The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2)

by Penny Reid

  “Because we all love the things that are bad for us,” Annie chimed in as she sorted through a folder full of travel documents.

  Ronan winked and gave her a simmering look that I tried wholeheartedly to ignore. I loved my brother and all, but I didn’t want to know about his sex life, thank you very much.

  “Where’ve you been, Lucy?” Annie asked as I went to sit down on the couch. “You look a little flushed.”

  “I just came from Le Cirque,” I hurried to answer, wishing my pulse would slow down already. “I only had my phone with me, but I managed to get some decent pictures of Carly Stevens and Dean Newman heading inside for dinner.”

  “Oh great, let me see,” she said, coming to plop down beside me.

  I handed her the phone, pulling up the photo gallery and she began to scroll through. “These are good. We can definitely use them,” she said enthusiastically.

  I was glad she hadn’t noticed the unusually high angle, but was prepared to tell her I’d stepped up onto a wall or something if she did. Yes, that was right, a big, manly wall made from pure muscle.

  Glancing back down, I saw that she was almost to the end of the pictures I’d taken today, and if she scrolled any farther she’d come to the ones of Sean. The ones I couldn’t bring myself to delete for some strange reason. I swiped the phone from her hand more forcefully than necessary and jumped up from the couch.

  “Well, I think I’ll go lie down in my room for a while,” I said, my voice jittery. “I’ll send these to your email if you want to write an article to go with them tonight.”

  Annie frowned. “Are you feeling okay? You seem a bit off.”

  I mustered a weak smile and joked. “Is that your way of telling me I look tired? I’m okay, just a little exhausted from all the traveling yesterday. We’ll hang out tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got a stupid bloody strategy session with my publicity team early tomorrow, bunch of fuckwits. And then meetings with the Union managers for the rest of the day,” Ronan grumped.

  Addressing me, Annie gestured to her laptop. “If you don’t have plans, I was thinking we could go over the schedule for the blog tomorrow? Readers responded well to your last article and if you’re interested, you could take on more of the posts.”

  “Oh! Really?” This was huge, as Annie’s blog had thousands of followers, and it meant more responsibility. I was suddenly very glad I’d nixed sex with Sean-Adonis earlier in favor of following up on the Carl-D tip.

  Jobs before Bobs!

  “Yes, really. But you’ll have to develop your own pseudonym, online personality, the works. I have a meeting at my old offices, but we can start after lunch. It’ll take all day.”

  “That works. I have to be at the animal shelter early tomorrow to help out for my shift, but I’m completely yours after that.” I nodded vigorously, then tried to play it cool by adding, “I mean, sounds good. Whatever you think is best.”

  Annie was laughing again. “You Fitzpatricks are too cute.”

  “Soon you’ll be a Fitzpatrick, too.” Ronan stepped behind Annie, sliding his arms around her waist.

  “That’s my cue to exit.” I tossed my thumb over my shoulder and began walking backward toward my room.

  “Okay, go hide.” Ronan waved me off. “But after the photo shoot on Friday, we’re going for dinner at Tom’s if you want to join us.”

  “Yeah sure, sounds great,” I called back and closed my door.

  Once I was alone inside my room, I exhaled heavily. I was still clutching my phone so tightly I was in danger of cracking the screen. That had been such a close call.

  Unable to resist, I flopped down onto my bed and pulled up the pictures of Sean and me, admiring them like a twelve-year-old pulling petals off a flower and chanting, he loves me, he loves me not.

  This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  @SeanCassinova I much prefer the company of dogs to people. Dogs don’t get mad when you forget to do the dishes. Dogs > Humans

  @EilishCassidy to @SeanCassinova Nope. They just lick your face and love you anyway. Remember Wolfie? I miss him.

  @SeanCassinova to @EilishCassidy Me too :-(

  *Sean*

  After leaving Lucy, I walked around the streets of New York with no destination in mind.

  I did some shopping. I grabbed a cappuccino from a favorite bakery in Little Italy. But the city, oppressively hot and oddly empty, felt lonely in a way I hadn’t experienced or noticed during my previous visits.

  I thought about calling one or two acquaintances, shallow people who would appreciate being seen with me. I decided against it. I didn’t particularly want that kind of company. Being alone struck me as infinitely more alluring than saddling myself with insincerity.

  So I went to evening mass at St. Patrick’s and returned to the hotel early. Having nothing else to do, I went down to the gym and worked out, hoping Lucy would call, but not terribly surprised when she didn’t.

  After a few hours, when I’d reached exhaustion, I showered and fell asleep, trying very hard to think of trivial things rather than the growing and uncomfortable tightness in my chest.

  Eventually I slept. But I dreamt of Lucy.

  In truth, I woke up in the middle of the night, my massive erection frustrating and persistent. Having no other choice, I took the matter in hand, thinking of her and our next lesson.

  What would she teach me next? Would we move on to master’s courses now that I was rapidly conquering the basics? Would she let me take her in the shower? The fantasy turned infinitely dirtier as I imagined her in the locker room back at the Union field in Dublin.

  She was waiting for me after a match, everyone else having left. I imagined her sitting on the plush bench in front of my locker, spreading her legs and hiking her skirt to coyly show me she’d been wearing no knickers while she’d watched me play from the stands.

  Oddly, in this fantasy, I was only able to reach climax after she’d come. Multiple times. On every surface of the team room. And in the showers. And in the sauna. Then I passed out again, surrounded by the darkness of the hotel room, needing a shower but too exhausted to move from the bed.

  When I awoke the next morning, I searched my sheets for her, confused at first by her absence. Then I remembered it had been a fantasy, a half-waking wishful dream that could never be.

  I groaned, miserable and irritated. What was happening to me?

  The chiming of my phone cut through my wretched thoughts and I hastily reached for it, wanting it to be her. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the way my heart jumped when I saw she’d texted.

  Lucy: I hope this doesn’t wake you, but I wanted to give you a heads-up: I can’t meet today. I’m at the animal shelter for a shift this morning and working this afternoon until late. Enjoy your day off!

  A twinge of disappointment twisted between my shoulder blades, or perhaps it was lingering tightness from my workout the night before. I reread her message again, an idea forming. Without allowing myself to debate the intelligence of my suggestion, I quickly tapped out a response.

  Sean: Where is the shelter? I’ll bring you coffee.

  She answered straightaway.

  Lucy: I already have coffee, but if you want to come down here and help, I won’t turn you away.

  Sean: What will I be doing?

  Lucy: Today is grooming day, so everyone gets a bath. Wear casual clothes.

  Lucy: That means no fru-fru designer sports coats.

  Sean: What about my diamond-encrusted shampoo bottle?

  Lucy: That’s fine. I have mine here as well, along with my ruby-and-emerald soap dispenser. I’ll text you the address.

  I grinned at our easy exchange, my disappointment forgotten. I quickly showered and changed into a pair of running shorts and a microfiber shirt. Both were breathable and quick drying.

  Needing to work off some energy before I came face-to-face with the object of my nightly fantasies, I decided to run the three miles to the
shelter. It wasn’t as oppressively sweltering in the early morning as it had been in the late afternoon.

  I managed to work off the worst of my edginess by the time I made it to the address Lucy had texted. However, and again, my heart jumped around my chest when I opened the door to the shelter and strolled inside.

  At once I was hit with the familiar smell of flea powder and dog. A wave of unexpected nostalgia swept up and over me as I thought of weekday afternoons, training on the fields behind my aunt and uncle’s sprawling country estate, and taking breaks to play fetch with Wolfie.

  Before I was pulled too deep in to the undertow of memories, Lucy’s voice cut through my brief reminiscence.

  “Hey. It’s you.”

  I turned and found her walking toward me clothed in torn, baggy jeans and a plain white T-shirt. She wore a wide, friendly smile. She sounded surprised to see me.

  “Did you not think I’d come?”

  Lucy stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her pants and shrugged, the grin lingering over her lips. “I didn’t know if you were serious about helping. But I’m glad you’re here.”

  We surveyed each other for a long moment. I discovered I was smiling as well, but too late to hide it.

  Made bizarrely uncomfortable by my discovery, I decided to change the subject. “Have I dressed appropriately?” I gestured to my shirt.

  “Yes. You’re perfect,” she said brightly, then turned and motioned for me to follow her. “You can towel dry and brush in the pen while I wash.”

  She led me through a short hallway. The sound of barking dogs grew more distinct. We entered the room where I assumed we’d be working and I swallowed past my nostalgia, schooling my expression.

  Cages lined the walls. Some dogs were alone. Some dogs were partnered. Most barked as soon as I entered. A big metal basin sat off to one side, positioned under a faucet. I strolled past Lucy and walked to the first cage, offering the back of my hand to the pit bull mix who was barking the loudest. He immediately sniffed, grew quiet and wagged his tail as I crouched in front of him.

  I hadn’t expected being in such close proximity to canines to be so disorienting.

  Certainly, I’d been around dogs before. But here I was surrounded on all sides. My desire to play with and pet them all was overwhelming. As was the sadness they didn’t have homes. They lived in a shelter, a temporary place where they didn’t belong. In a cage.

  I knew what that was like.

  “Meet Hampton.” Lucy placed her hand on my shoulder, grinned down at me, and motioned over to a huge black dog pacing the length of a large pen at the end of the room. “He’s a newfie and he needs his coat brushed.”

  “Putting me to work right away?” I straightened, narrowing my eyes at her with mock distrust. “No hello kiss?”

  She shook her head and turned my shoulders, pushing me toward Hampton’s pen. “You don’t need lessons in kissing, you do that just fine. And you said you wanted to help.”

  I sighed mournfully and opened the chain-link door to the newfie’s cage, closing it behind me. “Slave-driver.”

  Lucy laughed lightly. “Call me what you will, but we need to wash all these dogs before noon. Annie is in town and I have to work this afternoon.”

  “Fine.” I held my hand out to Hampton the newfie and allowed him to sniff before approaching.

  “He’s already mostly dry.” She handed a brush through the cage. Presumably, she expected me to use it on the great brute in front of me, tail wagging, and tongue lolling at the side of his mouth.

  Apparently, Hampton liked how I smelled and we were best of friends. I grinned at him, careful not to show my teeth.

  “What did you do last night?” Lucy asked, walking to one of the other cages and retrieving a short black and white terrier.

  “I went to mass at St. Patrick’s.” Unable to stop myself, I patted his head and knelt at Hampton’s side, brushing the thick hair at his neck, just behind his ears. His tail wagged faster.

  Lucy gave me a small, quizzical smile over her shoulder. “Are you practicing?”

  By practicing, she meant, Are you a practicing Catholic?

  “No. I actually haven’t been to church in years. Not since I’d started playing rugby at secondary school.”

  “You didn’t go with your parents? My mam always made us go every Sunday and, since we went to private school, we went every morning during the week. Those nuns used to scare the crap out of me.”

  I cleared my throat before responding, keeping my eyes fastened to the panting dog. “No. I didn’t really know my parents. My mother gave me to her brother when I was very young.”

  In my peripheral vision I saw Lucy cock her head to the side, her eyebrows pulling low. “What do you mean? She gave you to your uncle?”

  “Just that. My mother . . . didn’t make good choices.” A polite way of saying she’d left me abandoned at her flat for days at a time. “My uncle Peter and his wife, my aunt Clara, saw I had athletic potential. So they offered to take me off her hands.”

  Though my irresponsible mother had foisted me upon my aunt and uncle, they’d accepted me as their own.

  But with a condition.

  “As you know, the best families had one or more rugby players in their lineage. Take your own family as an example.” My gaze flickered to hers.

  Lucy shook her head, issuing me an odd look. “I don’t consider myself a Fitzpatrick. They want nothing to do with me. If you asked my grandparents, they’d tell you they’ve never heard of either Ronan or me.”

  “That’s because they already have the proverbial feather in their cap. Your father was a rugby player, and your great-uncle Brian. I was the first Cassidy to demonstrate any aptitude for it.”

  Lucy was staring at me now, her face carefully devoid of expression. She was wise, my Lucy. Because if she’d been looking at me with pity, I wouldn’t have continued. But as it was, her accepting silence spurred my words.

  “My aunt and uncle agreed rugby needed to be my priority. So while their family went to mass, I trained with the private coaches they’d hired. I was an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity,” she echoed, an edge of irritation in her voice. “You were a kid.”

  “Yes, but I was eager for their praise. I trained. All day, every Saturday and Sunday. When I wasn’t in school or sleeping, I trained.”

  “What about friends? Mates? Girlfriends? What did you do for fun?”

  I shrugged, bobbing to the side just as the great beast I was grooming tried to lick me. “I had no friends, other than my dog, because friendships were distractions. I’ve never had teammates, not really. I was frequently reminded that all the blokes I’d ever played alongside were a means to an end.”

  “I need you to train, Sean. I need you to make the team,” my aunt had said, making me believe my success was paramount to her happiness.

  In the end, rugby had been my saving grace. I was large, strong, and athletic.

  “My aunt has never liked my size,” I continued, unprompted. “But she did like the idea of a professional Union player in the family. When I made the team it elevated her social status.”

  The box had been checked.

  I’d fulfilled my role.

  My usefulness was at an end.

  I was no longer needed.

  Now merely tolerated.

  “That’s appalling, Sean. No one deserves to be used like that, least of all a little boy.”

  I gave Lucy an empty smile. “No matter. It’s in the past.”

  She exhaled, it sounded pained, like she wanted to argue.

  I waved her concern away. “I lived the first part of my life wanting to please my aunt and uncle. And now I live my life to please myself. So, in the end, it all worked out,” I lied. Because to have no purpose was a terrible thing.

  “Do you at least like it?” she pressed, her voice tight.

  I thought about the question, moving to Hampton’s lower back and using long, smooth strokes with the bru
sh.

  “I’m quite good at it.”

  Lucy huffed impatiently and turned the water off, her hands were now covered in soap as she lathered the small Boston terrier in the tub. “Being good at something is not the same as liking something.”

  I shook my head, grinning at her. “And the opposite is also true. Liking something is not the same as being good at something, which is why excellent teachers are so essential.”

  It took her a moment, but she eventually understood my meaning. When she did, two slashes of color glowed over her cheeks.

  “Be serious. If you could do anything in the world, other than play rugby, what would you do?”

  I stood from my crouching position, patting Hampton on the head.

  As much as I admired her attempt to keep the conversation on track, I couldn’t help but try to derail her efforts. “Oh, come now, Lucy. I think you know what I’d like to do with my time, if given the opportunity.”

  Hampton scratched at my leg. When I didn’t pay him any mind, he jumped up, his paws landing on my hip.

  She gritted her teeth, but ultimately failed to hide her embarrassed smile, unable to meet my gaze. “I’ve created a monster,” she muttered.

  “No, you’ve merely roused—and aroused—a dormant hunger.” The newfie pushed at me. Had I been smaller in stature, he would have succeeded in pushing me over. As it was, I braced my feet apart and kept my eyes fastened to the lovely, blooming, blush heating Lucy’s neck.

  “You’re a sex fiend,” she said teasingly, her lips twisted to the side, compressing as she tried again—and failed again—to mask her smile. Lucy lifted her gaze and I warmed as it drifted over me.

  But then her eyes widened and she gasped, “Oh my God, Sean.” She pointed at me. “Sean, the dog!”

  I lifted an eyebrow at her, then glanced down at Hampton and I choked on my shock.

  The great beast was humping my leg.

  I pushed him off at once, but he must’ve thought it was a good game. He landed on his feet and came charging back, his tongue still lolling from his mouth, jumping at me once more. I held the brush up to ward him off. Unsurprisingly, it proved to be a woefully inadequate deterrent.