterior was a very kind, loyal man. It drove them crazy and appealed to the feminine instinct to be the one woman who could bring that side of him to the surface.

  “Hey, babe,” Seonaid stood up to hug and kiss Fergus.

  He settled at the table with us. “Hey, all. How is everyone doing?”

  Jim and I responded.

  Roddy did not.

  Fergus barely paid attention. “I can’t stay long, baby,” he said to Seonaid. “Jack asked me to help him move today.”

  “Oh.” Seonaid’s expression fell. “We haven’t seen each other all week, though.”

  “I know …” He kissed her softly. “Don’t nag, baby, eh?”

  I wanted to kick him in the balls.

  Apparently, so did Seonaid. “I’m not nagging. Did that sound like nagging to you?” she asked us.

  Roddy side-eyed her but didn’t respond.

  Avoiding the question, Jim shrugged and looked at the TV.

  “Drinks?” I said, trying to break the awkwardness. “Anyone?”

  “Another lager,” Jim said.

  Roddy lifted his empty glass. “Same here.”

  “Wine.” Seonaid sighed, realizing no one wanted to get involved in another couple’s spat.

  “I’ll have a Tennent’s. Thanks, Nora.” Fergus spun around in his seat to see what game was on. “What did I miss?”

  I left the table as Jim filled him in.

  Instead of standing at the bar waiting to get served, I hopped up onto a bar stool. Because of my height, I tended to get ID’d more, which was frustrating since the legal drinking age here was eighteen. Even though Gareth, the bartender, knew me, I still hated feeling like a little girl standing at that bar.

  Gareth was busy serving someone else, and as I sat there stewing on the conflict between my husband and me, I slowly became aware of a prickling sensation in my scalp. Following the feeling, I turned my head ever so slightly and scanned the room. At first, I couldn’t discern why I’d felt like I was being watched … and then my eyes connected with his.

  The noise of the bar dimmed to a murmur as we stared at one another, this stranger and me. From the distance across the bar, I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but they were focused. Intent. On me.

  He was older. Tall, broad-shouldered, looking crammed into the booth he and his companion were in. The woman sitting in the booth behind him looked tiny in comparison.

  He was utterly masculine in a way that caused my breath to falter. Square, strong jawline, expressive mouth, unshaven, and a moody countenance. There was a crease between his brows and sexy laugh lines around his eyes.

  I flushed, quickly turning back to the bar.

  My back felt hot beneath my long hair as if the stranger’s stare was still burning into me.

  “Nora, I’ll be with ye as soon as I can,” Gareth called, looking apologetic.

  I gave him a reassuring smile because the pub was always busy on Sundays.

  “Nora, is it?”

  The stool next to me shifted, and I reluctantly looked at my new neighbor. A lanky guy, maybe late twenties, early thirties, grinned at me from the stool while another stockier guy stood at his side. They each had a pint of Guinness in their hands and were leering at me in a way I knew and dreaded.

  I flicked a glance across the room at my table and relaxed marginally at the sight of Jim laughing with Seonaid, not paying attention to the bar.

  “Let us buy ye a drink, Nora,” the lanky one said.

  “I’m okay, thanks.”

  “Aw, c’mon.” His grin was lopsided, and his pupils told me he’d had more than a few pints today. “We dinnae bite. Unless ye ask, o’ course.”

  More firmly, I replied, “No thanks,” and looked away.

  Not even a second later, I felt his hand brush my back as it came to rest on the edge of my stool. I glanced at him, shrinking away at finding he’d trapped me against the bar.

  “I’m Lewis.” He nodded to his friend. “This is Pete. And we both decided ye’er the sexiest wee thing we’ve seen in ages.”

  “I’m also married.” I held up my ring finger. “So …” Fuck off.

  Lewis dismissed this information. “Who cares.”

  “I fucking care.”

  Anxiety suffused me as my eyes flew behind Pete to find my husband, looking furious. “Jim, it’s fine.”

  Jim shoved Pete out of the way and stepped up to Lewis. “Get yer fuckin’ hand off her stool before I rip it off and shove it up yer arse.”

  “Jim,” I pleaded.

  “What’s yer problem, mate?” Lewis slammed his Guinness down on the counter and slid off the stool. He was taller than Jim but not as built, yet it didn’t seem to matter.

  He was drunk.

  And my husband was overprotective.

  “Jim,” I warned, slipping off the stool and placing a hand on his chest. “Just leave it. They’re drunk. They didn’t mean anything.”

  Jim pushed my hand away hard enough to make me stumble back and then he threw the first punch.

  After that, everything was a blur.

  Shouts and cries, both outraged and encouraging, filled the air as Jim and Lewis went at each other. It wasn’t a fair fight because Jim was nowhere near as drunk, and he was bigger, but Lewis was dogged.

  After Jim hit him hard enough to throw him back into the bar counter, Lewis barely took a moment to shake his dazed head, and then lunged at Jim like a bull, catching him around the middle.

  I saw him drivi
ng Jim toward me, but there were stools and a pillar in my way. My reflexes weren’t fast enough.

  They knocked me right off my feet.

  Pain ricocheted up my right wrist as I hit the floor hard. There was a blur of movement and sound above me, and one deep voice cutting through, “For fuck’s sake.”

  Strong hands gripped me under my arms, and I found myself lifted to my feet like I weighed no more than a hummingbird. I caught a glimpse of my rescuer’s face as his large body moved; a jolt of awareness rocked through me. It was the stranger who’d studied me earlier.

  Suddenly, he had his arms around Jim, pulling him away from his opponent, while his companion did the same to Lewis.

  “Enough,” he announced calmly, his voice cutting through the entire room.

  Roddy shoved his way through the crowd to get to Jim. To anyone else, Roddy looked unaffected but I knew him better. And like me, he was annoyed at my husband.

  It took him a moment, but Jim jerked out of the stranger’s hold. He pointed his finger at Lewis. “Ye stay the fuck away from my wife.” He then gestured at me, and I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

  I glared at my husband as I tried to ignore the penetrating stare of the stranger.

  “Right. Out.” Gareth pushed past people to get to Lewis and his friend.

  “How come we need tae go?” Lewis huffed, wiping the blood from his nose. “He hit me first.”

  “Because I know him. I dinnae know you. All I know is Jim’s never caused a problem in ma bar before … until you. So you and yer pal can get the fuck out, or I’ll throw ye out.”

  The stranger’s friend let Lewis go, and with much grumbling and empty threats, they staggered out.

  Roddy said something to Jim that made him scowl, but I couldn’t hear what. As everyone settled down, fixing upturned chairs and sitting at their tables, I was aware of the stranger and his friend taking a seat at the bar. I didn’t dare make eye contact with him again. Not only because I was humiliated, but because I was genuinely concerned Jim might overreact if he caught me looking at another man. Worrying about that was another problem in our marriage. I knew it was.

  My whole body was stiff, and my wrist throbbed as I gazed in reproach at my husband. He stared back at me, seeming defeated.

  I wanted to cry.

  Jim hadn’t always been as possessive, as territorial as he was now. It’d worsened over the years, and I didn’t need that psychology degree to know it stemmed from insecurity.

  I feared my husband sensed my true feelings.

  The reproach abruptly fled, replaced by guilt.

  “Are you okay?”

  I jerked out of my melancholic thoughts to find Seonaid right in front of me, her hands on my biceps. I looked up into her concerned face. “I’m fine.”

  “You hit the floor hard. Mr. Hottie,” she nodded to the stranger at the bar, “got to you before I could.”

  The throbbing in my wrist intensified and I winced, lifting it. “I went down on my wrist.”

  Anger suffused Seonaid’s face, and she glanced over her shoulder at her brother. Whatever he saw on her face had him finally moving toward me.

  “Ye okay?” he asked quietly.

  “No, she’s not. She’s hurt her wrist.”

  “It’s fine.” I cradled it to my chest.

  “Jesus,” Jim winced, sliding his hand around my waist, “I’m sorry, Nora. I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded. I was too exhausted to berate him like I wanted to.

  “Let’s get ye home, get yer wrist wrapped up.”

  The mood was obliterated anyway, and I was sure the whole pub would breathe a sigh of relief once we left. “Okay.”

  “Do you want me to come?” Seonaid asked.

  “No, we don’t.” Jim shot her a back-off look, and she raised her hands in defense.

  “Okay. I’ll get your purse for you.” She wandered back to the table and I saw her say something to Roddy. Fergus, oblivious to anything not related to him, sat playing with his phone.

  Jim kissed me softly, murmuring against my mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded again, anxious fluttering flaring to life in my belly as I thought about the much bigger conversation I feared on our horizon. As Seonaid walked back toward us with my purse, I used the moment to surreptitiously check out the stranger at the bar.

  Our eyes met again. This time he was so close, close enough to hear my conversation with Jim, close enough I could see curiosity in his beautiful green eyes. He’d been so calm and authoritative, breaking up the fight. He’d barely even had to say anything.

  I still had the phantom imprint of his hands under my arms, and my eyes dropped to those hands. A shiver rippled through me, making me feel a strange mix of guilt and pleasure. He had big hands, large knuckles, slim fingers. Elegant hands. My gaze lingered longer than I’d meant, taking in his extremely fit physique delineated by his black thermal.

  It wasn’t only his height and general attractiveness that made the stranger stand out. He reeked of money. Despite the simplicity of his clothing—a thermal and jeans—he reeked of money. When he’d picked me up, I’d gotten a whiff of cologne so sexy … earthy but fresh. Like wood, and amber, mint leaves, and apple. It smelled expensive.

  Maybe it wasn’t the clothes or the cologne that gave the impression of money. Maybe it was the confidence, the ownership of the room, like wherever he went, this guy was the one in charge.

  Maybe it was an age thing, I reminded myself. He was probably in his mid-thirties.

  Seonaid suddenly blocked him from view, giving me a knowing smirk. “Your purse.”

  I blushed, glancing at Jim to make sure he hadn’t noticed my ogling (he hadn’t), and gave my sister-in-law a hug.

  As Jim slid his arm around my back and led me out of the bar, I glanced over my shoulder one last time to find the stranger watching me. He lifted his drink, and I nodded my thanks, holding his gaze until Jim had led us out of sight.

  It wasn’t the alarm that woke me up for work the next morning.

  It was Jim’s tongue.

  A languid, luscious feeling low in my belly pushed through me, moving me toward consciousness. A delicious tension tightened and swelled inside me, forcing me awake with a gasp. Confusion reigned for a few seconds. I was lying in bed with my pajama top bunched around my neck, breasts bare.

  And then I felt the tongue on my clit.

  “Oh God,” I groaned, looking down to see Jim’s head between my thighs.

  He looked up at me from between his thick lashes but continued to love me with his mouth.

  My head flew back from the sensation as he played me expertly.

  Fingers curling into the sheets, I shoved my surprise aside and enjoyed his pursuit of my orgasm. My hips undulated against his mouth, wanting more, always reaching for more.

  After three years, Jim had this part down pat.

  It didn’t take long for the orgasm to ripple through me in pulling waves, and before I was even through it, Jim was braced over me. He thrust inside while I was still swollen tight from climax, and I gripped onto his waist, wincing at the slight burn.

  As my release faded, I watched my husband as he threw his head back, eyes closed tight, teeth gritted, hips pumping against mine. I lifted mine to meet his thrusts, feeling a stirring of pleasure, but nothing like what I felt when he put his mouth on me.

  We’d discovered I couldn’t come with penetrative sex. I would never tell Jim this but I felt too disconnected when he was moving inside me. Jim didn’t seem to mind. He was happy with a regular blow job. In return, he always got me off with his mouth first before he got himself off inside me.

  “So. Good,” Jim grunted out, groaning hard as his hips stilled for a second and then jerked in spurts as he came.

  After he rolled off me, he threw his arm over his eyes as his chest moved up and down in short, fast movement. I glanced at the alarm clock to discover I only had ten minutes until I needed to get ready for work.
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  What a nice way to greet the day, I thought, and turned on my side, tucking my hands under my head to stare at Jim as he came down from his orgasm.

  Once his breathing evened out, I whispered, “Well, that was new.”

  Jim lifted his arm from his eyes and grinned at me. “New good?”

  It was a little disconcerting to wake up with his mouth between my legs but definitely good. “Yes. Duh.”

  He chuckled and rolled into me, his hand sliding down over my bare ass. “I wanted to make up for yesterday. I was an arsehole.”

  I touched his bruised cheek, unable to meet his eyes. “Just promise not to do it again.”

  “I promise.” He kissed me. “Nora?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I want ye tae stop taking the pill.”

  He might as well have thrown an ice-cold bucket of water over me. Shivering suddenly, I pulled out of his arms and sat up. Cold sweat broke out under my arms, across my palms, and my heart rate increased. “What?”

  Please tell me I didn’t hear right.

  “I think we should start trying for a baby.”

  What the ever-loving fuck?

  “Nora?”

  He’d lost his mind!

  “Nora?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” I whipped around to glare at him.

  A mulish expression fell over his face and he threw back the covers to bounce out of bed. As he pulled on a pair of clean underwear and jeans, he bit out, “I want kids, Nora.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” I argued immediately.

  “So?”

  “So?” Now I threw myself out of bed because if I didn’t, I think I might have killed him. Moving around the room gathering my clean underwear and work clothes, I said, “I’m not ready to have kids.”

  “Why not? I never wanted tae be one of those older parents who doesnae have the energy for their kids.” He followed me into the bathroom. “Twenty-one isn’t that young.”

  “If you really think that, you and I are living on two very different planets right now, Jim,” I warned. “I’m not ready to have this discussion with you.”

  His expression darkened. “Now? Or ever?”

  Fear gripped me.

  And I suddenly saw my fear mirrored in his eyes. “Nora, I love ye. I want kids with ye.”