The Player and the Pixie
Page 44
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@SeanCassinova to @EilishCassidy Me too :-(
*Sean*
After leaving Lucy, I walked around the streets of New York with no destination in mind.
I did some shopping. I grabbed a cappuccino from a favorite bakery in Little Italy. But the city, oppressively hot and oddly empty, felt lonely in a way I hadn’t experienced or noticed during my previous visits.
I thought about calling one or two acquaintances, shallow people who would appreciate being seen with me. I decided against it. I didn’t particularly want that kind of company. Being alone struck me as infinitely more alluring than saddling myself with insincerity.
So I went to evening mass at St. Patrick’s and returned to the hotel early. Having nothing else to do, I went down to the gym and worked out, hoping Lucy would call, but not terribly surprised when she didn’t.
After a few hours, when I’d reached exhaustion, I showered and fell asleep, trying very hard to think of trivial things rather than the growing and uncomfortable tightness in my chest.
Eventually I slept. But I dreamt of Lucy.
In truth, I woke up in the middle of the night, my massive erection frustrating and persistent. Having no other choice, I took the matter in hand, thinking of her and our next lesson.
What would she teach me next? Would we move on to master’s courses now that I was rapidly conquering the basics? Would she let me take her in the shower? The fantasy turned infinitely dirtier as I imagined her in the locker room back at the Union field in Dublin.
She was waiting for me after a match, everyone else having left. I imagined her sitting on the plush bench in front of my locker, spreading her legs and hiking her skirt to coyly show me she’d been wearing no knickers while she’d watched me play from the stands.
Oddly, in this fantasy, I was only able to reach climax after she’d come. Multiple times. On every surface of the team room. And in the showers. And in the sauna. Then I passed out again, surrounded by the darkness of the hotel room, needing a shower but too exhausted to move from the bed.
When I awoke the next morning, I searched my sheets for her, confused at first by her absence. Then I remembered it had been a fantasy, a half-waking wishful dream that could never be.
I groaned, miserable and irritated. What was happening to me?
The chiming of my phone cut through my wretched thoughts and I hastily reached for it, wanting it to be her. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the way my heart jumped when I saw she’d texted.
Lucy: I hope this doesn’t wake you, but I wanted to give you a heads-up: I can’t meet today. I’m at the animal shelter for a shift this morning and working this afternoon until late. Enjoy your day off!
A twinge of disappointment twisted between my shoulder blades, or perhaps it was lingering tightness from my workout the night before. I reread her message again, an idea forming. Without allowing myself to debate the intelligence of my suggestion, I quickly tapped out a response.
Sean: Where is the shelter? I’ll bring you coffee.
She answered straightaway.
Lucy: I already have coffee, but if you want to come down here and help, I won’t turn you away.
Sean: What will I be doing?
Lucy: Today is grooming day, so everyone gets a bath. Wear casual clothes.
Lucy: That means no fru-fru designer sports coats.
Sean: What about my diamond-encrusted shampoo bottle?
Lucy: That’s fine. I have mine here as well, along with my ruby-and-emerald soap dispenser. I’ll text you the address.
I grinned at our easy exchange, my disappointment forgotten. I quickly showered and changed into a pair of running shorts and a microfiber shirt. Both were breathable and quick drying.
Needing to work off some energy before I came face-to-face with the object of my nightly fantasies, I decided to run the three miles to the shelter. It wasn’t as oppressively sweltering in the early morning as it had been in the late afternoon.
I managed to work off the worst of my edginess by the time I made it to the address Lucy had texted. However, and again, my heart jumped around my chest when I opened the door to the shelter and strolled inside.
At once I was hit with the familiar smell of flea powder and dog. A wave of unexpected nostalgia swept up and over me as I thought of weekday afternoons, training on the fields behind my aunt and uncle’s sprawling country estate, and taking breaks to play fetch with Wolfie.
Before I was pulled too deep in to the undertow of memories, Lucy’s voice cut through my brief reminiscence.
“Hey. It’s you.”
I turned and found her walking toward me clothed in torn, baggy jeans and a plain white T-shirt. She wore a wide, friendly smile. She sounded surprised to see me.
“Did you not think I’d come?”
Lucy stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her pants and shrugged, the grin lingering over her lips. “I didn’t know if you were serious about helping. But I’m glad you’re here.”
We surveyed each other for a long moment. I discovered I was smiling as well, but too late to hide it.
Made bizarrely uncomfortable by my discovery, I decided to change the subject. “Have I dressed appropriately?” I gestured to my shirt.
“Yes. You’re perfect,” she said brightly, then turned and motioned for me to follow her. “You can towel dry and brush in the pen while I wash.”
She led me through a short hallway. The sound of barking dogs grew more distinct. We entered the room where I assumed we’d be working and I swallowed past my nostalgia, schooling my expression.
Cages lined the walls. Some dogs were alone. Some dogs were partnered. Most barked as soon as I entered. A big metal basin sat off to one side, positioned under a faucet. I strolled past Lucy and walked to the first cage, offering the back of my hand to the pit bull mix who was barking the loudest. He immediately sniffed, grew quiet and wagged his tail as I crouched in front of him.
*Sean*
After leaving Lucy, I walked around the streets of New York with no destination in mind.
I did some shopping. I grabbed a cappuccino from a favorite bakery in Little Italy. But the city, oppressively hot and oddly empty, felt lonely in a way I hadn’t experienced or noticed during my previous visits.
I thought about calling one or two acquaintances, shallow people who would appreciate being seen with me. I decided against it. I didn’t particularly want that kind of company. Being alone struck me as infinitely more alluring than saddling myself with insincerity.
So I went to evening mass at St. Patrick’s and returned to the hotel early. Having nothing else to do, I went down to the gym and worked out, hoping Lucy would call, but not terribly surprised when she didn’t.
After a few hours, when I’d reached exhaustion, I showered and fell asleep, trying very hard to think of trivial things rather than the growing and uncomfortable tightness in my chest.
Eventually I slept. But I dreamt of Lucy.
In truth, I woke up in the middle of the night, my massive erection frustrating and persistent. Having no other choice, I took the matter in hand, thinking of her and our next lesson.
What would she teach me next? Would we move on to master’s courses now that I was rapidly conquering the basics? Would she let me take her in the shower? The fantasy turned infinitely dirtier as I imagined her in the locker room back at the Union field in Dublin.
She was waiting for me after a match, everyone else having left. I imagined her sitting on the plush bench in front of my locker, spreading her legs and hiking her skirt to coyly show me she’d been wearing no knickers while she’d watched me play from the stands.
Oddly, in this fantasy, I was only able to reach climax after she’d come. Multiple times. On every surface of the team room. And in the showers. And in the sauna. Then I passed out again, surrounded by the darkness of the hotel room, needing a shower but too exhausted to move from the bed.
When I awoke the next morning, I searched my sheets for her, confused at first by her absence. Then I remembered it had been a fantasy, a half-waking wishful dream that could never be.
I groaned, miserable and irritated. What was happening to me?
The chiming of my phone cut through my wretched thoughts and I hastily reached for it, wanting it to be her. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the way my heart jumped when I saw she’d texted.
Lucy: I hope this doesn’t wake you, but I wanted to give you a heads-up: I can’t meet today. I’m at the animal shelter for a shift this morning and working this afternoon until late. Enjoy your day off!
A twinge of disappointment twisted between my shoulder blades, or perhaps it was lingering tightness from my workout the night before. I reread her message again, an idea forming. Without allowing myself to debate the intelligence of my suggestion, I quickly tapped out a response.
Sean: Where is the shelter? I’ll bring you coffee.
She answered straightaway.
Lucy: I already have coffee, but if you want to come down here and help, I won’t turn you away.
Sean: What will I be doing?
Lucy: Today is grooming day, so everyone gets a bath. Wear casual clothes.
Lucy: That means no fru-fru designer sports coats.
Sean: What about my diamond-encrusted shampoo bottle?
Lucy: That’s fine. I have mine here as well, along with my ruby-and-emerald soap dispenser. I’ll text you the address.
I grinned at our easy exchange, my disappointment forgotten. I quickly showered and changed into a pair of running shorts and a microfiber shirt. Both were breathable and quick drying.
Needing to work off some energy before I came face-to-face with the object of my nightly fantasies, I decided to run the three miles to the shelter. It wasn’t as oppressively sweltering in the early morning as it had been in the late afternoon.
I managed to work off the worst of my edginess by the time I made it to the address Lucy had texted. However, and again, my heart jumped around my chest when I opened the door to the shelter and strolled inside.
At once I was hit with the familiar smell of flea powder and dog. A wave of unexpected nostalgia swept up and over me as I thought of weekday afternoons, training on the fields behind my aunt and uncle’s sprawling country estate, and taking breaks to play fetch with Wolfie.
Before I was pulled too deep in to the undertow of memories, Lucy’s voice cut through my brief reminiscence.
“Hey. It’s you.”
I turned and found her walking toward me clothed in torn, baggy jeans and a plain white T-shirt. She wore a wide, friendly smile. She sounded surprised to see me.
“Did you not think I’d come?”
Lucy stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her pants and shrugged, the grin lingering over her lips. “I didn’t know if you were serious about helping. But I’m glad you’re here.”
We surveyed each other for a long moment. I discovered I was smiling as well, but too late to hide it.
Made bizarrely uncomfortable by my discovery, I decided to change the subject. “Have I dressed appropriately?” I gestured to my shirt.
“Yes. You’re perfect,” she said brightly, then turned and motioned for me to follow her. “You can towel dry and brush in the pen while I wash.”
She led me through a short hallway. The sound of barking dogs grew more distinct. We entered the room where I assumed we’d be working and I swallowed past my nostalgia, schooling my expression.
Cages lined the walls. Some dogs were alone. Some dogs were partnered. Most barked as soon as I entered. A big metal basin sat off to one side, positioned under a faucet. I strolled past Lucy and walked to the first cage, offering the back of my hand to the pit bull mix who was barking the loudest. He immediately sniffed, grew quiet and wagged his tail as I crouched in front of him.
