The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2)

“I didn’t realize eyeshadow was so vital to the survival of pixies it had to be stolen.”


“That’s not why I took it,” I mumbled and shame bit at my gut. Shoplifting was my biggest flaw, the part of myself I saw as the ugliest, but it was also my biggest secret. Which was why I felt terribly uncomfortable discussing it over the dinner table.

“So why then?”

I frowned, still not looking him in the eye. “It’s a compulsion. A bad habit. I’ve been trying to quit, but it’s hard when I’m around certain . . . negative influences.”

“And those would be?” His knee was full on resting against mine now, but I couldn’t tell if he was doing it to comfort me or make me nervous.

“My mother.”

“Ah.”

“I haven’t stolen once since I moved to New York, then I come home for a visit and poof, I’m back to thieving.” I slumped in my seat, feeling glum.

Sean’s knee knocked mine and I looked up. He stared at me kindly and admitted, “I do it, too.”

“Do what, too?”

“Take things that don’t belong to me.”

“You shoplift?”

“Not exactly. Not from shops at any rate. But I often take things from other people’s bathroom cabinets.” Very quickly he added as though to defend his habit, “Creams and cosmetics and such. I find it’s a good way to discover new products.”

“Other people? What other people?”

“Women.”

“Women?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . who are these women?”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Just women.”

I scrutinized him and his just women, and I knew at once which women he meant. “You mean the women you have sex with? Of the one-night-stand variety?”

He nodded once just before taking a large gulp of his drink, not looking at me.

Huh. That was a very specific habit, and it was still stealing. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you do it?”

Sean’s eyes cut to mine and he studied me for a long moment; his stare was verging on peculiar when he finally shrugged. “Of course, there’s no other reason.”

I poked at my food as I thought on it. A few moments passed before I spoke again. “Or maybe, deep down, having these relations with just women makes you feel, I don’t know, unfulfilled emotionally, since they’re essentially strangers and one-night stands are generally all about the sex. So, the next morning, in order to make yourself feel a little bit better, you steal things.”

Sean tilted his head. “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

“I’m attempting to, yes.”

He looked away, watching as a few other customers passed by our table. “Well don’t. I promise you, I’m not that deep.”

He sounded sort of sad.

“We all have depth, Sean. It’s a side effect of being human.”

He stared at me for so long I began to feel uncomfortable. I had to break the silence, so I stood and gestured to the bathrooms. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I tried not to sprint, but it was difficult. I felt his eyes follow me the entire way, causing gooseflesh to rise over my upper arms and heat rise to my neck.

Once I was safe in the ladies’ room, I ran some cold water over my hands then held my fingers to my neck, willing my skin to cool down. I suddenly realized that spending time with Sean Cassidy was a lot more dangerous than I thought, because in a strange way I was actually enjoying myself.

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.