The Player and the Pixie
Page 89
“You did not, you great arsehole,” William laughed. Ronan kneed me in my ribs as he stood, then “accidentally” trod on my hand.
“Oh fucking hell,” I grumbled, holding my fingers close to my chest as I was freed from the pile.
“Oh shut it, you big baby.”
I squinted through one eye and found Ronan standing over me, offering his hand, a small, satisfied smile on his face. When I didn’t accept his offer at once he reached down and pulled me up.
Standing in front of him, I flexed my fingers. “Feel better?” I asked, working my jaw and finding it sore, but not broken. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek, though I couldn’t tell if the blood dripping down my chin was from my nose or my mouth.
“Yes.” Ronan nodded, patting me on the shoulder with a solemn kind of affection. “Ready to have another go?”
I spat blood on the ground and wiped at my nose. “Absolutely—”
“Absolutely not.”
Both Ronan and I turned to find Lucy running out to the field, her expression thunderous. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, Ronan? What the hell was that? He’s bleeding from every orifice. Satisfied?”
Ronan shrugged, fighting a grin. “Not every orifice.”
Lucy tut-tutted at him and punched him in the stomach. She was strong, but he was clearly prepared for her assault as it affected him not at all.
“Christ, Luce. We’re rugby players. This is what we do.”
“Really? Twelve men in a ruck?” Her soft hands were moving over my face with gentle, probing movements and her brow was wrinkled with concern. “Jesus, Sean. You’re all busted up.”
I smelled her—her perfume, her scent. There’s just something about getting the shit beaten out of you that gets your blood pumping. If I could have taken her on the field right then, I would have.
I wanted to.
I grew hard at the thought, understanding why ancient marauders were exhibitionists after violent raids.
Meanwhile, Ronan crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s had worse. Come on, Luce. You’re holding up the match.”
Lucy fitted her hand through my arm and led me away, calling over her shoulder, “Well you’re just going to have to play without Sean.”
“You going to do that, Cassidy? Be led away by your woman?” I heard Bryan Leech taunt from someplace behind me.
“You bet I am,” I responded immediately, drawing chuckles from my teammates who’d gathered to watch the sibling standoff.
“Smart man,” someone said. It sounded like Ronan, but I couldn’t be sure.
I may have only had one working eye, as the other was quickly swelling shut, but I couldn’t take it off Lucy.
Wherever she led, I would follow.
***
She bathed me.
It was a glorious experience, though made frustrating by her insistence I not touch her while she tended my wounds. They weren’t terrible, nothing that would leave a scar. I felt entirely mobile, though my left eye was swollen shut and my ribs were sore.
Nothing a week of ice packs couldn’t fix.
“Oh! Your face,” she lamented, pulling a towel full of ice cubes away from my eye. She was frowning, gazing upon me with pity and concern. I rather liked it.
“Don’t worry, none of it’s permanent. Now my face matches your hair.”
We were sitting on the bed in my suite. Rather, she was sitting next to me and I was laying down, allowing her tender ministrations mostly because I was discovering how much I enjoyed being fussed over. But only if Lucy were doing the fussing. She was still in her bridesmaid dress and I was loosely wrapped in a bathrobe.
“That’s not funny, Sean,” she said, though there was clear amusement in her words and expression. “I don’t want your face to match my hair. I want your face back to normal.”
I caught her hand before she pulled it away and admitted abruptly, “I’ve missed you.”
She gave me a small smile like she found the statement silly, tilting her head to the side and allowing me to hold her fingers hostage. “When did you miss me?”
“Until now. Until right this moment.” I pressed her palm between mine, studying how we fit together, how my large hand swallowed her much smaller one. “I think I’ve always missed you.”
We were quiet for a moment and I felt her eyes on me as I examined her fingers. Her nails were both perfect and atrocious. The polish was chipped, the edges uneven. She needed a manicure, but only if she wanted one.
“I think I’ve missed you all my life,” I murmured unthinkingly to her knuckles before bringing them to my lips.
She said nothing, allowed me to kiss each of her joints, and then she blurted, “Sean, I’m in love with you.”
I stilled my movements, hid my unbidden smile with her hand, and closed my eyes. The room was quiet save for the sound of her breathing. The silence was soft, unobtrusive, and Lucy surrounded every part of me. I smelled her. I touched her. She was in my mind and in my heart, her warmth obliterating what was once cold.
This was a moment I wanted to savor. To remember. To recall.
Frequently.
“Sean?” Her voice was small, unsure.
“Mmm?”
She shifted on the bed, tried to withdraw her hand. I held it fast, singled out her middle finger and licked it, sucked it into my mouth, ignoring the cut on my cheek.
A tremor shivered up her arm.
“What are you doing?” she asked on a breathless whisper.
“Oh fucking hell,” I grumbled, holding my fingers close to my chest as I was freed from the pile.
“Oh shut it, you big baby.”
I squinted through one eye and found Ronan standing over me, offering his hand, a small, satisfied smile on his face. When I didn’t accept his offer at once he reached down and pulled me up.
Standing in front of him, I flexed my fingers. “Feel better?” I asked, working my jaw and finding it sore, but not broken. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek, though I couldn’t tell if the blood dripping down my chin was from my nose or my mouth.
“Yes.” Ronan nodded, patting me on the shoulder with a solemn kind of affection. “Ready to have another go?”
I spat blood on the ground and wiped at my nose. “Absolutely—”
“Absolutely not.”
Both Ronan and I turned to find Lucy running out to the field, her expression thunderous. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, Ronan? What the hell was that? He’s bleeding from every orifice. Satisfied?”
Ronan shrugged, fighting a grin. “Not every orifice.”
Lucy tut-tutted at him and punched him in the stomach. She was strong, but he was clearly prepared for her assault as it affected him not at all.
“Christ, Luce. We’re rugby players. This is what we do.”
“Really? Twelve men in a ruck?” Her soft hands were moving over my face with gentle, probing movements and her brow was wrinkled with concern. “Jesus, Sean. You’re all busted up.”
I smelled her—her perfume, her scent. There’s just something about getting the shit beaten out of you that gets your blood pumping. If I could have taken her on the field right then, I would have.
I wanted to.
I grew hard at the thought, understanding why ancient marauders were exhibitionists after violent raids.
Meanwhile, Ronan crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s had worse. Come on, Luce. You’re holding up the match.”
Lucy fitted her hand through my arm and led me away, calling over her shoulder, “Well you’re just going to have to play without Sean.”
“You going to do that, Cassidy? Be led away by your woman?” I heard Bryan Leech taunt from someplace behind me.
“You bet I am,” I responded immediately, drawing chuckles from my teammates who’d gathered to watch the sibling standoff.
“Smart man,” someone said. It sounded like Ronan, but I couldn’t be sure.
I may have only had one working eye, as the other was quickly swelling shut, but I couldn’t take it off Lucy.
Wherever she led, I would follow.
***
She bathed me.
It was a glorious experience, though made frustrating by her insistence I not touch her while she tended my wounds. They weren’t terrible, nothing that would leave a scar. I felt entirely mobile, though my left eye was swollen shut and my ribs were sore.
Nothing a week of ice packs couldn’t fix.
“Oh! Your face,” she lamented, pulling a towel full of ice cubes away from my eye. She was frowning, gazing upon me with pity and concern. I rather liked it.
“Don’t worry, none of it’s permanent. Now my face matches your hair.”
We were sitting on the bed in my suite. Rather, she was sitting next to me and I was laying down, allowing her tender ministrations mostly because I was discovering how much I enjoyed being fussed over. But only if Lucy were doing the fussing. She was still in her bridesmaid dress and I was loosely wrapped in a bathrobe.
“That’s not funny, Sean,” she said, though there was clear amusement in her words and expression. “I don’t want your face to match my hair. I want your face back to normal.”
I caught her hand before she pulled it away and admitted abruptly, “I’ve missed you.”
She gave me a small smile like she found the statement silly, tilting her head to the side and allowing me to hold her fingers hostage. “When did you miss me?”
“Until now. Until right this moment.” I pressed her palm between mine, studying how we fit together, how my large hand swallowed her much smaller one. “I think I’ve always missed you.”
We were quiet for a moment and I felt her eyes on me as I examined her fingers. Her nails were both perfect and atrocious. The polish was chipped, the edges uneven. She needed a manicure, but only if she wanted one.
“I think I’ve missed you all my life,” I murmured unthinkingly to her knuckles before bringing them to my lips.
She said nothing, allowed me to kiss each of her joints, and then she blurted, “Sean, I’m in love with you.”
I stilled my movements, hid my unbidden smile with her hand, and closed my eyes. The room was quiet save for the sound of her breathing. The silence was soft, unobtrusive, and Lucy surrounded every part of me. I smelled her. I touched her. She was in my mind and in my heart, her warmth obliterating what was once cold.
This was a moment I wanted to savor. To remember. To recall.
Frequently.
“Sean?” Her voice was small, unsure.
“Mmm?”
She shifted on the bed, tried to withdraw her hand. I held it fast, singled out her middle finger and licked it, sucked it into my mouth, ignoring the cut on my cheek.
A tremor shivered up her arm.
“What are you doing?” she asked on a breathless whisper.
