But Ronan wasn’t looking at me. He was looking beyond our little gathering, and his grip had tightened possessively on my body. His fingers moved a full two inches up my skirt. I blinked at his steely, stoic expression and then followed the direction of his gaze.
There at the periphery, just behind Marta Goodwall and her husband, David, stood none other than Brona O’Shea and Sean Cassidy—Ronan’s ex-girlfriend and the teammate of Ronan’s she’d cheated with.
A hush fell over our group, and eyes moved back and forth between Sean and Brona, and Ronan and me. Brona was looking at me…sorta. Rather, she was looking at Ronan’s hand where it gripped me immodestly beneath my skirt. Her pale blue eyes were flashing thunderbolts of malice at his hand and my thigh.
I didn’t know quite what to do, so I smiled, hoping the mask I’d abandoned earlier would slip seamlessly back into place.
Sean spoke first. “Hey, room for two more?”
All eyes swung to Ronan. His jaw ticked. I was sad to see that his earlier happiness had evaporated, leaving only disdain and suspicion.
Yet, a part of me—a very big, but as yet very silent, part of me—was pleased to see that Ronan didn’t look at all jealous.
“Of course.” Ronan nodded once, affixing an imitation of a smile to his face; his voice was hard and cold. “Always room for you, Sean.”
I glanced at Sean, found him looking unaffected and placid. He was taller than Ronan by two inches at least and had that rich-boy aura, like he was perpetually bored and plagued by ennui. He was very, very pretty—not handsome but pretty—and I wondered how someone so pretty could play rugby. Wasn’t he afraid of ruining his pretty face and pretty hands and pretty everything?
Brona moved to sit on his lap, and he lifted his hands up to give her space, to steady herself without his assistance, like he didn’t care where she sat just as long as she hurried up. I noticed that her eyes didn’t stray from Ronan’s hand up my skirt until she was settled, and then her glare lifted to mine. I got the distinct impression she wanted to cut me.
Ronan’s arm around my waist shifted to my shoulders, and he pulled me toward him, bringing my ear to his mouth so he could whisper, “You want to leave?”
I turned so that I could see his face and gave him my newly discovered smile mask. “Do you want to leave?”
His eyes darted over me; he seemed to be studying my expression, looking for a hint. He frowned, concern flickering over his features.
At length he said, “You finish your drink, and then we’ll leave. I don’t want those fucks thinking that what they do matters.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your stunning date?” Sean’s cheerful voice cut through our impromptu powwow, bringing our attention back to the table.
Ronan grumbled something under his breath that no one but I could hear; he said three words, and none of them should be repeated.
“What was that?” Sean pressed; he lifted his hand as a waitress approached and pointed to Tevan Flynn’s glass of whiskey. “I’ll have two of those, top shelf. What do you want, Bunny?”
Bunny?
My smile mask slipped.
Brona was still tossing kitchen knives at my face as she ordered, “I’ll have champagne, top shelf.”
Sean shifted in his seat, huffed a condescending laugh. “No, Bunny. There’s no such thing as top-shelf champagne.”
She squirmed, her expression turning pale. “She knows what I mean. I want something expensive, the good stuff, yeah?” It was clear that he’d embarrassed her.
The server gave Brona a tight smile and nodded as she backed away. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
Bryan cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to himself. It was obvious that he cared about Ronan and was trying to lighten the mood.
“So where did the nickname Bunny come from? You don’t look like a rabbit, Brona. Do you like carrots?”
Brona opened her mouth to respond, but Sean beat her to it. His tone was dry and droll and perfectly polished as he said, “Oh, that’s because we fuck like rabbits.”
Several of the wives at the table gagged while several others rolled their eyes. No one laughed. Brona looked like she’d just swallowed a tablespoon of vinegar. I almost felt sorry for her.
Marta piped up with a disapproving head shake. “Really? Sean Cassidy, was that entirely necessary? Didn’t your mother raise you with manners?”
He chuckled. Again, his chuckle sounded condescending. “Please accept my apologies if anything I said was untoward.” Then he turned his pretty face back to Ronan. “But I would point out that Ronan here has yet to make introductions, which is also quite rude.”
Again, Ronan muttered those three words. Again, they weren’t quite loud enough to be heard.
“Sorry, what was that?” Sean leaned forward, turning his ear toward us.
Ronan lifted his voice, saying, “I said, ‘Go—’”
But before he could finish and repeat go fuck yourself for a third time, I straightened, blocking Ronan from view.
“I’m Annie Catrel.”
“Ah…the lovely Annie speaks.” Sean grinned, cocking his head to the side, his eyes conducting a slow once-over of my body.
I clenched my teeth and readied myself to fight against the instinct to withdraw, but it never came. I was too angry. This guy was an asshole.
“Yes. I speak. Quite well,” I said flatly.
“Hmm…well, Annie who speaks quite well, what do you do? I mean, other than Ronan?”
I felt Ronan stiffen, ready to pounce. Brona—not at all helping matters—gave a tittering laugh once she caught on to the joke.
“Fucking hell, Cassidy….” Tevan shook his head, throwing his teammate a disapproving glower. “Why do you always have to be such a dick?”
“What? She claims to speak quite well. I’m giving her a chance to prove her speaking abilities.” Then he turned his attention back to me, “Tell us about yourself. Did you graduate, let’s see, what’s it called in the States? High school?”
I nodded. “Yes. I was valedictorian. In case you don’t use that word here, it means I….” I hesitated, not wanting to say top of the class because I felt certain that would be used against me. Therefore, I said, “It means I had the best grades out of all the students in my graduating class.”
“Oh, my, that sounds very important. And you went to university?”
I nodded, absentmindedly stroking Ronan’s hand where it rested on my hip. “I did.”
“And where did you go? What was your area of study?”
“I went to the University of Pennsylvania and majored in statistics.”
Sean blinked, his expression altering by the tiniest fraction. I’d surprised him.
I continued, wanting to clarify, “But that was undergrad. For postgrad I went to Wharton and graduated—again as the class valedictorian—with a master of science in statistics and marketing.”
“A master of science?” Sean’s frown was disbelieving, as was his tone.
I nodded and added, “Yes. Of science. The title of my thesis was Infographics as a Means to Effectively Transfer Knowledge Reducing the Bias of Consumer Interpretation.”
Sean stared at me. In fact, the entire table stared at me. I felt myself wilting under the attention, so I reached for my champagne merely to have something to do. It almost tumbled from my grip, but I saved it at the last minute and finished it in three gulps.
Then Ronan chuckled.
Then Ronan laughed.
Then Ronan laughed so hard he seemed to have trouble drawing breath.
I turned to look at him, confused by his joviality, found his eyes bright with amusement and moving over me with raw tenderness.
“Oh, Annie,” he whispered affectionately, “what am I going to do with you?”
I heard someone release a low whistle, followed by Marta asking from her spot, “Isn’t Wharton one of those hoity-toity schools in the States? Really hard to get into? And you graduated top of the class?” She sounded impressed.
Ronan smiled at me for a beat and then leaned to the side to address the table. “No, no, Marta. They don’t have hoity-toity schools in the States.” He paused, and I realized later it was for effect when he added, “It’s top shelf.”
Chapter Seventeen