Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance

by Norinne, Rebecca

  When the words came out, I wasn’t sure if I meant them as a joke or if I was serious.

  Deciding I’d been serious, Cian adjusted his stance, feet spread apart, arms across his chest, and stared down at me in anger. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  My body language matched his own. “It’s written all over your face every time you look at her.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back, his eyes jumping everywhere but on me.

  It must be killing him to have fallen for someone he couldn’t have. I tried to let that thought guide me when I stepped forward and laid my hand on his shoulder. I hated that he was into my woman, but I also hated that he was hurting because of it.

  “Look man, I get it. She’s beautiful and smart. You’d have to be blind not to see that … and I know you’re not blind.”

  “Fuck you,” he growled and shrugged my hand from his shoulder.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “So here’s the thing. I want her. I’ve wanted her since I was eight years old. You know it, I know it. Hell, old Colm knows it too.”

  “What?” he croaked. “You talk about her?”

  “Yeah, mate. For years.”

  “In all these years, you’ve never talked about her to me. And if you’re as into her as you say you are, you would have,” he spat. “You’re no more interested in Sophie than you are any of your fucks.”

  The accusation was dead wrong. Not only was I interested in Sophie, I feared I was so far gone on her there was no coming back. She was all I could think about; all I saw when I closed my eyes at night.

  “How can I explain it so you understand?”

  I stared out over the village, trying to hide my frustration. And yet no matter what I said, I didn’t think Cian wouldn’t believe me. He was too caught up in seeing what he wanted to see because he wanted Sophie for himself.

  “You don’t need to explain anything,” he answered, emphasizing the word explain with a sneer. “You’re flirting with her exactly like you do all the others. Let me guess, you were caressing her palm with your thumb, drawing hearts on her skin.”

  Shit, that’s exactly what I’d been doing.

  With a mocking smile, he said, “That’s what I thought. She’s nothing but a play thing to you, someone you’ll fuck and toss aside when you get bored. The only difference is for once you have to chase her and that excites you.”

  He was wrong. That wasn’t what this was about, was it?

  No, I’d wanted Sophie even before I understood what those feelings meant. She’d been the girl of my dreams—both figuratively and literally—since I’d known there was such a thing. Cian was just trying to get under my skin.

  That he could, and so easily, left a sliver of doubt at the back of my mind.

  Dropping his voice, he stepped closer. “You could fuck anyone. Hell, you do fuck anyone, but now you want to add Sophie to that list. I’m here to tell you it’s not going to happen.”

  I took a step back. I wasn’t going to come to blows with him in the middle of the street like this.

  Calming my anger, I said, “It’s not like that. You are blatantly misunderstanding the situation.”

  “Am I, Declan? Am I really?”

  “Whether you want to believe it or not, I swear it’s not like that. I told you, Colm and I have talked about this for years. He knows how I feel.”

  “I’m sure he does.” He rolled his eyes.

  “He gave me his blessing, alright!” I hollered angrily.

  “He did what?” he shot back incredulously. “After everything he knows about you? Forget his heart; he’s lost his fecking mind.”

  I sighed, not sure why I was continuing this conversation. He’s said all he needed to. And yet, I really wanted him to understand. To believe me. To know my intentions were honorable. Outside of rugby, what I wanted with Sophie was truly the only honorable thing I’d done in my life and sue me, but I wanted just a fucking ounce of credit for it.

  And so even though I knew it was a losing battle, I kept going. “He and Maureen are the reason I’m even talking to Sophie in the first place. They sent me to the airport to pick her up. They know how I feel about her. They believe it’s genuine. I believe it’s genuine.”

  When his eyes flashed with skepticism, I shook my head sadly. “Look man, you don’t have to believe me, but I want you to know that I am going to be with her. I’ve waited too long to let anything or anyone get in my way.”

  “Even your best friend?”

  “Yeah, man. Even you,” I answered, leaving him standing alone on the curb.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sophie

  I hadn’t heard from Declan for a few days, which was strange since we’d been texting frequently since I arrived, even if it was just quick hello. I knew he’d been hurt when he realized I hadn’t told Cian we’d become friendly, but I thought for sure he would at least ask me why. And then when he’d failed to, I’d been too chicken shit to reach out to him proactively instead.

  Honestly, I didn’t understand why I hadn’t told Cian about Declan. The only explanation I could come up with was that I hadn’t worked out what my feelings for Declan were so I hadn’t wanted to be forced to examine them publicly. The other issue was around Cian’s interest in me. It was one thing to reject someone’s advances; it was an entirely other thing to tell him you might be hung up on his best friend instead.

  “So, Sophie,” my grandpa said, setting down his spoon. “What do you think of our Declan?”

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, sputtering into my potato and leek soup.

  “Declan?” he repeated, as if I hadn’t heard. “What do you think of yer man?”

  “My man?” I squeaked, worried I’d given my attraction away.

  “Aye,” he answered, eyeing me shrewdly.

  I set my own spoon down and straightened my bread plate and napkin. “He’s not my man.”

  “Oh, that’s just an expression,” my grandmother clarified, catching the petrified look on my face. Then she patted my hand and continued. “It’s the same as if you asked me or Colm what we thought of ‘that guy.’”

  “Oh, um. Okay,” I answered, feeling heat rise along my neck leading to a slow creep of pink fan out across my cheeks.

  “Why dear, what did you think it meant?” she asked cryptically, staring at my beet red face.

  I cleared my throat and hoped my voice would be steady when I answered. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression is all.”

  “And what impression would that be?” my gramps asked as he watched me like a hawk.

  Why did I suddenly get the sneaking suspicion there was more to those questions than polite interest?

  “Why are you so interested?”

  “No reason. It’s just that Declan’s a good lad when you take the time to get to know him.”

  “And you have?” I asked, lifting the spoon to my mouth. No point in letting my soup get cold while this strange conversation continued.

  “Oh yes, dear,” my grandma chimed in. “He’s been coming around for years.” Her voice softened. “After his ‘da passed, he didn’t have anyone to give him guidance. And he really needed it.”

  She shook her head and my grandpa chuckled. “That he did. The lad was running wild. I didn’t know if he was working through his father’s death or just sowing some wild oats, but his mam couldn’t make him see reason so she asked me to talk some sense into him.”

  “Why would you do that, knowing how terrible he was to me?”

  Frankly, I was surprised he’d agreed given what he knew about Declan’s constant teasing of me back in the day.

  “That’s just how little boys and girls act around each other, isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  What Declan had put me through went well beyond the scope of normal teasing. I’d I felt hollowed out when they’d taunted me on the playground and mortified when he stood
below my window shouting all of his stupid, childish nicknames. That they were re-writing history hurt my feelings, but worse than that, it disappointed me.

  “The lad followed you around like a puppy dog,” my grandpa said, as if I’d been too blind to have noticed.

  I dropped my napkin onto the table and pushed my seat back. I was done with this discussion. Declan and I might have put it behind us, but I still expected my grandparents to support my feelings and right now it felt like they were choosing him over me.

  My grandma’s face looked stricken when she said, “Oh dear, you didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?” I asked angrily, waiting for her to enlighten me.

  “Declan had the biggest crush on you, Sophie,” she said.

  What the what?

  No he hadn’t. He’d hated me and he’d gotten everyone else to hate me too. A crush? Far from it.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No lass,” my grandpa responded, “she’s not. Now sit down and listen up. I think it’s time you learned some things.”

  Automatically, I dropped back into my chair.

  “How do you know?” I whispered, the wind having gone out of my sails.

  “Everyone knew,” my grandma answered sympathetically.

  “But how?”

  “Oh Sophie,” she said. “The lad was your shadow. Why do you think he was always hanging around? You ignored him, and when you weren’t, you were scowling at him. He was just trying to get your attention.”

  “Well, he got it,” I huffed.

  “You’re not still angry with him?” he inquired as follow up.

  “No,” I sighed. “I told him all was forgiven.”

  “Did you now? And how’d he take that?” he asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

  I thought back over the last few weeks, from when he’d greeted me at the airport and pulled me into those pictures with his fans, to his confession that he thought I was someone worth knowing and the flirty banter that had been building between us, up until the other day when he’d gotten angry at Cian. But most of all, I thought about my attraction to him from the very first moment I’d laid eyes on him. Attraction I knew he shared.

  “He told me he’d been in awe of me,” I whispered. “That he’d only teased me so I’d pay attention to him.”

  “Well, there you go then,” my grandma responded, standing, as if the subject was closed. As if things were that simple. “Eat up, you’re nothing but skin and bones,” she added, putting another roll on my bread plate.

  But things weren’t that simple, were they? Not all of his taunts had been good-natured. Some—like when he’d insulted both my mom and my dad the day of the disastrous scavenger hunt—had been downright mean. That didn’t jibe with a kid who liked me. I sifted through my memory bank to other times he’d teased me, scrutinizing them for motive and intent.

  There was the time he’d pulled my ponytail during the middle of class so hard I’d yelped out loud, sounding like a wounded cat. He’d been moved to the desk directly behind me after Mrs. Brennan said he couldn’t sit by the window anymore. My ponytail was so long back then it had snaked down my back and if I wasn’t careful to pull it over my shoulder when I sat, it would sometimes rest on the desktop behind me. But that morning I’d been late for class and had flung my body into my chair as the bell rang without giving extra care to where my hair, backpack, and lunch bag had landed. Later, I’d felt a gentle tug on my hair. At first I ignored it, but when it happened again I turned in my seat and scowled at Declan, my long locks slipping from between his fingers. When he lifted his eyes from my hair, he’d looked shocked at having been caught and then … I could see it so clearly now … his face turned bright red—almost purple with embarrassment—before he tamped it down and scowled back. I remembered whispering at him to leave me alone before turning around. That’s when I’d felt him actually pull my hair. Hard. Which is when I’d screamed and we’d both been sent to Father Dennehy’s office.

  And then there was the time he’d walked up to me at Easter mass, a bouquet of daffodils in his hand. He’d been about to say something when I interrupted, not wanting to face another insult. I’d often heard my Grandfather Newport say a good offense was the best defense and I’d decided if I went on the attack, I’d finally get the better of him.

  “What do you want?” I’d demanded.

  He’d shuffled in place and glowered. “These aren’t for you,” he declared then, shoving the flowers behind his back.

  “Good,” I’d shouted back. “The only thing I want from you, Declan O’Shaughnessy, is to leave me alone.”

  He’d glared for a few seconds longer and then trudged away. When he’d made it about ten feet, he stomped back and yelled, “No one’s ever going to give you flowers because you stink like fish!”

  “Well, you’re a turd!” I’d hollered back before Mrs. Brennan had run over to separate us.

  And then one evening, a couple of weeks before I moved back to the U.S., I’d heard something pinging against the glass of my bedroom window. At first I didn’t think anything of it since rain had been falling nonstop for three days. But then I realized the sound was different from the steady plop, plop, plop of water against the building. Setting my text book on the table next to me, I walked over to investigate. Pulling the curtain aside, I saw the rain had finally stopped but couldn’t determine what had made the noise. I was about to step away when a sharp thud sounded next to my window, catching my attention. Pulling open the sash and leaning out, I saw Declan standing below, bathed in a pool of light from the street lamp just outside my window.

  “What do you want?” I’d whisper-yelled down to him.

  “Hey Fish and Chips,” he’d called up with that confident smirk he still wore today. “Want to come down and go exploring?”

  I’d been shocked he wanted to hang out with me, but after two long years of his taunts I’d also become distrustful.

  “Why would I want to hang out with you?” I shot back.

  Only now did I remember how he’d shrugged and shuffled his foot in the pebbles of the car park. I’d seen him deploy that shrug a few times lately and was starting to think he did it when he was uncomfortable but trying not to show it. But back then? I’d taken it as indifference.

  “Go away!” I’d hollered down and slammed my window shut.

  On and on the memories came … and then shifted. As my grandparents sat next to me silently eating their soup, I flashed back through all the times I’d assumed Declan was being an awful turd … but now—with time, distance, and new information—things appeared much different.

  He hadn’t hated me. He’d played with my hair, brought me flowers, and stood outside in the rain wanting me to come outside and be with him.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered. “I’ve had it all wrong. All this time, so very wrong”

  Across the table, my gramps chuckle. “Yeah, lass. I’d say you have.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sophie

  I glanced at the list in my hand, one item jumping out at me like a neon flashing sign: coffee. I really wasn’t comfortable driving on the other side of the road on a totally different side of the car, but I couldn’t drink one more cup of those crappy instant granules my grandparents called coffee. When I’d asked my grandma to pick up something fancier she had: pricier instant granules.

  Shoving the list in my pocket, I crossed the empty street and heard my name being called from down the road. Stepping over a puddle to land on the sidewalk, I hitched my purse on my shoulder and scanned the area to find Declan hurrying toward me.

  “Wait up!” he called, picking up his pace.

  “Hey,” he said, coming to a stop next to me and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  Jeans, I wasn’t ashamed to notice, that clung deliciously tight to his rock hard thighs.

  Yeah, I thought as my eyes roved appreciatively over him, Declan O’Shaughnessy is my personal catnip.


  And like a frisky feline, I wanted to rub myself up against him, feel his hands pet me all over. Shaking my head, I blinked a few times and smiled back in greeting.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, pointing in the direction of my eyes.

  Thankful he’d misinterpreted my reaction, I rubbed my knuckles over them. “Yeah, this wind,” I answered. “I think I got a leaf particle or something in there.”

  Thankfully it was windy, but since I wasn’t a great actress the chance of him buying the fib were slim to none. Thankfully, I’d distracted him in other ways.

  When I pulled my hands from my face, Declan eyed me curiously then coughed and tentatively raised his hand toward my face. “You’ve got a little …”

  Reflexively, I wiped where his fingers hovered, scant inches over my skin. “Did I get it?”

  “Um.” He stifled a laugh. “Not really.” He pointed to the area near his cheek. “It kind of spread.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure.” He leaned in close to examine me. “It’s sort of creamy and hot pink.”

  Oh shit.

  I looked down at my right hand and the lipstick samples I’d swiped across it at the drug store fifteen minutes prior. They’d blended into one giant blob that looked suspicious like something found at the Museum of Modern Art.

  I let out an exasperated sigh. Of course I looked like a raving lunatic in front of the guy I had the hots for.

  “Yeah, that’d be lipstick.”

  At least since my cheeks were already fuchsia, he wouldn’t notice my blush.

  When I’d gone in to Boots to pick up my grandpa’s medication, I’d no intention of buying anything for myself, but I was obsessed with drug store makeup and being in a new country presented a whole new, wonderful world of products to try. Boots was a makeup fiend’s mecca.

  The funny thing was, I didn’t actually wear a ton of the stuff, but in my teens I’d developed an overwhelming fondness for the possibilities it presented. For a while I’d even thought about going to school so I could become a Hollywood makeup artist but the sad reality was I was shit at applying anything more than the basics.