by Penny Reid
“H-hi,” she replied finally, then moved to walk by me. I sidestepped into her path, bringing us closer. A waft of her perfume hit my nose, and I picked up the subtle hint of watermelon.
She straightened, steel forming in her gaze as she leveled me with a hard stare. “Would you mind letting me pass?”
“Why’d you run?”
Her eyelids fluttered, like I made her nervous. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” I took advantage of our closeness to study her face, my attention snagging on her lips. “Tell me why.”
“Honestly, sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Now I smirked, my attention moving back to her eyes. So lovely.
“Sir?”
She stared at my shirt collar. “I don’t know you.”
“Don’t you?” Not to sound egotistical, but everyone here knew me. Sometimes for the wrong reasons.
Okay, usually for the wrong reasons.
Her eyes met mine again, and damn, something in them knocked me off guard for a second. A weird feeling of déjà vu hit me as I blurted, “Have we met before?”
Her expression gave nothing away, her face a palette of indifference, which again made me wonder if I was barking up a tree I’d already visited. Because honestly, I couldn’t imagine a situation involving alcohol and me where I wouldn’t have tried to bed a woman who looked like this one. Trouble was, there were huge chunks of my memory missing. Like poof, completely gone.
Thanks, Smirnoff.
“If we did meet and you don’t remember, I can safely s-s-say it’s not worth us talking now,” she said with a haughty chuckle.
I really liked her voice. There was a queenly calm to it, even if she was visibly nervous. I decided she was right; we obviously hadn’t met before. In spite of my old tendency to black out, I didn’t think there was any alcohol strong enough to make me forget this beauty, and if I did, I didn’t deserve to remember her.
“Fair enough,” I said and tried to think of a way to prolong the encounter. Which, of course, was a bad idea, but there was something about her that made me feel this sense of urgency. This need to know her before she disappeared and I never saw her again.
I shuffled a step closer, feeling strangely compelled to do so, and caught a stronger waft of her perfume. Maybe it was the watermelon, or maybe it was just her, but for whatever reason I was struck with the need to lick and taste.
She didn’t speak, but her lips formed a tight line, which made me think I was probably coming on a bit too strong. I cleared my throat and stepped back. A moment of awkwardness fell between us.
“So, you having a good time?”
Christ, I was so out of practice talking to women. She gave a little shrug, and I got the sense that she really didn’t want to talk to me. It was weird, but it didn’t deter me from keeping her there.
“Sure.”
I laughed warmly. “You’re hating it, then?”
At this she appeared surprised. She blinked a few times and shook her head. “I just don’t go to stuff like this very often. I’m more of a homebody.”
“Yeah, me too. I’d much rather be home catching up on my Netflix addiction.”
She gave me a look of suspicion. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Why so skeptical?”
She shrugged lightly, looked to the side and then back to me. God, her eyes were gorgeous. “You just d-d-don’t s-strike me as the t-t-type.”
I noticed how she stuttered and wondered if it was a permanent thing or if I just made her anxious. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and frowned severely, appearing frustrated.
“Once upon a time you would’ve been dead-on with that statement,” I tilted my head, considering, “but not anymore.”
She stared at me for a long time, longer than warranted, and for the life of me I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Maybe she was just an odd bird.
Eventually, she blinked as though shaking herself. She cast her gaze to the floor and gestured to the bathrooms over my shoulder. “Yes, well, if you don’t mind. I need to go visit the ladies’ room.”
I unfolded my arms and nodded numbly as she moved by me, not giving me another look. I caught myself swaying in her direction as she passed, fighting the urge to grab her wrist.
Huh.
It wasn’t that I thought I was the prize of the century or anything, but generally speaking, when I made the effort to chat up a woman, they were a lot more receptive than Red had just been.
Maybe I’m getting old, losing my touch . . .
Now there was a sobering thought.
I glared at the bathroom door and decided I wouldn’t be that bloke who hovered outside of the ladies’ like a nutcase. Clearly, my conversation and company were unwelcome.
With a frustrated sigh, I left the corridor and went back to the party, finding a few of the lads from the team and shooting the breeze for a bit.
Wouldn’t you know, the first woman to catch my interest in years would rather hide in the loo than spend another minute in my company. Regardless, for the first time in over a year, I was actually thinking about watering my house plants.
Sometime later, after marinating in my bad luck for at least a full hour, our coach approached me. His name was also Bryan, except he spelled it “Brian.” This was Ireland. The name was about as common as Pierre in France, or Mohammed in Saudi Arabia.
“Let me introduce you to our new physio intern,” he said, leading me across the room. “She recently graduated from university in the States and comes highly recommended. She’ll be working under Connors for the next couple of months.”
“Really? I thought Connors was getting the sack.”
Brian shook his head. “No, he’s staying put. I know he’s not exactly the most popular with you and the lads, but he’s the general manager’s cousin, and he knows his stuff.”
“I just wish he’d use deodorant every once in a while.”
Brian chuckled. “That’s you and me both, son.”
We approached a small group and the first person I saw was Sean Cassidy. Beside him was Lucy, his girlfriend and Ronan Fitzpatrick’s younger sister. The final person my eyes landed on was again familiar, Gorgeous Red. I felt my mouth begin to curve into an unbidden smile as our eyes clashed. I quickly wiped my expression. She was stiff as Brian introduced us.
“Eilish Cassidy, I don’t believe you’ve met our fullback yet, Bryan Leech. Bryan has some trouble with his knee from time to time, an old injury, so I’m sure you two will become well acquainted over the coming months.”
What a second. Eilish Cassidy?
I glanced at Sean, who sure enough was eyeballing me all, yep, she’s a Cassidy, you horny fuck, so hands off.
I cocked a brow at him. “Any relation?”
“We’re cousins,” a low voice responded, and I leveled my eyes on Eilish. Such a gorgeous name. Such a gorgeous lady.
“More like brother and sister,” Sean put in. “We grew up together.”
“Ah, I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eilish,” I said, not taking my eyes off her for a second as I held my hand out. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it and we shook. Her skin was cool and silky soft under my touch. I didn’t want to let go, but she withdrew before I could keep hold of her. Coach started talking about something physio related, but I just stared at Eilish, not hearing a word of it.
I couldn’t explain it, but I had to admit to myself that I was drawn to her. Not just because she was beautiful, but because she had a presence, an energy I found incredibly appealing despite the fact that she clearly considered me . . . scum? Unappealing? Beneath her notice?
Maybe a combination of all three.
Clearly, I thought sourly, because she’s a Cassidy.
Her disdain for me now made sense. The Cassidys were, as far as Irish gentry goes, as high on the social ladder as one could get in Dublin society. Even if she didn’t know of my disastrous past—which was unlikely—my blood was nowhere
near blue enough. My father was a high court judge, but we weren’t old money.
She shifted in place, eyes darting everywhere but never looking at me. She was uncomfortable, probably thinking back to how I’d cornered her earlier. I didn’t like seeing her uncomfortable. I wanted to reassure her that she had no reason to feel that way. I understood how things were. I was a good guy. If she didn’t want to talk to me or be around me, fine. That was her choice.
While the others conversed, I took a step closer to Eilish and placed my hand very softly on her elbow. Keeping my voice low, I bent to whisper in her ear, “Is that a vodka tonic? Can I get you another?”
She shook her head. “It’s just tonic water, and no, thank you. I’m fine.”
I studied her profile. “If I made you uncomfortable earlier, I apologize. I promise it won’t happen again.”
She blinked and glanced up at me, taken aback. Her hand shook as she lifted her glass to her mouth and took a sip, her attention moving to the party around us and snagging on a bloke passing by. I couldn’t help but also notice because he was wearing a designer shirt and the tightest pair of skinny jeans I’d ever seen on a man.
I cocked a brow at the obvious grimace on the man’s face and his restricted gait just as Eilish murmured something into her glass that sounded a lot like, “Not as uncomfortable as him, anyway.”
I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but her comment made me smile a little. My first impression had been one of shyness, but maybe she had a sassy side.
“Perhaps he enjoys the tight fit,” I suggested, dropping her elbow.
Eilish’s gaze widened, darting to mine, then away. Yeah, she definitely hadn’t meant for me to hear.
She swallowed another sip and threw back, “Keeps everything tidy and in place, I suppose.”
I chuckled. “True, though I prefer to imagine he’s a diehard environmentalist. Tight jeans mean less fabric, and less fabric means less pollution for mother earth.”
“Or perhaps he’s an elite luger. The pants could’ve been designed for aerodynamic purposes.” Eilish threw back, and I barked a laugh.
She appeared surprised, like she hadn’t expected me to have a sense of humor or something. Our eyes met and a moment passed between us. It felt more weighty than the situation warranted.
Being this close to her was magnetizing. I knew social norms said I should step away now, any second now, but I just couldn’t seem to manage it. I felt a pull in the center of my chest.
If I wanted a woman, that usually meant she was bad news, and we definitely had a fuckload of chemistry going on.
I eyed her, how she’d schooled her expression, looking uncomfortable again, and shifted away from me subtly.
Maybe it’s all on my end.
I was about to say something—anything—to try to soothe her nerves when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw my mother’s name on the screen. There were also ten missed calls displayed from earlier. Ten. Christ. I knew this couldn’t be good. Bracing myself, I stepped away from the group and to a quiet corner, lifting the phone to my ear.
“Mam.”
“Bryan, I decided to open that fancy bottle of Pinot Noir Tracy bought for me last week. Why don’t you come over and we can drink it together, have a little catch up? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
I swallowed down the hollow lump in my chest. Good old Mam.
“I can’t right now, Mam. I’m at William’s birthday party. And you know I don’t drink anymore.”
“You’re at a party and didn’t think to invite me?” She pretended she hadn’t heard the last bit, just like she always did. When I’d mentioned the people who couldn’t seem to get their head around the changes in my life, that I no longer drank, I’d more or less been referring to Mam.
“Lots of stuffed suits,” I lied. “Not your scene.”
I could almost hear her pouting. “It still would’ve been nice to be asked. Is there an open bar?”
I ignored her question and instead said, “The next time there’s a party I’ll make sure to ask. Sound good?”
She let out a huff of a breath. “Mm-hmm. So, are you coming over? I tried phoning Tracy and Marianne, but they still aren’t taking my calls.”
God, I really didn’t need to hear about this again. She was currently on the outs with her two best friends, Tracy and Marianne, after getting drunk and telling them everything she thought was wrong with their lives, including that their husbands were lazy and their children were brats. Presently, I was the only person she had to talk to. Eventually they’d forgive her and celebrate with a night on the town, as was their pattern.
“I can’t, Mam. Maybe tomorrow, yeah?”
“But I’m so lonely, Bryan. Please. You’re all I have.”
I let out a long, tired sigh and ran a hand through my hair. Glancing over at Eilish one last time, I saw her studying me curiously. When she realized I’d caught her looking, she quickly turned away.
I didn’t want to leave, but I knew if I didn’t go check in on Mam, she’d probably end up drinking herself into oblivion.
I let out a gruff breath and told her, resigned, “Go easy on the wine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She let out a happy little yelp. “Oh, wonderful, Bryan. I can’t wait to see you. You’re the best son a mother could ask for.”
Yeah, yeah . . . maybe to my detriment.
3
@ECassChoosesPikachu: Adult conversation with @JoseyInHeels in 5, 4, 3, 2…
@JoseyInHeels: I’ll be 15mins late, sorry!
@ECassChoosesPikachu to @JoseyInHeels: That’s fine. I’ll order 7 donuts and name them Sleepy, Dopey, Doc, Sneezy, Grumpy, something, something.
*Eilish*
“What did you do?”
Rubbing my forehead, I grimaced, preparing myself for Josey’s reaction. “I went into the bathroom. When I came back out ten minutes later, he was gone.”
Her mouth fell open and she gave me her uneven-eyes stare, where she made one eye slightly larger than the other.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“What look?”
“That look. The one you use instead of saying you’re a fecking eejit.”
“Oh, that look.” She blinked and her eye sizes normalized. “Was I giving you that look?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Lifting both of her hands between us, palms toward me, she said, “Let me . . . let me get this straight. Upon seeing Bryan Leech—rugby god, sex god, belt aficionado—not to mention the father of your child—”
“Shh!” I glanced over my shoulders around the café and its inhabitants. No one was paying attention. But still, in Dublin the name Bryan Leech was recognizable.
“BL seeks you out and you run into the bathroom?” Josey lowered her voice to a harsh whisper and leaned forward, her raven-black hair sweeping over her shoulders. BL was how we’d been referring to Bryan for the last four years. Other than my cousin Sean, Josey was the only one who knew Bryan was Patrick’s father.
I met her dark brown eyes and nodded once. “Yes.”
“Why would you do that?” A hint of pained desperation bled into her voice. “Don’t you realize I’ve been waiting for this moment for the last four years? Don’t you know I have been counting the days? This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I twisted my mouth to the side, trying to hide my smile. I decided I wouldn’t tell her about what happened later, when we’d been officially introduced and shared a joke.
Better to not encourage her delusions.
“You should be. He did his part, noticing you right away, pursuing you through the party. But then you were supposed to take him to a quiet corner, confess the truth, and fall into his arms.” As was her habit, she was moving her hands frantically between us, as though motioning to an invisible chart where the actions of the party were pre-destined and I’d failed to follow through. “And then Sean would be your best man, and I w
ould wear that badass tuxedo bridesmaid dress. You know how much I love that dress.”
I gave her a blank stare. “You are completely nuts.”
“So?” Her fingers came to her chest. “This is news?”
“No. This is not news. But if you could be serious for just a moment, I’d appreciate it if we could talk about what happened without you referencing your delusions of grandeur.”
“Fine.” Josey huffed an exaggerated breath and leaned back in her chair. “Go ahead. Talk about it.”
“Thank you. What I wanted to say is—”
“Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here sobbing about the happily ever after that never happened.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “There is no such thing as a happily ever after.”
“I know.” She reached for her coffee, lifting it but not drinking. “But if anyone deserves to have their wishes and fantasies come true, it’s you.”
Now it was my turn to huff. “Josey, BL is not my fantasy.”
“Lie. Liar. Lies. You used to have posters of him on your bedroom wall at school. You used to make me watch all those matches, know all his rugby stats. You used to—”
“Fine. Okay. He was my fantasy. But not anymore.”
“Then who is your fantasy?” Josey sipped her coffee, her eyes taunting.
“A maid who cooks is my fantasy.”
She rolled her eyes. “You sound like my mother.”
“Exactly,” I bit out, the word arriving sharper than I’d intended.
She stared at me, and a meaningful moment passed between us. Things had changed since our boarding school days, I’d changed. My priorities were different and my priorities had lost me friends, most notably my other best mate, Nadia.
But the dissolution of my friendship with Nadia couldn’t be helped.
Josey’s expression softened and she gave me a crooked smile. “Okay, sorry. What happened at the party?”
