My friend chuckled. “It’s certainly a lot more relaxing than Manhattan.”
I nodded. “I mean, don’t me wrong, I love New York, but I couldn’t spend the rest of my life there. If I ever made enough money I’d build myself a nice little two-bedroom cottage in a place like this, adopt a bunch of dogs, and just forget about the rest of the world.”
“But then you wouldn’t get to see my handsome face every day,” he teased and I grinned at him. I’d had my fair share of platonic male friends in my time, but Rick was by far the prettiest. And don’t even get me started on his accent. Gah, I could listen to him speak for hours. I’d quickly come to realize we didn’t have chemistry of the romantic variety. In truth, I thought he might be harboring feelings for an ex or hung up on some other girl, and wasn’t getting involved in that.
So, we’d become best buds instead and I thoroughly enjoyed his company.
Speaking of harbored feelings, my mind had been a little preoccupied of late, continually wandering to a certain blond-haired rugby player with a bad attitude. Even though our dinner had ended on unfriendly terms, I couldn’t help replaying his hands on my wrist, or how naturally his arm had wrapped around my waist, the heat of his body warming me.
But enough about “He Who Must Not Be Named.” I needed to start treating him like Voldemort. Don’t speak of him, don’t even think of him, and certainly don’t imagine him tearing my knickers off with his teeth . . .
Anyway.
Back to Broderick. Yes, my friend was someone who actually deserved to take up room in my thoughts. He was a small-time music producer who ran his own blog and website. He did album reviews and stuff like that, but really his talent was wasted on writing, because the man had a fantastic set of pipes. Think Al Green meets Nat King Cole.
We finished off our smoothies and headed inside for our mid-morning yoga class. I’d really taken a shine to the instructor. Her name was Maria, an ex-nun from Massachusetts who’d spent a decade of her life volunteering with impoverished communities in Zimbabwe. She was certainly a woman with stories to tell.
The retreat was located in a large wooden house with an interior that consisted almost exclusively of whites and pale blues. There was nothing busy, nothing stressful to the eye, just serene tones and hardwood floors.
Nirvana.
We were a couple minutes early to class, so Rick and I busied ourselves stretching and setting out our mats. We sat close to the front, and it wasn’t long before the room started to fill up.
About ten minutes in, as Maria instructed us to turn our heads slowly to the right, I looked across the room only to meet a startlingly familiar pair of blue eyes.
What the fu—
How the bloody hell had Voldemort gotten into the building?
Sean Cassidy sat serenely on a yoga mat, his legs crossed and his hands braced on the floor, grinning widely like he’d just been told Scarlett Johansson wanted to give him a blowie. No longer was I relaxed. My inner peace fled for the hills as my palms grew sweaty and my heart rate sped up. I blinked—like maybe I’d imagined him—but no, when I looked again he was still there, still wearing that same smug grin.
Again I thought of our dinner together, and how I’d so foolishly told him all the details of where I’d be spending my break. It seemed to me that Sean was up to something, something decidedly fishy.
I refused to look at him again for the remainder of the class. The hour was a complete and total write-off though, because my thoughts were a scrambled mess and I couldn’t focus. When Maria finished up, wishing us all a good day, I shot out of the room like a rabbit on speed. I didn’t even wait around for Rick. No, I took my mat and my water bottle and strode right out of the building, heading for the peaceful waters of the lake.
For a second I considered finding a phone to call Ronan and request he come and extract Sean from my haven of solitude. His very presence turned it into a place of tension and anxiety . . . and yes, unwanted sexual urges.
But no, I couldn’t go crying to my brother every time something didn’t go my way. I was a confident grown woman, and I could a handle a little problem like Sean Cassidy.
Piece of cake.
With this renewed determination, I took several deep breaths and enjoyed a few more minutes of blessed silence before spinning around toward the house. Unfortunately, as soon as I turned I found Sean standing there with his arms folded, leaning casually against the trunk of a tree.
Startled, I almost tripped over a branch.
“Jesus, what are you doing out here?” I asked, my hand flying to my rapidly beating heart.
“As of the last few minutes I’ve been watching you have a conversation with yourself. It’s a tad worrying, truth be told. I assume you answer your own questions?” He tutted.