The Player and the Pixie (Rugby #2)

Sean: I’m sure you can fit me in somewhere :-D

Lucy: Is that an innuendo?

Sean: Of course.

Lucy: Leave me alone, pervert. I’ve got work to do and you’ve got a whole lot of beige to drink :-P

Sean: Okay, but we should get together while you’re here. I’ll take you out to dinner and you can toss your drink in my face again, mock me for how I say “fam.”



Placing my phone down on the desk, I didn’t respond. He made me feel too many conflicting emotions and my confusion was exhausting. Instead, I opened up the folder on my laptop containing the itinerary for Annie’s hen night, happy for the distraction and smiling as I perused it.

I’d purchased a bunch of Where’s Wally jumpers and hats for us to wear, though Broderick was keen to inform me that he was known as Waldo in the States. I also booked an hour on a Pedibus around the city. It was going to be hilarious. After that we’d have dinner and karaoke at one of my favorite Japanese restaurants before heading out to Temple Bar for more drinks.

I chuckled because Mam was insisting on coming and I knew she’d hate every moment of it. Everything about the night was going to be ridiculous and sloppy, my favorite kind of fun, and her most hated.

Noticing the time, I let out a few choice swearwords as I realized I was late to meet Broderick for lunch at our usual spot. Throwing my hair up in a ponytail, I grabbed my coat and handbag before heading out.

I saw him as soon as I stepped inside, sitting at our favorite spot by the window, headphones on, a coffee and pastry in front of him. Shooting him a quick wave, I went to order some food while surreptitiously sliding a raisin and oat cookie into my pocket.

It was a common tactic: buy something to cover up that you’ve stolen another. I’d been doing the exact same thing for five afternoons in a row and I didn’t understand why. I knew it didn’t make things any better, but I’d even been giving the cookie to a homeless man who sat begging outside the café as I left. I thought I had a handle on my compulsion but it was coming back for some reason, even though I’d barely spoken to my mother in weeks.

The barista smiled at me, completely oblivious, as I dropped a ridiculous amount of coins in the tip jar, took my things and headed over to join my friend. Broderick pulled off his headphones as I sat, a heavy baseline blasting from the speakers.

“You’ll make yourself deaf listening to music so loud,” I said, picking up a knife and cutting into my scone.

“And you’ll get arrested if you keep stealing baked goods,” Rick answered back casually. “What’s the deal with that anyway?”

My eyes widened, my mouth opening slightly as I stared at him in disbelief.

“I . . . I, uh . . .”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue?”

I leaned closer, whispering, “How did you see?”

“You’re not exactly the artful dodger, babe. Every time we come here you take the same damn cookie. At first I thought I was imagining things, but then you kept doing it over and over again.”

Letting out a sigh, I sat back, a terribly guilty look on my face. “It’s just this thing I do sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“Stealing is a big deal, Lucy. You’re not in Ireland now. New York is a whole other ball game, and if you get arrested here you’ll be facing a lot worse than a slap on the wrist and a call home to Mommy.”

I frowned, muttering under my breath, “No need to be an arsehole about it,” but then immediately regretted my words. I was the one being an arsehole. God, I hated myself for how I was acting.

“I’m only being an asshole because I care. So tell me? How long have you been doing this shit?”

Letting out a long sigh, I told him all about the beginnings of my strange habit, how it related back to my anxiety and pressure from my mother. She’d never been a particularly loving parent, but her belittling behavior only really started in full-force after I turned eighteen. I was an adult by then, starting to follow my own path in life, a path that didn’t reflect the one she foresaw. I ended my story by telling him how I’d been successful in quitting shoplifting until recently.

“Huh,” said Broderick, a thoughtful look on his face.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“No, that’s not all. What’s changed in the last couple of weeks?”

“I don’t understand.” I folded my arms defensively.

“Of course you do. What’s changed that’s caused you to slip back into old habits? There has to be something.”

I scrunched up my brow, wracking my brain until it finally hit me.

It was so bloody obvious.

Sean had gone home. I’d had amazing sex and a scarily intense connection with this big, handsome, incredible man with the word “forbidden” stamped on his forehead and then poof, he left, leaving my life feeling empty without him.

“I know that look,” said Rick. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”