The Cad and the Co-Ed
Page 8

“Eilish Cassidy, I don’t believe you’ve met our fullback yet, Bryan Leech. Bryan has some trouble with his knee from time to time, an old injury, so I’m sure you two will become well acquainted over the coming months.”
What a second. Eilish Cassidy?
I glanced at Sean, who sure enough was eyeballing me all, yep, she’s a Cassidy, you horny fuck, so hands off.
I cocked a brow at him. “Any relation?”
“We’re cousins,” a low voice responded, and I leveled my eyes on Eilish. Such a gorgeous name. Such a gorgeous lady.
“More like brother and sister,” Sean put in. “We grew up together.”
“Ah, I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eilish,” I said, not taking my eyes off her for a second as I held my hand out. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it and we shook. Her skin was cool and silky soft under my touch. I didn’t want to let go, but she withdrew before I could keep hold of her. Coach started talking about something physio related, but I just stared at Eilish, not hearing a word of it.
I couldn’t explain it, but I had to admit to myself that I was drawn to her. Not just because she was beautiful, but because she had a presence, an energy I found incredibly appealing despite the fact that she clearly considered me . . . scum? Unappealing? Beneath her notice?
Maybe a combination of all three.
Clearly, I thought sourly, because she’s a Cassidy.
Her disdain for me now made sense. The Cassidys were, as far as Irish gentry goes, as high on the social ladder as one could get in Dublin society. Even if she didn’t know of my disastrous past—which was unlikely—my blood was nowhere near blue enough. My father was a high court judge, but we weren’t old money.
She shifted in place, eyes darting everywhere but never looking at me. She was uncomfortable, probably thinking back to how I’d cornered her earlier. I didn’t like seeing her uncomfortable. I wanted to reassure her that she had no reason to feel that way. I understood how things were. I was a good guy. If she didn’t want to talk to me or be around me, fine. That was her choice.
While the others conversed, I took a step closer to Eilish and placed my hand very softly on her elbow. Keeping my voice low, I bent to whisper in her ear, “Is that a vodka tonic? Can I get you another?”
She shook her head. “It’s just tonic water, and no, thank you. I’m fine.”
I studied her profile. “If I made you uncomfortable earlier, I apologize. I promise it won’t happen again.”
She blinked and glanced up at me, taken aback. Her hand shook as she lifted her glass to her mouth and took a sip, her attention moving to the party around us and snagging on a bloke passing by. I couldn’t help but also notice because he was wearing a designer shirt and the tightest pair of skinny jeans I’d ever seen on a man.
I cocked a brow at the obvious grimace on the man’s face and his restricted gait just as Eilish murmured something into her glass that sounded a lot like, “Not as uncomfortable as him, anyway.”
I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but her comment made me smile a little. My first impression had been one of shyness, but maybe she had a sassy side.
“Perhaps he enjoys the tight fit,” I suggested, dropping her elbow.
Eilish’s gaze widened, darting to mine, then away. Yeah, she definitely hadn’t meant for me to hear.
She swallowed another sip and threw back, “Keeps everything tidy and in place, I suppose.”
I chuckled. “True, though I prefer to imagine he’s a diehard environmentalist. Tight jeans mean less fabric, and less fabric means less pollution for mother earth.”
“Or perhaps he’s an elite luger. The pants could’ve been designed for aerodynamic purposes.” Eilish threw back, and I barked a laugh.
She appeared surprised, like she hadn’t expected me to have a sense of humor or something. Our eyes met and a moment passed between us. It felt more weighty than the situation warranted.
Being this close to her was magnetizing. I knew social norms said I should step away now, any second now, but I just couldn’t seem to manage it. I felt a pull in the center of my chest.
If I wanted a woman, that usually meant she was bad news, and we definitely had a fuckload of chemistry going on.
I eyed her, how she’d schooled her expression, looking uncomfortable again, and shifted away from me subtly.
Maybe it’s all on my end.
I was about to say something—anything—to try to soothe her nerves when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw my mother’s name on the screen. There were also ten missed calls displayed from earlier. Ten. Christ. I knew this couldn’t be good. Bracing myself, I stepped away from the group and to a quiet corner, lifting the phone to my ear.
“Mam.”
“Bryan, I decided to open that fancy bottle of Pinot Noir Tracy bought for me last week. Why don’t you come over and we can drink it together, have a little catch up? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
I swallowed down the hollow lump in my chest. Good old Mam.
“I can’t right now, Mam. I’m at William’s birthday party. And you know I don’t drink anymore.”
“You’re at a party and didn’t think to invite me?” She pretended she hadn’t heard the last bit, just like she always did. When I’d mentioned the people who couldn’t seem to get their head around the changes in my life, that I no longer drank, I’d more or less been referring to Mam.