The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2)

by Penny Reid

  The Player and the Pixie

  by L.H. Cosway

  www.lhcoswayauthor.com

  & Penny Reid

  www.pennyreid.nina

  Caped Publishing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

  Copyright © 2016 by Penny Reid; All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

  Caped Publishing

  Made in the United States of America

  Final Edition: April 2016

  ISBN- 978-1-942874-18-8

  EBOOK EDITION

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Sneak Peek: The Cad and the Co-ed

  Sneak Peek: Showmance

  L.H. Cosway Booklist

  Sneak Peek: Grin and Beard It

  Penny Reid Booklist

  ~Dedication~

  In no particular order: yoga, dogs that hump your legs without even buying you a drink first, and the bubble butts of rugby players everywhere.

  And to the city of Tulsa, where a second love story was conceived.

  Chapter One

  Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.

  - Lucy Fitzpatrick (also, maybe Buddha).

  *Lucy*

  Flesh was a strange color for nail polish.

  I understood black (for the Goths) and even gray to a certain extent, but flesh? You were just painting your nails the same color they already were. It was like dying your hair red when you were a ginger.

  Pointless.

  I stared at the selection of colors in the cosmetics section of the local department store, trying to resist the urge to pick up that oh-so-tempting shade of canary yellow and shove it in my handbag. You don’t need it. You don’t need it. You don’t need it. Material objects are transitory. The joy they bring is momentary and hollow . . . Strangely, my mantra wasn’t working right then.

  So, you’ve probably already guessed my secret. I had an addiction . . . or maybe a compulsion was the better word.

  I was a thief. A shoplifter. And the mere sight of consumer items small enough to conceal within the confines of a purse or a coat pocket gave me twitchy fingers like you wouldn’t believe.

  It was abhorrent, I knew that, and I struggled daily with my guilt. In fact, I’d been doing so well in my attempts to quit. To be a better person. Six months ago I’d moved to New York to begin a new job as a celebrity photographer/blogger/YouTuber, and I resolved to stop. It was my chance for a fresh start. I hadn’t stolen a single thing in all that time. Yes, the Big Apple remained untouched by my habit for five-finger discounts. And yet, there I stood, just itching to steal that flipping ridiculous bottle of nail polish.

  I knew the reason why, and her name began with a J. That would be Jackie Fitzpatrick, my mother, and provider of inferiority complexes everywhere. It was summer and I’d come home to Dublin for a visit, see my brother and his fiancée, meet up with some friends. The problem was, I’d committed to staying at Mam’s for the duration. I was only back a day before she started in with the usual comments.

  When are you ever going to meet a man and settle down?

  Those baggy jeans do nothing for your figure.

  Going out with you when you’re dressed like that is embarrassing.

  No man is going to want to marry a girl with so many opinions.

  Have you considered coming with me for a Brazilian wax? Men love it when you’re smooth. (I’d blushed like a maniac after that one.)

  Would you please do something different with your hair? Looking at all those colors is giving me a headache.

  So yeah, even though it was wrong on so many levels, stealing was that hit of relief I needed in order to deal with my mother’s constant criticism. In fact, I’d come by it rather by accident. One day I’d been on the phone to her while in a deli, she’d been berating me for something, and I’d been so stressed that I’d walked out before paying. An odd relief hit me when I realized I’d stolen, even if it was inadvertently. After that the compulsion grew and grew, until it was completely out of control . . . it was getting out of control again.

  My need for relief won out over my feelings of guilt. I snagged the bottle, dropped it discreetly into my bag and turned to leave. I’d just stepped away from the aisle toward the exit when a voice called, “Hey! Wait.”

  My heart began to race and heat flooded my cheeks. I’d been caught. It wouldn’t be the first time, but still, it didn’t get any less embarrassing or anxiety inducing to be found stealing. Nothing else for it, I turned and was met with a pair of eager brown eyes. Those eyes belonged to a young guy, about my age, and also an employee of the shop. I waited for the expected spiel. He was going to ask me to step back inside so he could search my bag, and then the humiliation and shame would follow. I most definitely deserved it.

  “Lucy? Lucy Fitzpatrick?” he asked hesitantly.

  I glanced from side to side. How did he know my name? “Uh, yeah.”

  He smiled. “I’m Ben, Ben O’Connor. We went to school together, remember? I used to sit by you in History.”

  Now that I looked at him properly, I did remember. I think I asked to borrow his pencil sharpener once. It was a surprise I could recall him, because normally I had a memory like a sieve. I actually had to use tricks sometimes in order to recall people’s names. For instance, when I first met my new friend in New York, Broderick, I kept envisioning him in a brown hat with helicopter wings and a long trench coat. That way my brain could make the connection to Inspector Gadget being played in the movie by Matthew Broderick, hence my new friend’s name was Broderick.

  “Oh yeah,” I smiled, while on the inside I was crapping myself. Had he seen me taking the nail polish? “I remember now. It’s been a while. How are you doing these days?”

  “Great,” he replied with enthusiasm and I tried to return it.

  “That’s good. That’s great.”

  He nodded and slipped his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

  A few seconds of awkward silence ensued and I wanted to leave. Ben was being friendly, and he seemed like a lovely guy, but I was still panicking over the nail polish. Stupid tempting canary yellow. How was I supposed to resist such vibrancy? How?

  “You look different these days,” Ben said finally.

  I laughed nervously. “Different good or different bad?”

  He shrugged. “Just different.”

  “Must be that sex change I put in for,” I said and winced. I always made weird jokes when anxious.

  Ben gave me a consolation laugh but he clearly didn’t
see the humor. I didn’t blame him. I was so odd sometimes. He cleared his throat. “So, you know I’m a massive rugby fan, right?”

  My stomach dropped a little at his question. For a second I thought he might be chatting me up, but no, this was about Ronan. I loved my brother to pieces, but his career meant that people often wanted to be friends with me because of who I shared DNA with. Kind of depressing, but I always tried to look on the bright side. Outweighing negativity with positivity was the key to a happy life, and being related to a famous person brought with it many advantages. I always tried to concentrate on those. Plus, I was a naturally happy and bubbly person when I wasn’t dealing with my mam’s undermining influence.

  “Oh, you are? That’s cool.”

  Ben nodded. “So, do you think maybe you could get me into tonight’s party? I’d love to go and meet the team. Seriously, it’d be a dream come true.”

  The Irish squad had just played their last game of the season, and tonight there was a celebration going on to mark the occasion.

  “Um, I’m not actually sure I can swing that, Ben. The party’s in a couple of hours,” I told him honestly.

  All of a sudden, Ben’s expression changed. He no longer appeared sheepishly polite. Now he seemed cynical – cocky even. He stepped forward and narrowed his gaze. “Get me into the party and I won’t tell my manager about the nail crap you just stole.”

  My heart pounded and I swallowed harshly, stunned by his sudden personality change.

  My attention flickered to the older man who was manning the service counter. It was ridiculous, but I felt a bit like crying. Sometimes I was so naïve, so gullible. Ben wasn’t lovely. He was trying to blackmail me. I didn’t cry, but I felt like it.

  “All right then,” I told him. “I’ll make sure your name is on the guest list.”

  I turned to leave.

  “With a plus one?” Ben called after me. Negative thoughts tried to flood my mind but I pushed them back, repeating a few lines from the Tao Te Ching I often used while meditating. Ah, that was better. I was calmer now.

  “Yes, Ben, with a plus one.”

  ***

  On the way home I dropped the nail polish into a charity collection box. I knew it was a weird thing to donate, but I thought maybe the bright color would put a smile on some poor woman’s face. I certainly didn’t deserve to keep it. I rarely kept the things I stole—giving them to charity or people I thought needed them.

  Later that evening, I got ready for the party. My dress was cream lace, sort of floaty, and I wore my hair down with a single daisy clip at the side. I was sitting in a VIP room at the back of the venue with my brother, his fiancée Annie, and a couple of Ronan’s teammates. We were enjoying a few bottles of champagne and discussing the success the Irish squad had enjoyed during the year. Mam was elsewhere, socializing with the other team mothers, and I was glad. I just wanted to enjoy my night without her saying something about how unattractive or embarrassing I was.

  We were all having a great time until the door swung open and Mr. Tall, Blond and Up Himself walked in. That would be Sean Cassidy to those not in the know, Sleazy Sean, as nicknamed by the rugby club. I tried to always see the good in people, but he and my brother didn’t have the best relationship. Not only had Sean slept with Brona, Ronan’s ex-girlfriend, but he was also universally acknowledged to be an arsehole.

  It went against everything I believed in to say, because I liked to think everyone was redeemable in some way, but Sean just wasn’t a nice person. He actually seemed to be proud about the fact, like he wanted people to dislike him.

  The conversation died down, everybody casting surreptitious glances at Sean who swaggered his way up to the private bar and loudly ordered a bottle of bubbly. That’s actually what he called it, but speaking of bubbly . . .

  Almost of their own accord, my eyes wandered over his broad shoulders, muscular back, and down to what must have been the most perfect bubble butt I’d ever seen. You know how sometimes male athletes develop those really defined, rounded but masculine derrieres? Well, Sean Cassidy was most definitely rocking one of those, and I couldn’t resist the urge to ogle it. It was pure muscle and simply bite-worthy.

  I snickered to myself when I realized I’d almost commented on it out loud. Okay, I’d officially had too many glasses of “bubbly” as Sean so douchebaggedly called it. He must have heard my snicker because his attention landed on me. He stared at me for a second, arched a condescending brow, then dismissed me all in an instant, returning his attention to the bar.

  Huh.

  After about thirty seconds everyone went back to their conversations, trying their best to ignore Sean. Ronan had told me once that Sean was the kind of person who thrived on attention, so ignoring his presence was probably the best course of action to take.

  It was my own fault I couldn’t stop staring. We’d never spoken before. In fact, I’d only ever seen him from afar at parties like this one, or on television when there was a match on. But right now he was close, close enough for me to realize just how devastatingly and legitimately handsome he was: light blue eyes, a strong jaw, nice lips, attractive nose.

  Sigh.

  Why were the beautiful ones always such pricks, huh?

  He leaned back against the bar, having uncorked the champagne bottle and poured some into a glass. He wore a shit-eating grin as he stared right at Ronan, holding the glass to his lips, his pinky popped. I knew he was getting to Ronan when my brother muttered to Annie under his breath, “Is he fucking shitting me?”

  Annie sat beside her fiancé, wearing a gorgeous blue dress and looking worried. She quietly placed her hand on Ronan’s thigh in an effort to soothe him.

  Sean just kept on smiling while Ronan became more and more aggravated. It was only another minute or two before my brother finally snapped.

  “All right, Cassidy, you’ve clearly got something to say, so say it,” Ronan announced loudly. “And put your fucking pinky down.”

  Sean’s lips moved in something akin to satisfaction as he wiggled his little finger. “What? This pinky? Do I challenge your Neanderthal notions of masculinity, Fitzpatrick? Or do raised pinky fingers turn you on?”

  “Don’t give me that. You’re about as gay as a Snoop Dogg music video. Now spit it out.”

  Sean gave Ronan a bored look then cast his eyes across the room to one of the new players, an American guy named William Moore.

  He pointed his finger at him; his index finger, not his pinky finger. “I know you’re fixing to have this hillbilly replace me. Well, let me tell you right here and now, it’s not gonna happen.”

  William was built like a brick shithouse and came from a small farming town in Oklahoma. His mother was of Irish descent and he originally played for a semi-professional team back in the States. William was also one of the kindest, most well-mannered men I’d ever met, so it irked me that Sean was targeting him.

  It seemed to be irking everyone else, too, and I noticed a number of the guys bristle, their postures growing stiff. Sean wasn’t doing himself any favors by calling out William. Everybody loved William.

  “You’re being paranoid,” said Ronan. “No one’s looking to replace you, Cassidy. Despite the fact that we’d all like to shove your head down a toilet most days, you’re unfortunately talented. It’s the only reason we put up with your piss-poor personality.”

  Sean didn’t seem to hear the veiled compliment Ronan had given him, and instead focused on the insult. “That’s funny, because your girls have a history of finding my personality irresistible. Or maybe they just find you lacking.” His glacial eyes slithered to my brother’s fiancée, “It’s really just a matter of time.”

  Ronan stood from his seat and took a step forward. Annie tried to grab his hand and pull him back down but he was already gone. Before we knew it he was inches away from Sean, glaring daggers.

  “If you want to keep playing for this team then you’ll shut your fecking face right now.”

  Sean star
ed at him, apparently unaffected by Ronan’s aggression. “Oh, so now you have a say in who does and doesn’t play for the team? I failed to receive the memo regarding your promotion to our manager.”

  “Leave. Now,” said Ronan, his jaw working. If I knew my brother, it was taking a great effort for him not to deck Sean right then. He had a notoriously short fuse, and Sean Cassidy was an expert at knowing how to light it.

  Barely a second passed before several of the guys were up from their seats and leading Sean out of the room. He went, but not before flashing Ronan an immense, challenging smile as he left. Ronan sat back down beside Annie, who gave him a soft kiss on the lips and whispered in his ear. I guessed she was telling him not to let Sean get to him.

  I knew she meant well, but there was too much animosity between the two men for them to just let it go. Granted, I’d only ever been an outsider looking in, but if I knew anything about rugby, I knew it was chock-full of testosterone and egos, and those two were not a good mix.

  After a few minutes, everybody seemed to settle down. Though after Sean’s appearance, our cheerful gathering wasn’t quite as jovial as before. Needing to pee, I left the private party and went in search of a bathroom. I was just leaving a stall when I saw Mam standing by the makeup counter, re-applying her lipstick. Her blue eyes caught on me and she gave me her usual expression. It was neither a smile nor a frown, but something in between, a grimace masquerading as a grin.

  “Lucy, where have you been all evening? I’ve wanted to introduce you to the son of a friend of mine. He’s a real dish, owns his own company and everything.”

  “Oh,” I said, noncommittally.

  I washed and dried my hands, then Mam slipped her arm through mine. “Come on, we can go find him now.” Her eyes went to my hair for a second and she sighed regretfully. I knew she was embarrassed by it. In a way, that was one of the main reasons why I did it. In another way, it wasn’t. I wanted to be able to express myself in a manner that made me happy. And having hair a color that couldn’t be found in nature did exactly that.

  We were just leaving the bathroom when I tried to pull my arm from hers. “Maybe later, Mam. I promised Annie I’d be back soon. We’ve a lot of work stuff to discuss.”