by Penny Reid
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 finding my personality irresistible. Or maybe they just find you lacking.” His glacial eyes slithered to my brother’s fiancé, “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 stared at him, apparently unaffected by Ronan’s aggression. “Oh, so all of a sudden you get a say in who does and doesn’t play for the team? I failed to get the memo that you were now our manager.”
“Leave. Now,” said Ronan, his jaw working. If I knew my brother, then I knew 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 pulling his strings.
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 a big, 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 just 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 that it was chockfull of testosterone and egos, and those two were not a good mix.
After a couple of 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 make-up 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.
“Lucy, where have you been all evening? I’ve been wanting 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. If the guy had my mother’s approval then he was more than likely a total Patrick Bateman. Perfect on the outside, rotten on the inside.
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, almost 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 have a lot of work stuff to discuss.”
“This is a party, Lucy. Work can wait for another day.”
I stood my ground, planting my feet firmly on the floor and not allowing her to lead me any further.
“No, Mam, I’m going back to Annie. I don’t want to meet your friend’s son.”
She gaped at me, as though surprised by my outburst. A few moments elapsed, and I couldn’t tell if she was going to lose it with me or not. In the end she didn’t, probably because there were too many people about. She plastered the fakest smile I’d ever seen on her face and said, “Okay, darling. You go to Annie. Enjoy the party. I’ll see you back at the house.”
And with that she turned and strode off. I knew her last line wasn’t as benign as she made it sound. The second I got home tonight I’d be in for it. Yes, she’d hold back all her dissatisfaction until then, when there were no watchful eyes about to witness it. The thought made me start to wish there was something around that I could steal…maybe a few champagne glasses. They’d fit in my handbag, right?
I let out a long sigh once she was gone and slumped back against the wall. Pulling my phone from my bag, I checked to see if I had any messages. I had just one and it was from Annie. Reading it made me smile and drove away all of my thieving urges.
Annie: If we locked your brother and Sean in a room, what do you think the odds would be on whether or not they’d murder each other or start crying and having an emotional heart to heart?
I snorted and typed out a quick reply.
Lucy: I’d say that’s a ratio of 1,000,000: 0, my friend.
Although we didn’t actually live in the same country, Annie and I had become extremely close over the last few months. I was her sounding board and advice giver on how to deal with Ronan, and she was my guru and advice giver on how to survive living in New York. Plus, we worked together to create humorous blog posts about ridiculous celebrities. Tell me two girls who wouldn’t bond over that? I swear most of our skype calls consisted of ninety-five percent giggling and five percent actual conversation.
Slipping my phone in my bag, I turned to go back to the VIP room and collided with a body in the process. That body was large and male, and appeared to be wearing a very nice suit. It only took a split second for me to recognize the suit. It belonged to Sean Cassidy, who was currently glaring down at me.
“Watch where you’re going, mini Fitzpatrick,” he said, hostility in his voice. Clearly the fact that I was Ronan’s sister meant I was enemy number one to him.
I lifted my hands in the air and replied humorously, “Sorry, bubs, I’ll try to be more careful next time.”
One sardonic eyebrow went up, “Bubs?”
I almost laughed when I realized what I’d called him. It was all to do with his glorious bubble butt, of course, but no way was I telling him that. The guy didn’t need anybody stroking his already ginormous ego.
“I’ve decided to name you after your favorite beverage: Bubbly,” I said, staring at him dead on.
I thought I saw his lips twitch in amusement, but then he grew immediately hostile again. “I thought girls such as yourself limited their repertoires to alco-pops and daiquiris with tacky umbrellas.”
His smile was as condescending as his tone and as he made a move to walk away, I couldn’t help but call after him, “You seem tense, maybe you should try meditation.”
He stopped and turned back around. “Pardon?”
“Yogi bhajan guided meditation is supposed to work wonders. For me, personally, yoga works a treat. I go in all tense and stressed and come out light and airy. Seriously, consider it. You’ll be amazed by the results.”
Now he seemed annoyed. “What are you rambling about?”
I took a few steps forward until I was standing directly in front of him. “You obviously have some unresolved issues and you’re using my brother as an outlet for your aggression. I’m trying to suggest some ways to deal with your anger. Oh, and you know what else is great for managing stress? Full immersion relaxation and detox, like going to a yoga retreat. In fact, I’m doing one when I return to the States next week. It’s in Squam Lake, gorgeous place. I’m really looking forward to it. You should think about going.”
Of course, I wasn’t at all serious, but I was tipsy and chatty and felt a bit sorry for him. Sean listened to me speak, but his eyes weren’t on my face. Instead they wandered from my bare arms and shoulders before landing on my chest. I had this small beauty mark close to my collar bone, and he was currently staring like he wanted to get up real close and personal with it.
Whoa, this was not what I’d expected at all, but hav
ing him look at me the way he was looking at me right then, well, it made my skin tingle.
He took a step forward and into my space, his size and closeness dizzying, and deadpanned, “Aren’t those retreats just an excuse for hippies to get together in the middle of nowhere, eat granola, and have group sex?”
The way he spoke made my tingles instantly vanish. He was an arsehole. Such an arsehole. And here I was actually trying to be kind to him, but he just pissed all over it.
“No actually, it’s an excuse to go somewhere beautiful, meet amazing people and clear your mind, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.” And with that I turned on my heel and attempted to walk a straight line back to the party.
It could have been my imagination, but I felt his eyes on me the entire time and I may have quickened my unsteady pace until I was safely beyond the privacy door. I hated that he got to me. I was supposed to be the calm one, the enlightened one, and yet with just a few carefully chosen words he’d made me want to throttle him. I now totally understood Ronan’s hatred for the guy.
I always tried to believe that everybody had the potential to be good, to be redeemed. But this guy might just be the one to prove me wrong.
Yes, as far as I was concerned, Sean Cassidy was completely, irrevocably and unequivocally irredeemable.
***
*Sean*
Somebody explain to me why mobile phone cameras now make that click sound whenever a photo is taken. Can you not see that a photo has been taken? That’s like adding sound effects to a salt shaker. Clearly, I can see that my food is being salted. I can taste the salt. I don’t require additional sensory information alerting me to the fact that my food has been salted.
I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, but I was awake. I could hear her snapping pictures of me, so I decided to wait until she was finished, no need to make things uncomfortable.
Hopefully I didn’t have crust of drool at the corner of my mouth or she hadn’t drawn on my face. If memory served, she didn’t seem like the sort. These pictures are trophies for girls like her.
I felt her still naked body slither along mine, and her hair brushing against my bare shoulder. From the angle of her posturing, I deduced she was now taking selfies with me… while I slept.
No. That’s not distressing at all. Perfectly normal behavior. Just pose with the unconscious man, nothing strange about it. I’m sure plenty of people enjoy having their picture taken while they’re asleep…
Bloody weirdo.
She leaned away, likely to scroll through her trophy pictures, and I felt her shift on the mattress into a sitting position. Her long fake nails clicking against the touch screen of her phone, the sound incredibly irritating.
That was my cue to exit.
I stretched my arms, careful to avoid touching her, and made a big show of arching my back before I opened my eyes. This gave her plenty of time to hide her phone if she felt guilty about being an opportunist. When I did open my eyes I avoided making contact with hers. I find it’s best to set expectations on a proper course as early as possible in a non-relationship.
“Well, good morning handsome.” She slid into the sheets again, her claws coming to my torso.
I glanced at her hands. No sign of the phone. She must’ve hid it in her night stand. This was a relief; the less inconspicuous of her kind often request more pictures over breakfast. The answer is always no. I never eat meals with the help.
I hadn’t been drunk last night when I suggested we party. I’d been cold. Ireland is cold year round, even in the summer. And I am likewise cold, unless I can locate a warm body and share her bed.
The woman snuggled against me. Her skin had been soft last night, but now—bathed in daylight—it felt like sandpaper. I peeled her from me, no longer cold, and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“What time is it?”
“Just past seven,” she purred, her nails scratching lightly down my back.
“Stop touching me. Where the feck are my pants?”
She jerked her hand away with a little gasp and was mercifully silent as I scanned the room.
Sex was usually the price I paid for a night of warmth, which made no sense because my nameless partners always faked it, even when I ate them out. They faked it loudly, and with enthusiasm, and sometimes with impressive creativity. But it was fake nevertheless.
Just once, I wanted to see and hear and feel a woman truly orgasm. Just. Fucking. Once. I’m beginning to doubt women are capable of climaxing. The great female-orgasm myth…
“No need to be such an arsehole!” She’d recovered the ability to speak. I wished she hadn’t.
I was going to be late for Sunday breakfast with the family if I didn’t get up and out. If I missed breakfast then I’d be subjected to months of passive aggressive reminders that I’d missed breakfast that one time, and be on the hook for a year’s worth of favors.
“I need to piss.” I stood from the bed and crossed her tiny Dublin apartment to the door I assumed was her toilet, finding my pants on the way and pulling them on. I shut and locked the door—just in case she has any ideas about snapping more pictures—and did my business, rinsing off her tooth brush with Listerine before brushing my teeth with it.
I have a ritual when I clean up after a night of inane debauchery. Disinfecting the toothbrush, going through the medicine cabinet for an aspirin, washing my face with their soap—as long as it doesn’t smell of flowers or food. The one night stands were worth it just for cosmetic product discoverability.
About six months ago I shagged a woman and used her facial cleanser. Great stuff, unscented, gentle but leaving the skin thoroughly clean. I can’t tell you her name or what she looks like, but I can tell you she used a cleanser named Simple to wash her face. I know this because on my way home I stopped by Boots and picked it up in bulk.
“What are you doing in there?” Last night’s warm body tested the door handle.
I ignored her question and smelled her soap. It smelled like cake. I placed it back on the tray, unused. Why do women want to smell like cake?
If I want cake, I’ll eat cake.
If I want a woman, I’ll eat a woman.
I heard her huff, it sounded nervous. “How much longer are you going to be?”
I took one more look in her medicine cabinet and found a lotion sample. It looked like it’s never been used. I cracked it open and sniffed… sandalwood. I squeezed out a dot on the back of my hand, it went on light and silky. I pocketed it.
“Hey!” She pounded on the door. “What are you doing-”
I yanked it open before she completed the question, causing her to stumble back, startled. I have this effect on people because I’m not small. Truth be told, I’m quite large. I’m larger than is polite or appropriate, as my family frequently reminds me. Imposing, my aunt calls it.
But I’d like to think I’m also agile, especially for my size.
Tapping into this agility, I maneuvered around the warm body and located my shirt and jacket, pulled them on as she watches. I didn’t waste time looking for my tie, instead claiming my shoes and socks, and sitting on a sad little bench by the front door.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her take a few timid steps toward me; she was in a bathrobe and her arms were crossed over her chest. “Have you lost your voice? Because you were chatty enough last night.”
“No,” I said, finished with my right sock and moving to the left.
“Is this a brush off, then?”
“Yes.” I really like my shoes. I remind myself to find a pair in brown.
She sniffled. She was crying. I rolled my eyes. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they cry buckets. I’m never moved by these displays of overt mawkishness, especially when I can count on being tagged in a half hour on Twitter when she posts the pictures of me sleeping.
I stood and buttoned my shirt, then checked my back pocket to make sure I still have my wallet and phone. I did.
So I left.
I didn’t have time to stop by the shop and search for the mystery sandalwood lotion before breakfast, as I still needed to shower, shave, and dress properly. But I promised myself, if I can make it through the morning without entertaining any games of passive aggressive superiority, I’d pick up a bottle on my way home.
…who am I kidding? Most of my family detests me. I’d pick up the lotion either way.
End Sneak Peek
The Player and the Pixie releases in March 2016
Other books by Penny Reid
Knitting in the City Series
(Contemporary Romantic Comedy)
Neanderthal Seeks Human: A Smart Romance (#1)
Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (#1.5)
Friends without Benefits: An Unrequited Romance (#2)
Love Hacked: A Reluctant Romance (#3)
Beauty and the Mustache: A Philosophical Romance (#4)
Ninja At First Sight (#4.75)
Happily Ever Ninja: A Married Romance (#5)
Dating-ish (#6, coming summer 2016)
Book #7 – TBD 2017
Winston Brother Series
(Contemporary Romantic Comedy, spinoff of Beauty and the Mustache)
Truth or Beard (#1)
Grin and Beard It (#2, coming 2016)
Beard Science (#3, coming 2017)
Book #4 – TBD 2017
Book #5 – TBD 2018
Book #6 – TBD 2018
Hypothesis Series
(New Adult Romantic Comedy)
The Elements of Chemistry: ATTRACTION, HEAT, and CAPTURE (#1)
Book #2 – TBD 2016
Book #3 – TBD 2017
Irish Players (Rugby) Series – by L.H. Cosway and Penny Reid
(Contemporary Sports Romance)
The Hooker and the Hermit (#1)
The Pixie and the Player (#2, coming spring 2016)