Trying Sophie: A Dublin Rugby Romance

by Norinne, Rebecca

  “Not a stalker, just lucky I guess,” he replied, his lips hitching up a few sexy degrees.

  We reached our cars—my Volkswagen and his Range Rover—and put our groceries away. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

  “Yup, that’s it.”

  Another charged, awkward pause ensued and for a few moments I wondered what the protocol was for saying goodbye to a guy you’d run into—repeatedly, serendipitously—and kind of, definitely, wanted to see more of in the future.

  “So,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

  “So,” I responded in kind, my breath coming out in a cloud of moist air in the cold November night.

  “I don’t suppose you want to go get a coffee or something?” he asked, almost tentatively.

  “I’d like that, but I’ve got milk in there that needs to be refrigerated.” I gestured over my shoulder, into my car.

  He blew a gust of air into his hands to warm them up. “Are you kidding me? It’s bloody freezing out here. It’s probably colder in your boot than it was in the store’s icebox.”

  The man had a point. It was freezing out here.

  This would be the second time he’d randomly asked me out for coffee and while I didn’t mind, I also didn’t know if this was a friendly invitation or something more. It wasn’t as if he’d texted me or called and asked me out. And right now I wanted something a bit more definitive, so I hesitated.

  “I don’t know; I should probably get back.”

  He stared down at me for a few heartbeats. “Yeah, okay, I’ll let you get to it then.” Brushing past me, he made his way to his own car. “I’ll see you around Sophie. Have a good night.”

  “You too Declan,” I responded, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Drive safe,” I added as an afterthought since he still had to get back to Dublin.

  Pulling out of his parking space, he stopped next to me. Rolling down the window, he asked, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Working,” I answered quickly, hoping he hadn’t heard the anticipation in my voice. “You?”

  “Same, I guess. What time are you done?”

  “Late. Sometime around midnight probably.”

  “Shit.” His hand beat a rhythm on the steering wheel. “I need to be back in Dublin by eight.”

  Feeling brave, I shot out, “What about the next day?”

  He bit his lip. “Nah, I can’t. Traveling for our match.”

  “Oh,” I remarked, a wave of disappointment washing over me.

  But then I realized if the match was being televised, I could watch it and stare at him all I wanted to without him ever knowing. I could see what he looked like under all his winter clothes and confirm if his body was as spectacular as I imagined it was

  “It’s on TV?” I hoped I hadn’t sounded too excited.

  He licked his lips and smiled. Yeah, he’d heard the anticipation in my voice. “Yeah, it’s on TV. You should definitely watch.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

  Declan leaned out and brushed a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. “Because you want to see me in action and I’m really fucking good,” he answered, trailing his finger down my cheek.

  It burned a path along my skin.

  His confidence bordered on arrogance, but for some reason it was also a huge turn on. And his touch? I’d wanted to lean into it. But damn it, all this talk of watching him play rugby pulled me out of the fantasy and back to one very important fact of reality: Declan was a professional athlete, and they weren’t high on the list of guys I wanted to get involved with. Because of my dad, I had a lot of rules about this sort of thing.

  Think of the sex though, the horny part of my brain implored. That’s all it has to be.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Declan said, breaking into my thoughts. “Don’t think about it Sophie. I like you and I think you like me.”

  I was pretty sure that was a question mark at the end of his sentence, but I couldn’t dwell on it because Declan had just told me he liked me.

  Declan O’Shaughnessy likes me.

  Nearly 18 years later, but I’d finally gotten the confession I wanted. Maybe I should have been annoyed it was so long in coming, but I wasn’t. Because hearing those three simple words felt damn good.

  “Tell you what. How about I give you a call later and we’ll figure something out?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Great,” he said.

  “Great,” I repeated.

  “Okay then.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are we doing this again?” he asked, laughing.

  “It appears we are,” I answered on a shy smile, shuffling my feet.

  “Shit, you’re cold,” he said, realizing he was inside a warm car while I continued to stand in the frigid night air.

  “Fucking freezing.” I smiled at him like a fool but didn’t move.

  Even though I was fucking freezing, parts of me were very warm and I couldn’t bring myself to care about potential frost bite.

  “Okay, get in your car. I’ll call you.”

  I waited a second or two to see if he’d pull away.

  “Get in your car Sophie.”

  “Okay, okay,” I muttered, climbing into the Volkswagen.

  When Declan drove away, I wrapped my arms around my body and bounced in my seat. I think I’d just agreed to go on a date with Declan.

  Eek!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sophie

  “It’s going to be busy tonight. You’ll want to put on more comfortable shoes.” My grandma glanced down at the ankle booties I’d donned this morning, her brows furrowed.

  “What? I’ve worn these to work before.”

  “For a couple hours, yes,” she acknowledged, shaking her head like I was a nitwit. “But you’re going to need to buy some more sensible shoes if you’re going to be taking longer shifts.”

  I tried not to let the statement bother me, but I bristled all the same. I was doing them a favor by working for free and sometimes I felt like they were taking advantage of me. I knew it was an uncharitable thought, but when she made comments about longer shift without having discussed them with me first, it was hard to feel anything else.

  Taking a pointed glance at her shoes, I groaned aloud. Regardless of whether I worked one hour or ten, no way was I going to wear something that looked like it belonged on the school lunch lady. Or a 70-year-old grandma.

  “I’ll be fine,” I promised. “I walked all around Rome in these shoes. They’re comfortable, I swear.”

  “Whatever you say,” she huffed, leaving to make sure Siobhan had wiped down her tables properly.

  Sidling up next to me, Siobhan whispered, “I feel like I should be offended. You’d think I hadn’t been a waitress for going on 20 years, nor had I been here for ten of those, with the way she follows me around.”

  “It’s nothing personal,” I assured her, all while trying to take my own advice. “With my grandpa being laid up, she’s just feeling out of sorts and trying to establish a normal routine for herself. Out here was his domain and she left him to it, but now I think she feels a lot of responsibility for making sure things are running as smooth as possible.”

  “Isn’t that why they brought you out here though? To help?”

  I liked Siobhan well enough, but she was a first rate gossip and I didn’t think it wise to tell her the real reason I was still in town. If she suspected I was hoping to talk my grandparents into selling the place, the news would spread like wildfire.

  “I’m not going to be here forever,” I answered evasively, hoping it wouldn’t lead to questions about what my future plans were.

  Because heck if I knew the answer.

  “Well, if not, they’re going to have to hire someone else. Just between you and me, there’s no way they can continue to run this place as they’ve been.”

  Interesting.

  “Out of curiosity, what wo
uld you recommend?” I asked.

  “You mean, aside from hiring someone to take over the day-to-day management of the place?”

  “Yeah, aside from that.”

  She blew out a breath and looked to the ceiling for a couple of seconds. “Okay, it’s probably dumb of me to say this to the owners’ granddaughter, but I think they should sell the joint.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to make sure my grandma wasn’t within hearing distance and dropped her voice. “Again, just between you and me, Colm’s not going to be able to work down here like he used to and it’s only a matter of time before Maureen’s too old herself.”

  “And you think selling’s the right answer?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Siobhan fisted her hands on her hips in a defensive stance as if she expected me to argue with her.

  Maybe it was because I was excited to finally have an ally in my quest to get them to see reason, but I decided to confide in the woman after all.

  “Between you and me?” I asked, echoing her.

  When she nodded, I continued, “I think that’s the right thing to do too, but I just don’t see it happening.”

  I leaned against the bar to take some weight off my feet. I’d never admit it to my grandma, but yeah, they already pinched. It had to be the thick wool socks I had on because like I said, a week traipsing around Rome and I’d been fine.

  “I don’t think my gramps has come to terms with how his heart attack impacts the rest of their life, much as I’ve tried to get him to.”

  “Maureen’s always going on about your travels.”

  The non-sequitur had me scratching my head and wondering what she was about. Then again, if you spent any time at all with Siobhan you had to learn to roll with her stream-of-consciousness way of communicating. As far as I could tell, if she had a thought, she shared it … regardless of whether it logically fit in with the current conversation.

  “Yes?”

  “And you’re here.”

  “I am,” I answered, wondering where this was going.

  “For how long?”

  I shrugged. Sharing time was over. I’d already revealed too much by telling her I agreed with her assessment; I didn’t need her digging her nose into my particulars as well.

  “It doesn’t bother you being here instead of out there?” She flung her arms wide, as if to indicate the rest of the world beyond the doors of Fitzgerald’s Pub.

  “It’s only been a handful of weeks,” I remarked.

  Except I’d already been saying that for a handful of weeks. At this rate, it’d be months before I was gone.

  “Would you stay here long term?” She tilted her head and squinted her eyes, as if she was trying to figure out what I was really all about.

  I’m not going to lie; her question surprised me. Not so much that she’d asked it, but that no one had done so before now. For as many people as I’d spoken with, they’d all avoid discussing my future plans. Almost as if every day I was here was a gift to my grandparents they didn’t want to jinx.

  “Define long term,” I shot back.

  When she continued sizing me up, I stared back unblinking. If my Grandmother Newport had taught me anything, it was how to bear up under silent scrutiny. In this game of possum, I was well trained.

  “Fine,” she said, slamming her palms on the bar between us. “Forever.”

  That was a pretty sizable gauntlet to have thrown down. I tried not to balk.

  “Forever’s a very long time,” I answered slowly.

  “It is. And this place is your family legacy.”

  “You say that like it’s been in my family for generations. My grandpa’s the first Fitzgerald to own it.”

  “True.” She backed away and tossed her rag over her shoulder. “But you’ve got the means to buy it off them,” she added as she sauntered away.

  As if she hadn’t just rocked my world.

  Up until this moment I hadn’t known the extent to which most people here understood my family over there. Then again, I should have guessed my mother “marrying up” all those years ago would have been a major point of gossip, especially when she refused to return.

  The thing was, I wasn’t rich. At least not in the way they assumed. The trust I’d received at 18 had paid for college and then funded my career when I struck out on my own. I’d been working steadily for the past five years, making a good living, but I didn’t have as much money as people seemed to think. Not enough, anyway, to buy a pub.

  You will, when you turn thirty. Or when you get married, I reminded myself with a sneer. I didn’t begrudge my grandparents holding my money in trust until I was older; what I was offended by was the marriage provision. As if a young bride was somehow more deserving of her legacy than a slightly older, single woman. Not surprisingly, a few of my cousins had married their college boyfriends in order to get their hands on that cash, only to divorce less than five years later. Thank goodness an iron-clad pre-nup was also part of the trust.

  Personally, I hoped no one ever learned about the money because if I ever met someone I was serious about, I didn’t want to wonder if they were with me for my inheritance or not. I’d already been through that once, and once was enough.

  But there was no point in even thinking about it since I wasn’t getting married anytime soon and my 30th birthday was still three-and-a-half years away. So no, I didn’t have the means to buy the pub. Nor did I have the means to keep it in their name and simply fix what was wrong with the building. My hands were completely tied with some very strong red tape.

  And so I spent the next couple of hours in a foul mood, bemoaning my Grandparents Newport for their high-handed manipulation and my Grandparents Fitzgerald for their less-than-stellar business acumen. I loved all of them, of course, but right now they were all making my life more difficult than it needed to be … and I didn’t like difficult. There was a reason I was always on the road, avoiding family drama after all.

  I was so focused on not messing up a large order that I jumped when Cian grabbed the beer I’d just poured for Seamus Kennedy. He’d been saving a booth for a party of eight since noon and had only ordered two drinks the entire time. I just hoped his group was coming soon because Declan’s match started in 45 minutes and a handful of angry customers were eyeing the empty booth with avarice.

  “I’ll take it over to Mr. Kennedy,” I huffed.

  “Not a chance,” he said, winking and walking backward into the crowd, somehow managing not to bump into anyone or spill the precious brew.

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked when he came around the bar and began pulling pints for a table full of people dressed in the opposing team’s colors.

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes when he answered, “Had some things to take care of.”

  “That’s what my grandma said.”

  Giving me whiplash with his vacillating moods, he turned on the charm. “Did you miss me?”

  “I did,” I answered cautiously because yes, I had missed him, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

  “I get that a lot.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  I laughed and shook my head because the man was a shameless flirt. But he needed to stop flirting with me.

  “Not like that though,” I added kindly.

  “No?”

  Sighing, I said, “I hoped we were past this.”

  “Past what, exactly?”

  “This,” I responded, waving my hand between us. “I like you, Cian, but I’m interested in Declan. I just need to be really clear about that.”

  For several tense heartbeats he glared at me, then bit out, “Understood,” as he watched the nitrous work its way up the liquid to form a deep chocolate-colored porter with a creamy white top.

  “Let me ask you something, though,” he whispered, drawing his eyes from the glass to look at me. “Why not me?”

  My breath hitched when I saw real pain there and I inhaled before
answering.

  “I met him first,” I began, although that wasn’t it at all I realized.

  I didn’t know what would or wouldn’t have happened between Cian and me if I’d never seen Declan, but the point was moot.

  “One look at him and I was done for,” I admitted, saying the words out loud for the first time.

  He groaned, but I continued. “If my grandparents had sent you to pick me up instead of him, who’s to say what would have happened? My grandma’s right; you are a handsome devil. But I don’t think we’re meant for each other, Cian. I just don’t feel that same spark with you. I’m sorry.”

  Around us the pub went about its business, groups growing in size as the minutes ticked by, laughter echoing off the walls, and the hum of conversations carrying from one side of the room to the next.

  “Fuck Declan,” he spat. “Why him?” he asked belligerently, his arms akimbo.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You know, your former enemy and my best friend. Declan O’Shaughnessy?”

  “I heard you, I just don’t understand the question.”

  “Of course you do,” he said, waving Siobhan over and putting a set of perfectly poured pints of a tray to be delivered to waiting customers. When she walked away, he continued. “You’ve hated him since that first day at St. Anthony’s and now you’ve magically forgiven him because he smiled at you and tossed you a charming apology?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I protested, all the while thinking from an outsider’s perspective it had looked exactly like that.

  But who could have predicted I’d respond to Declan the way I had?

  You know who, that voice in my head answered. You grandparents knew exactly what they were doing.

  “I believe his apology was sincere,” I replied, waving away his accusation.

  “This happens all the damn time. Declan does something stupid, says something he shouldn’t, and just when you think he’s going to get caught out for it, he smiles and all’s forgiven. If I hadn’t watched it happen with my own eyes for the past twenty years, I’d say I was paranoid but that’s how it’s always been.” He shook his head resignedly. “I really thought you were different.”