“Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t pick up on any of that from my research. From what I could gather, you come from a….” She hesitated as though she were choosing her words. “Your family was privileged.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “You really need to start coming to the source for your information, Annie. That’s the only way you’re going to get a clear picture.”

She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Okay then, I’m coming to the source now. Tell me about how you grew up.”

“First of all, my family wasn’t privileged. My ma worked her arse off to send me to school.”

“But your father’s family, aren’t they the well-to-do type?”

I could tell she was fishing, looking for something in particular. I had no desire to talk about my father’s family because they were all fucking bastards, the lot of them. And when I spoke about them, about how they’d left my ma and sister and me to starve, I typically lost my shit.

I scratched the back of my neck, a nervous gesture, and shook my head. “I don’t talk about the Fitzpatricks,” I said, knowing my voice was cold and steely.

Her eyebrows lifted a notch, and her gaze searched mine. I could see her curiosity, her interest, but was relieved when she let the topic drop. “Then, if you don’t mind, tell me more about your childhood.”

And so I did. We sat there for next half an hour, and I told her about my strange background of contrasts, attending a school for posh boys and then going home to a shithole council estate every evening. How I used to wish Ma wouldn’t push me to emulate Dad’s education because walking through the estate wearing that uniform every evening meant I quickly had to learn how to fight. Annie was rapt by my story, hanging on every word.

“The local kids would accuse me of thinking I was better than them, and then at school most of the students thought they were better than me. It was a joke.” I shook my head at the memory.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her expression had gone soft, concerned.

“Nah. Fighting is good practice on and off the field. In a match, you can’t hesitate to get rough.”

“It sounds violent.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, trying to see my childhood and the sport of rugby from her point of view. “But it’s real, you know? When you fight with your fists, it’s real; it’s not mind games and manipulation. I don’t mind the violence so much. It’s insincerity, lack of honesty I have a problem with.”

She nodded fervently. “Yes. Yes, precisely. Trusting people is impossible because you never know, you can never know, what their intentions truly are. Sometimes they don’t even know.”

“That’s not what I said, Annie. Trusting people isn’t impossible. I trust my ma and my sister, my family. Sometimes I didn’t even know where Ma was getting the money to pay the tuition fees, but she managed it somehow. I guess now that I can give her a good life, all the struggle was worth it.”

When I finished talking, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re lucky to have such a supportive mother. I’m sure she’s very proud,” she said and then went quiet for a long time as though lost in thought.

Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “Well, in the end, I had a good deal to do with my own success. It wasn’t all Ma’s doing. Careful, you’ll wound my delicate male ego.”

Her eyes flickered to mine, and she laughed softly. It was a gorgeous sound.

“See, I can make you laugh. I’m not so abhorrent, am I?” I murmured.

“No,” she whispered. “Not abhorrent at all.”

“Even with all my gruesome scars?”

Her eyes flickered over my features as though cherishing each of the rough lines, and when she spoke, she sounded distracted. “I like your scars. Your face would be too perfect without them.”

“Perfect? You mean like your face?” I loved how much she was talking.

Her nose wrinkled automatically, a completely natural and genuine response to my compliment—such a refreshing display of casually honest modesty. God, she was so different from the birds I usually got with. She was fresh air. She was perfect.

She’s what you need…. The thought came from nowhere, and it was sobering. This wasn’t a girl I would be able to fuck and forget.

“There is nothing perfect about my face.”

I cleared my throat, trying to force the teasing back into my tone. “Your lips are perfect.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” She rolled them between her teeth.

“You forget—I’ve kissed those lips, so now I’m an expert.”

I startled her. The look on her face betrayed that she was remembering our kiss. She seemed abruptly embarrassed again. I was enjoying talking to her and her company more than I’d enjoyed being with anyone for a very long time. I didn’t want her to leave yet, so I quickly changed the subject.

“But enough about your gorgeous face. I feel like I’ve given you a muddled view of my childhood. Growing up wasn’t all about fights. There were some really good times, like the Christmas when I was fifteen. It had been a tight year for us because Ma lost one of her jobs at a café in town. She always put paying for my schooling first, so we ended up eating beans on toast most nights. I felt bad because my sister, Lucy, went without just so that I could go to a fancy school. A couple of months previously, I’d started working a paper route, and I’d saved up almost all the money I earned. Then, the day before Christmas Eve, I went shopping. I bought Ma a bottle of her favorite perfume, and I got Lucy a jewelry-making set she’d been wanting all year. Then I went to the supermarket and spent every last cent I had on the fanciest food I could find.”