The Player and the Pixie
Page 17
“No, you had steak. I had tuna.”
“Oh yeah . . .” He nodded, his eyes shifting to the side, perhaps recalling his steak. Or my tuna. Or both. After a moment he shook himself and refocused on me. “And I’m sorry for that. Truly. I came here to de-stress, hoping to find a modicum of enlightenment and become less of a prick. Let’s be friends? Forgiveness is a virtue, Mini-Fitzpatrick.”
I pursed my lips and eyed him, trying to decide if he were being genuine. If he were faking the white flag routine then he certainly put on a good show. And really, if he was so determined to stay then there was nothing I could do to stop him.
What would it hurt to call a truce? Peace was the least stressful option available.
Huffing a breath, I replied, “Fine, we can be friends, just try to keep the prick side of your personality to yourself for a few days.”
He grinned again. “You’re in a lively mood.”
“Mmm-hmm, that’s what happens when people decide to gatecrash my sanctuary.”
I took a few steps forward and passed him by, uncapping my water bottle and taking a small gulp. Sean began to follow me through the trees, his shadow looming as we walked.
“So,” he broached, “who’s the Mocha Frappuccino back inside? Your boyfriend?”
I stopped immediately and turned to face him, my expression devoid of humor. “Could you be any more racist?”
“I’m not being racist. I’m being descriptive. I’ll have you know that some of the warmest nights of my life have been spent with women of color. Lovely, lovely colors.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about your conquests.” I started walking again, faster this time. Sean hurried to catch up.
“Why? Does it make you jealous?”
I laughed, incredulous. “It makes me feel sorry for all the women whose bathroom cabinets you’ve pilfered.”
Sean let out an amused-sounding laugh and brought the conversation back to where it had started. “You still haven’t answered my question, Lucy.”
I heaved a sigh. “No, Rick—Broderick—is just a friend.”
“Just a friend? Are you sure he’s not curious about the color of your knickers?”
“No. He’s a total lamb. He’s my best friend, so I’d appreciate it if you could keep your completely offensive comments to yourself when you meet him.”
“I’m not completely offensive. If you’re allowed to nickname me after a pale fermented-grape drink from France, then I can call—”
“Oh my God! Okay, you’re only mildly offensive, now can you please just shut up?”
Sean grinned and made a gesture as though zipping his mouth closed.
We’d reached the entrance to the house and I turned to him once more, emitting a long sigh. I didn’t want to be angry with Sean. I just wanted to enjoy the rest of my stay. He watched me as I considered what to say to him. In the end, I didn’t mince my words.
“Just . . . don’t be mean, okay? Try your hardest.”
His expression sobered and he gave me a tiny, almost non-existent nod. Without further ado, I hurried off to my room, needing some time alone to come to terms with the fact I’d be dealing with a daily dose of Sean Cassidy for the foreseeable future.
***
I spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out—not hiding out—in my room. First I took a nap. Then I got up and opened the windows to let in some fresh air. I ran a bath and put on a chill-out CD. After a long soak in the tub with some soothing essential oils, I felt a hundred times better equipped to face dinner.
We ate all our meals in the spacious communal dining hall, so there was a good likelihood Sean would be there. I blow-dried my hair, put on a cozy, over-sized woolen jumper and some leggings, then headed out to find Broderick. He was in the lounge area chatting with a couple women who were all BFFs and had come for a relaxation weekend. Broderick had a really amiable personality, which meant people tended to naturally gravitate toward him. He was just plain cool, from the way he walked, to the way he spoke, to the effortlessly styled clothes he wore.
“Hey,” I said, doing a little wave as I joined the group. The women all chirped their hellos.
“Lucy, where’ve you been all day?” Rick asked, coming to stand next to me.
“I just felt like taking some time to myself. Can we talk?”
“Sure, I’ll catch you all later,” he said to the women before standing and offering me his arm. We walked toward the dining hall and I let out a slow breath.
“So, do you remember the guy I was telling you about from back home?”
“The prick who plays rugby with your brother? Yeah.”
“He’s here right now. At the retreat.”
My friend sputtered a laugh. “For real?”
I grimaced. “I might have made the mistake of technically inviting him. It wasn’t a genuine invite. If anything, it was a sarcastic invite, but now he’s here and I’m kind of freaking out.”
“So some dude you’ve got a crush on is here. Big deal. You’re Lucy Fitzpatrick, you don’t get fazed by the small stuff.”
“I do not have a crush on him,” I argued. And little did he know, I was fazed by the small stuff. It was the whole reason I was so obsessed with meditation and finding inner peace. Otherwise, I’d probably have a nervous breakdown. Broderick shot me a wry look.
“Man, you want him bad.”
“Oh yeah . . .” He nodded, his eyes shifting to the side, perhaps recalling his steak. Or my tuna. Or both. After a moment he shook himself and refocused on me. “And I’m sorry for that. Truly. I came here to de-stress, hoping to find a modicum of enlightenment and become less of a prick. Let’s be friends? Forgiveness is a virtue, Mini-Fitzpatrick.”
I pursed my lips and eyed him, trying to decide if he were being genuine. If he were faking the white flag routine then he certainly put on a good show. And really, if he was so determined to stay then there was nothing I could do to stop him.
What would it hurt to call a truce? Peace was the least stressful option available.
Huffing a breath, I replied, “Fine, we can be friends, just try to keep the prick side of your personality to yourself for a few days.”
He grinned again. “You’re in a lively mood.”
“Mmm-hmm, that’s what happens when people decide to gatecrash my sanctuary.”
I took a few steps forward and passed him by, uncapping my water bottle and taking a small gulp. Sean began to follow me through the trees, his shadow looming as we walked.
“So,” he broached, “who’s the Mocha Frappuccino back inside? Your boyfriend?”
I stopped immediately and turned to face him, my expression devoid of humor. “Could you be any more racist?”
“I’m not being racist. I’m being descriptive. I’ll have you know that some of the warmest nights of my life have been spent with women of color. Lovely, lovely colors.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about your conquests.” I started walking again, faster this time. Sean hurried to catch up.
“Why? Does it make you jealous?”
I laughed, incredulous. “It makes me feel sorry for all the women whose bathroom cabinets you’ve pilfered.”
Sean let out an amused-sounding laugh and brought the conversation back to where it had started. “You still haven’t answered my question, Lucy.”
I heaved a sigh. “No, Rick—Broderick—is just a friend.”
“Just a friend? Are you sure he’s not curious about the color of your knickers?”
“No. He’s a total lamb. He’s my best friend, so I’d appreciate it if you could keep your completely offensive comments to yourself when you meet him.”
“I’m not completely offensive. If you’re allowed to nickname me after a pale fermented-grape drink from France, then I can call—”
“Oh my God! Okay, you’re only mildly offensive, now can you please just shut up?”
Sean grinned and made a gesture as though zipping his mouth closed.
We’d reached the entrance to the house and I turned to him once more, emitting a long sigh. I didn’t want to be angry with Sean. I just wanted to enjoy the rest of my stay. He watched me as I considered what to say to him. In the end, I didn’t mince my words.
“Just . . . don’t be mean, okay? Try your hardest.”
His expression sobered and he gave me a tiny, almost non-existent nod. Without further ado, I hurried off to my room, needing some time alone to come to terms with the fact I’d be dealing with a daily dose of Sean Cassidy for the foreseeable future.
***
I spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out—not hiding out—in my room. First I took a nap. Then I got up and opened the windows to let in some fresh air. I ran a bath and put on a chill-out CD. After a long soak in the tub with some soothing essential oils, I felt a hundred times better equipped to face dinner.
We ate all our meals in the spacious communal dining hall, so there was a good likelihood Sean would be there. I blow-dried my hair, put on a cozy, over-sized woolen jumper and some leggings, then headed out to find Broderick. He was in the lounge area chatting with a couple women who were all BFFs and had come for a relaxation weekend. Broderick had a really amiable personality, which meant people tended to naturally gravitate toward him. He was just plain cool, from the way he walked, to the way he spoke, to the effortlessly styled clothes he wore.
“Hey,” I said, doing a little wave as I joined the group. The women all chirped their hellos.
“Lucy, where’ve you been all day?” Rick asked, coming to stand next to me.
“I just felt like taking some time to myself. Can we talk?”
“Sure, I’ll catch you all later,” he said to the women before standing and offering me his arm. We walked toward the dining hall and I let out a slow breath.
“So, do you remember the guy I was telling you about from back home?”
“The prick who plays rugby with your brother? Yeah.”
“He’s here right now. At the retreat.”
My friend sputtered a laugh. “For real?”
I grimaced. “I might have made the mistake of technically inviting him. It wasn’t a genuine invite. If anything, it was a sarcastic invite, but now he’s here and I’m kind of freaking out.”
“So some dude you’ve got a crush on is here. Big deal. You’re Lucy Fitzpatrick, you don’t get fazed by the small stuff.”
“I do not have a crush on him,” I argued. And little did he know, I was fazed by the small stuff. It was the whole reason I was so obsessed with meditation and finding inner peace. Otherwise, I’d probably have a nervous breakdown. Broderick shot me a wry look.
“Man, you want him bad.”
