Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance

by Norinne, Rebecca

  “Oh god no!” I exclaimed, reaching out to grab his arm. “I came as soon as I could wrap up what I was doing. I left my friend without a house sitter and turned down a pretty major job to be here. And I would have been here sooner if I’d known. I swear.”

  Declan looked at my hand clasped around his arm and then back up, his gaze heated. Touching him had seemed so natural, but now I was self-conscious about it and wondered how to pull away without that discomfort becoming obvious.

  Before I could move, Declan put his hand over mine and squeezed, offering me an understanding smile.

  “I believe you. And I know your grandma will be thrilled to have you.”

  He dragged his hand away and ran it through his hair before halting at the back of his neck self-consciously. “Now let’s get you inside so you can say hello.”

  That’s when the back door of the pub opened and clanged shut. My grandmother stood under the eaves, her arms splayed wide, with a giant smile on her face.

  “Sophie!” the indomitable Maureen Fitzgerald exclaimed. “Come give your granny a kiss!”

  I took one look at Declan, and when he shrugged and kicked his lips up into a small smile, I handed him my bag and ran straight into my grandmother’s waiting arms.

  Chapter Six

  Declan: How are you settling in?

  Sophie: Who is this?

  Declan: Guess.

  Sophie: I hate guessing games.

  Declan: You’re no fun. Come on, play with me.

  Sophie: Okay, fine … Seeing as I know a grand total of three people with a +353 country code, and I just left two of them in the kitchen, I’m going to guess it’s … Barbara.

  Declan: Ouch. You wound me.

  Sophie: Hello Declan.

  Declan: Hi Sophie.

  Sophie: How’d you get my number, anyhow?

  Declan: I’d say you have three guesses, but since you hate guessing games, I’ll be nice and just tell you your granny gave it to me. She thought it might be nice for you to have someone your own age to talk to while you’re here. I believe her exact words were, “Sophie doesn’t want to hear about bunions and arthritis. Keep her entertained.”

  Sophie: How thoughtful of her.

  Declan: Very.

  Declan: So, are you going to let me entertain you?

  Sophie: Why can’t I tell if you’re asking a genuine question or if you’re coming on to me? Everything you say sounds like it has a second meaning.

  Declan: You found me out. Nothing I say is serious. Conversations are more fun that way.

  Sophie: And frustrating.

  Declan: Admit it, you’re smiling.

  Sophie: I admit nothing.

  Declan: That’s because you don’t want to give me the satisfaction of knowing it’s because of me.

  Sophie: Okay, fine. I’m smiling.

  Declan: Geez, was that so difficult?

  Sophie: The worst.

  Declan: You never answered. You settling in okay?

  Sophie: Yeah, I’m fine. Bored though since I’m hanging out all day with septuagenarians.

  Declan: Septu-what?

  Sophie: 70-somethings.

  Declan: Ah, right. I imagine it’s a blast, with the talk of bunions and all.

  Sophie: Thankfully no bunions yet, but I’ll let you know if it comes to that.

  Declan: Please don’t.

  Declan: You do need to call me though when you meet Mrs. Doyle. You’re going to want to share that experience with someone and I’m the perfect audience.

  Sophie: Mrs. Doyle! Oh my god, what a character.

  Declan: Ah, so you’ve already become acquainted.

  Sophie: She is … something else.

  Declan: She pinched your cheeks, didn’t she?

  Sophie: Yes! How did you know?

  Declan: Because she hasn’t stopped pinching mine and I’m a grown ass man. You should consider yourself lucky. I have other cheeks she likes to pinch, if you get my meaning.

  Sophie: She doesn’t!

  Declan: I have the marks to prove it.

  Sophie: You’re lying.

  Declan: I’ll let you inspect them if you want.

  Sophie: Shut it.

  Declan: You’re smiling again, aren’t you?

  Sophie: No.

  Declan: Yes, you are.

  Sophie: You can’t prove it.

  Declan: Hey, I have to run to practice. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Call if you want to talk about something other than arthritis, yeah?

  Sophie: Bye Declan.

  Declan: Bye Sophie.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophie

  When my grandma and I went downstairs to open the pub, I was surprised to see an unfamiliar man setting up the room.

  “I assume you know who that strange man is? I whispered, pointing his direction.

  “Strange man?” she whispered back, tracking my finger with her eyes. “Oh, he’s not a strange man, dear. That’s Cian; he works here sometimes.”

  “Since when?” I asked, still whispering.

  In the week I’d been here, the only other employee I’d met was a waitress named Siobhan.

  “Since …” she paused, mentally calculating how long the mysterious Cian had been in her employ. “Well, for about a year now, off and on. He doesn’t have a regular schedule though which is why you haven’t met.”

  “Okaaaay,” I said, pushing my frustration away.

  In an effort to get a grip on their bleeding finances, I’d had several conversations with my grandparents about the pub’s expenditures. I assumed they’d shared all pertinent information, including the employee payroll. At no point had they mentioned this extra head.

  “How come you didn’t mention him sooner?”

  “Why would I have?” She looked at me with confusion.

  “Grandma—” I took a deep breath “—if I’m going to help you and grandpa figure out your finances and how to turn a bigger profit, I really need to know everything. Another employee is a pretty big thing to have forgotten.”

  She waved me off like I was speaking nonsense and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I might regret.

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. We don’t actually pay Cian. He works for tips, and he makes excellent tips,” she explained, surprising me when she cast her gaze over him approvingly and waggled her eyebrows.

  Since working my own unpaid shifts, I’d learned Fitzgerald’s did a healthy business with females in the over-30, under-90 demographic. While their tips hadn’t been great for me, I could understand how Cian might fare differently. Imagine a much taller and broader Poldark dropped down in the middle of Ballycurra, dressed in modern clothing that perfectly molded to his athletic body, and you had a pretty good picture of the man. Basically, he was some very nice eye candy.

  “Wait a minute,” I gasped, giving him another once over and putting two and two together. “That’s Cian Kelly, your ‘dark-haired devil?’”

  I winced when his head shot up. Shit, he’d heard me even from all the way over there.

  “Morning Maureen,” Cian chuckled, thankfully going about his business.

  “Good morning Cian,” she responded sweetly. “I’d like you to meet someone very special.”

  Cian slid a chair under the table and straightened, coming to an abrupt halt when he spied me standing next to my grandma, his eyes flashing with curiosity.

  “This must be Sophie,” he said, walking toward us with a cocky swagger.

  “Indeed, I am,” I confirmed with a nod. “And you, I’m to understand, are Cian Kelly, my old classmate and sometime torturer.”

  Even though I’d said it with a smile so he’d know I wasn’t picking a fight, he flinched.

  Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, he said sheepishly, “Yeah, that’d be me.”

  “Oh, Sophie, you can’t still be mad about that,” my grandma interjected, waving her hand. “You were all a bunch of kids who didn’t kno
w any better.”

  “Grandma …” I warned.

  We’d been over this when Declan had dropped me off. Yes, I was willing to forgive him—and by extension all his cronies—but that didn’t mean I was going to pretend like it had never happened or their teasing had been nothing more than harmless fun.

  She scoffed and walked through the swinging door to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Cian.

  “Sorry about that,” I offered, uncomfortable he’d witnessed the short, awkward exchange.

  “We view those years in Ballycurra quite differently,” I said by way of explanation. “To my grandparents, your teasing was a case of boys being boys, but to me … not so much.” I shrugged.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he mumbled. “When Maureen told me you were coming for a visit I was worried you’d remember all the names we’d called you and instead of shaking my hand, you’d punch me in the face.”

  He took an exaggerated step backward in case his suggestion sparked sudden violence on my part.

  Snickering, I said, “Yes, well … maybe some other time.”

  “I won’t hold you to it,” he answered on a laugh.

  I laughed as well because during those dreams of vengeance, punching someone had been exactly what I wanted to do. Cian was safe though; it had been Declan who’d always been my main target for retribution.

  “No, I’m sure you won’t.”

  Cian glanced around the room. “Well, I better get back to it. Busy day. Talk to you later, yeah?”

  “Sure thing,” I replied, heading behind the bar for my own prep work.

  We worked side-by-side the rest of the day, engaging in short conversations when there was a lull in customers. By closing, we’d hit it off pretty well and I was happy to have someone my own age to keep me company.

  “You want a beer or cider or something?” Cian asked, pulling himself a pint.

  “Bulmers?”

  He nodded, grabbing the glass from under the counter.

  Normally at the end of the night I’d go upstairs to shower and then spend some time reading up on restaurant management, but I’d done that every night for the past week and was no closer to figuring out how to save Fitzgerald’s than I was before I’d started. I figured taking a night off might do me some good and I was looking forward to not thinking about profit and loss statements, food ordering, and employee management and retention systems.

  “So, do you always stay after hours drinking free beer?” I asked jokingly.

  Cian smiled as he continued pouring his Guinness. “Don’t worry about your inheritance. I always pay for everything I drink.” He notched his chin my way. “What about you? I didn’t see you laying down any cash for that cider.”

  “In case you haven’t heard, mister, I drink for free at Fitzgerald’s.”

  “Oh yeah?” He rested his forearms on the bar and leaned forward. “That’s some perk.”

  “The only perk,” I confirmed with a smirk.

  I stretched to work out some of the kinks and knots in my back and felt the muscles pull and loosen. I wasn’t used to being on my feet all day. When I’d woken up, my lower back had seized up in protest at the constant lifting and bending that went hand-in-hand with working behind a bar. When I felt a few achingly wonderful pops along my spine, I let out a low moan, dropped my arms, and opened my eyes to find Cian staring at me. His gaze traveled over my body appreciatively before coming to rest on my face. Unashamed to have been caught staring, he didn’t bother hiding his obvious perusal.

  Suddenly the room felt much warmer and I didn’t know if it was embarrassment or because I liked him looking at me. I wasn’t sexually attracted to Cian, but when a hot guy stared at you like that, your brain could go a little haywire.

  Which made me remember how I’d reacted when Declan had looked at me with such open, naked desire. My heart had beat loudly in my ears, a steady whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, while my neck had grown moist with a light sheen of sweat. I hadn’t heard from him after our text exchange the other night but I was itching to see him again. I needed to know if my reaction had been a fluke … or if it was something more.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I said, sliding off my stool. “I’m going to head up now. See you later.”

  I didn’t look back, not even when I heard him laughing at my quick retreat. I probably should have clarified that I wasn’t rushing off because of him, but what did it matter? He wouldn’t have believed me anyhow.

  “Goodnight Sophie. See you tomorrow.”

  Lying in bed in the dark, I got to thinking more about my primal reaction to Declan and what it would be like to explore that attraction. As my fingers trailed down my body, past my curls to flutter over my clit, I pictured how it would feel for him to run his strong, rough hands over me, how I’d quake and shiver as he licked and kissed my neck, how intense I’d come when he flipped me over and took me hard from behind.

  I didn’t know if it was simply the idea of having sex with Declan or if it was because I’d had to remain completely silent while I pleasured myself lest my grandparents hear me from down the hall, but when my orgasm hit, stars erupted behind my eyelids, my toes curled, and my flesh broke out in a wave of goose bumps.

  When I finally came down, I stifled a happy, euphoric laugh. The rush I’d had fantasizing about Declan had been more intense than anything I’d felt with that sexy Spaniard in San Sebastian.

  “That’s a lovely blush you’ve got going,” Cian whispered as he swept past me.

  Startled out of my memory of my epic orgasm the night before, I flinched with mortification. It was bad enough I’d masturbated to the thought of Declan; I didn’t need him invading my thoughts during the day as well.

  And after our awkward moment the night before, I certainly didn’t want Cian to think my blushes were for him.

  “It’s warm in here,” I answered, pulling my shirt away and fluttering it against my heated skin.

  It was hot in the pub. With temperatures dropping into the low 40s outside and rain lashing against the windows—weather everyone kept calling “Baltic”—we had fires blazing in all of the grates. It’d taken awhile for the pub to warm up, but now that the turf had burned for a couple of hours, the temperature inside had risen considerably. I’d started the day in jeans and a sweater, but about an hour ago, I’d rushed upstairs and threw on the v-neck tee that was now sticking to me.

  Cian nudged his hip against mine. “Come on, let’s take a break outside. You look like you could use some air.”

  “You ain’t kidding,” I replied, fanning my face. “It’s like a sauna in here.”

  “Yeah, one of the downfalls of an Irish winter is everyone is so damn cold all the time that when they come inside, they go nuts with the heat. You’ll learn to dress in layers.”

  “I’m not sure I have any layers to lose,” I answered before realizing the image my words presented.

  Me stripped down to my bra and underwear while I poured pints wasn’t something I wanted Cian picturing.

  “Unless I came down in a bathing suit and sarong,” I added, though that image wasn’t much better.

  He snickered, and I knew he knew I had been trying to salvage my statement by talking about my bathing suit.

  “After you.”

  I bypassed my jacket and grabbed a scarf my grandma had crocheted for me a few days before. While I might be sweltering now, there was no reason to tempt fate by heading out in the rain in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans.

  Once outside, I careful to stay under the awning. Even though it was snug for the two of us, there was no sense in letting the rain soak into my clothes by giving Cian a wider birth. I wanted to cool down, not freeze to death.

  “Wow, there’s steam coming off you,” Cian observed, his eyes raking over my exposed skin while his hand hovered over my heated flesh. “I knew you were hot, but you’re literally smoking.”

  He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly in a cartoonish show of comedy.

  “Har har,”
I responded dryly.

  Cian’s eyes twinkled as he thankfully put some distance between us. Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and putting one between his lips came as a surprise. Cupping his hands, he lit the cancer stick and inhaled appreciatively before blowing the smoke away from me.

  “Want one?” He indicated the box in his hand.

  “No thanks, I’m good. I don’t smoke.”

  “You will,” he responded. “All the girls in Dublin do.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  I scrunched up my nose. I’d wanted a moment outside for some fresh air, not to be bathed in the stench of cigarettes. I’d have to wash my hair now before going to bed so my sheets didn’t stink.

  He pulled another drag into his lungs and raised his eyebrow. Exhaling, he said, “I’ve been told it’s rather sexy.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you have.”

  Because yes, if I was in to Cian, I’d probably find the sight of him standing in the rain in a tight black shirt, jeans hanging artfully low on his hips, with a cigarette dangling from his lips the sexiest damn thing I’d ever seen. But I wasn’t so I chuckled and said, “You need to check your ego because not every girl is into the bad boy thing you have going on.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He stepped into my space, causing me to scuttle back, perilously close to the edge of the awning where rain poured down in heavy buckets. Dragging a finger down my arm, he took another step and leaned forward, his face hovering dangerously close.

  “You don’t think I couldn’t entice you?” he asked, half whisper, half growl, his smoke-tinged breath brushing over my lips.

  When I settled my hands against his chest his eyes flashed with triumph, then resentment when I pushed him away.

  “I’m sorry, Cian. I can’t do this. Not with you.”

  His jaw ticked and he took a step back.

  Without another word, I rushed inside and straight up the stairs to my room. It was shitty of me to leave closing the pub to him, but I couldn’t play his games anymore. But business was slow enough that he could manage it on his own.

  When I was safely back in my room with the door locked, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see I had two missed texts. The first was from my mom wanting to know when I was coming home. I deleted it without responding. If she wanted to know my plans, she could call and ask.