The Player and the Pixie Page 12


In an attempt to lighten the mood, and remembering I’d been neglecting the blog since I’d been home, I pulled out my phone and left the bathroom. Before I reached our table I stood off to the side, snapping a few shots of Sean as he finished his meal.

Almost like he sensed me, he turned his head, catching me in the act. He didn’t even have to ask. His arched eyebrow said it all as I hurried over to join him.

“I’m going to feature you on Annie’s blog this weekend. I hope you don’t mind. I’m kind of stuck for material this week since Dublin’s not exactly celeb central.”

“Annie’s blog?”

“Ronan’s Annie. I work for her now, taking pictures, co-writing blog posts, tweeting, Instagramming, Facebooking, the whole nine yards.”

“Well,” said Sean, carefully setting down his knife and fork, done with his food. “I hadn’t pegged you for a paparazzi.”

“Really? What had you pegged me for?”

“A tarot card reader. Or maybe a yoga instructor,” he teased, though his tone was flat. He reached out to take my phone. I watched as he swiped through the pictures.

“These are boring. Come here,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from my seat. A zing of excitement shot through me as he perched me in his lap and raised the phone, snapping a selfie of us together. One of his arms was wrapped around my waist and his body felt warm and solid beneath me. As soon as the picture was taken I shot up, grabbing my phone back and returning to my seat.

“Wow, talk about a sneak attack,” I muttered to myself, still feeling tingles from where he’d touched me.

“Now you can write a whole article about the weekend you spent with Sean Cassidy,” he preened. “Your views will skyrocket.”

I laughed. “I’m pretty sure my brother would blow a gasket if I did that.”

“Oh, tell Mother Fitzpatrick to go take a Valium and relax.”

My laughter died down as my expression sobered. “He’s just protective of his family. Ronan’s a good person. You’d know that if you simply took the time to get to know him.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because maybe if you knew him, you’d stop trying to ruin his life.”

We stared at each other. Actually, he glared at me while I tried to meet his gaze evenly. It wasn’t easy. I could see his mind working, words on the tip of his tongue, and he seemed to be debating whether or not to speak.

“Ruin his life?”

“Brona O’Shea,” I repeated. “Ring any bells?”

“I think I did him a favor with that one. His current bird is a definite step up.”

“Yes, but the suspension from the team? After he found you two going at it? I don’t care much for Brona, but you knew how he was going to react. He almost ruined his career.”

“It’s not my fault he chose to act with aggression. The man’s a chimpanzee, mindlessly flinging excrement at anyone who doesn’t worship at his holier-than-thou altar.”

My mouth fell open at his audacity and I jabbed my finger toward him. “He’s the ape? You’re the one who was knocking knickers with his fiancée!”

“No,” he responded firmly. “Technically, I wasn’t. I never actually tapped that. So, to be fair, going back to your earlier statement, my taste isn’t as questionable as your brother’s.”

“What do you mean you never ‘tapped that’?”

“I never fucked Brona O’Shea.” His voice was as flat as a deflated tire, and I winced at his vulgarity and tone.

I immediately contradicted him, “Yes, you did.” Everyone knew he’d seduced Brona. It’s how he’d earned his nickname, Sleazy Sean. “Ronan walked in on you, he saw everything.”

“No.  He saw what we wanted him to see. And Mother Fitzpatrick, being Mother Fitzpatrick, jumped to all the wrong conclusions. Do you really think Ronan could best me in a fight? Unlikely. I let him win, so I could win.” He reached for and gulped his water, watching me.

I studied him, seeing the truth in his eyes. He’d staged the whole thing. How could someone be so despicable? Anger swelled within me, an emotion I didn’t often have cause to feel.

“You wanted him to find you. You wanted him suspended.”

“No. I wanted him expelled.”

Mounting fury had me raising my voice. He wasn’t Sleazy Sean, he was Sinister Sean, and I couldn’t believe I’d ever agreed to this farce of a dinner date.

“I can’t believe you!”

“Shhh.” He glanced around the restaurant, presumably to ensure we weren’t causing a scene.

Leaning forward, I whispered harshly, “You are such a prick.” Then I picked up his water glass and tossed it in his face.

Immediately, I stood, refusing to listen to him any longer. To be perfectly honest, it was a surprise he’d managed to go the whole meal without saying something mean. He’d just reminded me exactly why I shouldn’t ever have been gullible enough to give him the time of day.

“Hey,” he frowned, mopping the water from his jaw. “What was that for?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

I spun on him, so angry I couldn’t see straight. “Call me when you get a clue and stop being so jealous of my brother.”

He snorted at this and threw the wet napkin to the table. “Jealous. Right. What a joke.”

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