The Player and the Pixie
Page 8

“Jesus, Sean. You sound like such a snob.”
“Thank you, what a lovely compliment.”
This made her snort and smack my shoulder with the flat of her palm. “Get out of here before you’re caught making me laugh. They’ll never forgive you for being cheerful.”
I smiled down at my cousin, wishing again she’d come with me. Having her around during the summer, someone clever to talk to, someone with no expectations, trustworthy—someone good—was the highlight of my year. I knew her reasoning for staying within these cold walls during the summer months, but for her sake, as well as for my own selfish purposes, I wished she’d change her mind.
Before I could suggest—again—that she move in with me for the summer, my aunt called, “Eilish? Come here. It’s time to read my letters.”
I sighed, watching Eilish’s profile as she responded, “Coming, Mother. I’m just seeing Sean off.”
“He can find the door on his own. I need you,” came her reply.
Eilish smiled a small, pleased smile. And my chest ached at her expression. The words I need you still had an effect on my cousin, though they filled me with dread.
Because my aunt needed people until she didn’t. Then she’d cast them away. I recognized the manipulation, had hardened myself against it. Eilish had not.
At least, not yet.
Chapter Three
@LucyFitz Always trust in the kindness of strangers…except when it comes in the form of a glass of sauvignon blanc you haven’t seen them pour.
@RonanFitz to @LucyFitz What’s going on?! Is some creep offering to buy you drinks?
@LucyFitz to @RonanFitz Chillax. It’s supposed to be humorous.
@RonanFitz to @LucyFitz Well I don’t find the concept of messing with my sister funny.
@Anniecat to @LucyFitz I apologize for your brother.
*Lucy*
“Do you want anything from the shop?” definitely ranked as one of my top three favorite sentences of all time. It’s right up there with, “School’s been cancelled because of the weather” and “Would you like me to go down on you first?”
Admittedly, I’d only been asked the third one twice, and both instances were quite some time ago.
When we were kids, Ronan always used to ask me if I wanted anything from the shop, and my answer was always the same: a can of Coke, a bar of chocolate, and a packet of crisps. We used to call it the Triple C. Shut up. It wasn’t lame.
These days I still wanted things from the shop. Things I hadn’t paid for.
Well, perhaps it wasn’t so much the things, but the feeling that taking things gave me. I was addicted to that feeling though a large part of me hated it.
It was the evening after the party and my hangover had almost faded. I’d taken the DART into town to meet up with an old friend for coffee. We’d parted ways a half hour ago and I was currently browsing the cosmetics section of Brown Thomas, a glamorous blonde in an all-black ensemble watching me like a hawk.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked with a smile.
“I’m good, just looking,” I answered, returning the friendly gesture.
I couldn’t allow myself to be annoyed with her. She was only doing her job. I was the one in the wrong. My fingers itched with the need to take, as I remembered Mam berating me when I got home last night. I’d been rude enough to avoid meeting her friend’s very eligible son, and behavior like that was sacrilege to Jackie Fitzpatrick.
Your looks, such as they are, aren’t going to last forever, Lucy. Before you know it you’ll be forty and still on the shelf.
I had to bite back the urge to respond with some equally horrible comment, refusing to sink to her level. I was already allowing myself to become a secret thief. I wouldn’t lower myself to being mean on top of it.
“Pardon me, but I’m looking for this cream, do you sell it?” a recognizable voice asked, pulling me from my thoughts. Glancing up, I saw Sean Cassidy speaking to the blonde, holding out an opened sample. Of all the gin joints . . .I knew Dublin was small, but it couldn’t possibly be this small.
After our encounter last night, I really wasn’t in the mood for a second round with Bubs and his abrasive personality, which was saying something. Loud, quiet, sassy, reserved, they were all a part of life’s color. But Sean Cassidy, well, he was something else entirely.
Keeping my head down, I swiftly turned to leave.
“Mini-Fitzpatrick, what are the chances?” he said, almost happily, and I exhaled a quick breath. There was something in me that just wasn’t rude enough to ignore him, even if he didn’t deserve my politeness. I turned back around.
“How’s it going, Bubs?”
What? If I couldn’t be rude then I could at least amuse myself.
He smiled widely. “Better now that I’ve bumped into you.”
What was with the personality change? He looked genuinely pleased to see me. I glanced around for hidden cameras.
“And if you really want to name me after a drink, then I insist you call me Macallan,” he went on. “Because I’m unquestionably both rare and fine.” His eyes heated and he leveled me with yet another smile, this one smoldering. Was I being hit with the infamous Cassidy charm? I hated to admit that it felt sort of . . . exciting. Letting my eyes travel down his muscular physique, I imagined he’d be an absolute animal in the sack. It was a pity I could never let myself go there.
I mustered a laugh. “Wow, modest.”