The Cad and the Co-Ed Read online

  I gathered a bracing breath as I allowed myself to remember seeing him, seeing Bryan in person for the first time in five years. “I was surprised by him.”

  “I thought you knew he was going to be there.”

  “I did know, and I thought I was prepared. What I mean is, the strength of my. . . feelings, my response was surprising. My hands were shaking and my mind was a mess. Sure, I knew it was going to be difficult to see him, up close and in person, after . . . everything.”

  My friend gave me a sympathetic look. “You’ve avoided all mentions of him for years. Plus, you’ve been in the States.”

  “Exactly. It was easy to put him out of my mind when I was in Boston.”

  But since I’d returned, I’d encountered billboards of his startlingly handsome face, advertisements of his chiseled physique, and special features on the television about his role on the team. Over the last few weeks, images of him seemed to be everywhere, inescapable.

  “You were hoping to feel indifferent?” Josey took another sip of her coffee.

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “No.” I chuckled humorlessly, shaking my head.

  “What did you feel?” she pushed, her ebony gaze probing.

  I considered how best to answer.

  At the party last week, I’d been hoping for detached disdain on my part, instead I was faced with prompt and uncontrollable lust. Usually I was so tired, I couldn’t even muster the energy to feel pathetic about my boring sex life.

  But in walked Bryan Leech and you’re suddenly hornier than a rhino.

  Just. Lovely.

  I couldn’t tell Josey about the lust, then we’d go back to Bryan being my fantasy and he most definitely was not.

  I also couldn’t tell her about our shared—but brief—moment of joking together, because the camaraderie and my like of him in that moment felt even more dangerous than the lust.

  So I answered, “Flustered. Like I said, I was surprised. Also, worried. Anxious that he would somehow guess the truth just by looking at me. I know it’s silly.”

  “No. It’s understandable.” She leaned forward again, lowering her voice. “You’ve said yourself more than once, you feel guilty about not telling him the truth.”

  I’d come to realize over the last several years that, no matter what I did, I was going to feel guilty.

  Agreed to give the baby up for adoption—felt guilty.

  Changed my mind at the last minute because I couldn’t go through with it—felt guilty.

  Moved back to the States, tried to go things alone, worked three jobs—felt guilty.

  Asked my cousin for help when I became ill and lost two of the aforementioned jobs—felt guilty.

  Finished college with Sean’s monetary assistance on the condition that I moved back to Ireland once I graduated and passed all my licensing requirements, and then allowed him to help me find a place, fronting me cash to get settled, and a job—felt guilty.

  If guilt were an Olympic sport, I would have all the gold medals. All of them.

  “But, let me remind you—again—you have no reason to feel guilty,” Josey continued. “When you gave birth to Patrick, wasn’t BL arrested for drunk driving that same weekend? He was a complete reprobate when you knew him.”

  “I never knew him,” I scoffed. “We were together one night.”

  “And he didn’t even remember your name the next day.”

  I knew Josey was trying to make me feel better, but the reminder of his indifference stung.

  Ignoring the dull ache in my chest, I lifted my chin. “Exactly. He doesn’t want a child.”

  Josey considered me over her coffee cup, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “He’s changed, though. He’s sober now, has been for months, I think. At least, that’s what the papers are saying.”

  I gathered a silent breath and reached for my tea, mumbling, “Yes. Sean has mentioned something about that one or a hundred times.”

  My cousin, who I loved dearly but who was also prone to being meddlesome, had informed me several times over the last year that Bryan was trying to pull his life together. I was happy for Bryan, just like I would have been for any person struggling with addiction.

  But news of Bryan’s sobriety also meant I was conflicted. My course of action, namely keeping Patrick from his biological father, no longer seemed like a cut and dry decision.

  “Will you see BL much at work?”

  I nodded, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. “Yes.”

  “You start tomorrow?”

  “That’s right. Tomorrow.” Tomorrow. My heart seized. I thought I’d been ready to face Bryan, but after what happened at the party, I was dreading my first day.

  She wagged her eyebrows. “And you’ll be giving him massages.”

  “Josey—”

  “Sexy massages.”

  “No.” I couldn’t contain my laughter. “I most certainly will not be giving him sexy massages.”

  “You’re no fun.” She pouted. “What’s the point of giving up your dreams to become a physiotherapist if you can’t give rugby players sexy massages?”

  I lifted an eyebrow at her. “You know why I dropped out of the computational biology program.”

  “Yes. Because the physiotherapy major classes were more flexible and could be completed online,” she said, her words dripping with disapproval.

  “Are you ever going to get over this?”

  “It’s not fair that you had to change your major,” she grumped, crossing her arms.

  “You sound ridiculous.” I laughed again, shaking my head at her. “It’s been years, let it go.”

  “I can’t. That program was so competitive, and you loved it. You’re brilliant, one of the smartest people I know, and you’d be in the doctorate program by now if it weren’t for . . .” Her gaze skipped away, her cheeks tinted pink.

  I was glad she didn’t finish the sentence. I’d made peace with that time in my life, how my situation had altered with the shift of my priorities. I loved her for being disappointed on my behalf, but she didn’t need to be.

  I’d been so angry at first, so frustrated that my life choices had been taken away from me, whereas the oblivious father continued on in his world, free of any restrictions whatsoever. But time, and especially time with Patrick, changed that. I wasn’t angry anymore. I felt happy. Content.

  . . . and horny.

  My phone chose that moment to ring and I jumped, setting my tea down on the table. “Sorry, this might be Sean.”

  “He has Patrick today?”

  I nodded, pulling out my cell and explaining, “Yes. Just like last week, but this time Lucy is with him. He and Patrick have been spending Sunday afternoons together so I can run errands.”

  “And catch up with old friends.” Josey winked at me. “If it’s him, tell him I say hi.”

  I shook my head at her—she’d always had a crush on my cousin—and glanced at my phone screen. Seeing who it was, I released an involuntary, “Ugh,” and sent the call to voicemail.

  “Don’t tell me,” her pretty mouth curved into a knowing smile, “that was Trevor, right?”

  I nodded, then shook my head. “I already told him I wasn’t interested in a second date.”

  “You shouldn’t have agreed to the first date.”

  “I know that now.”

  Trevor had been my boyfriend from way, way, way back in the day. The relationship had been one of convenience. Our parents approved and so, why not? I’d gone against my better judgment and agreed to one date with him three weeks ago, just after I’d moved back to Ireland. He hadn’t stopped calling me since.

  “I can’t believe he put a whoopee cushion on your seat. I mean, who does that?”

  I laughed tiredly at the memory. Going out with Trevor had been like going out with a thirteen-year-old. He’d taken me to a food court for dinner and then to Pixar’s latest release at the cinema attached to the shopping center. He’d put a whoo
pee cushion on my seat in the theater, laughing hysterically when I sat and the mock-fart noise erupted.

  With the exception of the whoopee cushion, the night would have been fine and dandy as a fifth or sixth date, but I rarely had an opportunity to go out and do adult things, have adult conversations. I didn’t need or want a fancy, expensive restaurant. But it would have been nice to do something less ordinary, like see a play or a comedian, or go on a hike and have a picnic.

  I’d tried dating in the States, though it was nearly impossible with a baby, and then a toddler. In every case, I’d found men to be underwhelming. Underwhelming and emotionally exhausting. Like Trevor, men my age needed more from me than I could give. I already had one child; I had no desire to have a man-child as well.

  I often wondered if my cousin was the only decent guy out there. Sean stood out like a neon sign as a man barometer, and sadly other men didn’t measure up.

  “Trevor is a good guy, but there’s no spark between us. We’re better as friends.” I checked the time on my phone, then returned it to my bag, taking a big gulp of my tea. We only had another ten minutes before I needed to leave.

  “You’re too nice, Eilish.”

  “I can’t believe you just called me too nice.”

  “Well, you are. You didn’t used to be. You used to be a snarky bitch, but now you’re too nice. And too responsible.”

  I exhaled another laugh. “Thank you.”

  “It’s not a compliment.”

  I lifted my eyes to hers and found Josey watching me with a sad expression. “I’m glad you’re here, in Ireland. But I still miss you. I miss my friend.”

  “You miss the snarky bitch?” I gave her a small smile.

  “Yes, I do.”

  I stopped myself before I rolled my eyes. “People change, Josey. Especially after they have a child.”

  Her lovely dark eyes moved over my face, like I was a stranger or like she was seeing me for the first time after a long separation. “I thought things would be different when you moved back to Ireland.”

  “How so?”

  “I thought we’d see each other more.”

  I sputtered on my disbelief. “What are you talking about? I’ve seen you every Sunday for the last three weeks.”

  “Exactly. Once a week.”

  “You know you’re welcome over any time.”

  She made a face. “No, thank you. It’s like you and Patrick are your own little club. You two are inseparable, and I always feel like the third wheel. You should come out with me more often.”

  “Josey . . .” I shook my head, finishing my tea. “What do you expect? Again, I have a child. I can’t just meet up with you whenever I please.”

  “But you’re completely different,” she protested. “It’s like some alien has invaded your body.”

  I gritted my teeth and pulled my bag to my shoulder. “Sorry, I have to get back.”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” I lied, standing. “I just have to go.”

  She stood too, reaching for me and pulling me into a hug. “I just mean, you’re so serious.” She leaned away, holding my shoulders and my gaze. “You used to want to have fun, we used to go clubbing all the time. You used to be fun.”

  I shrugged, moving out of her grip. “I still have fun. It’s just a different kind of fun.”

  “Going to the park and watching your kid play on the playground is fun?”

  I turned and called over my shoulder, “Yes. It is.”

  “Liar,” she called back.

  I ignored her, weaving through the tables, because she was wrong. It was fun. Being Patrick’s mam was awesome and fun. I loved being a parent. I loved the certainty it gave me, the heady sense of responsibility and purpose. Being a mother was real and important. And I loved Patrick, with my whole heart. He came first, always.

  I wouldn’t trade a day at the park with my kid for a lifetime of Josey’s kind of fun. Not in a million years.

  4

  @THEBryanLeech: There’s nothing better in life than a cup of peppermint tea, a comfortable pair of PJs and a good book.

  @RonanFitz to @THEBryanLeech: You got hacked by your grandad again. Just FYI.

  *Bryan*

  I was going to murder my neighbors.

  I’d just gotten out of the shower, put on my pajamas and slippers, brewed a cup of tea, and settled in to read the next few chapters of The Complete Guide to the Birdlife of Britain and Europe, when the music started.

  No.

  Not music.

  Noise.

  The people who lived in the apartment at the end of the hall were having a party. As we’ve already established, I hated parties. Especially when they were interrupting the nice, calm, relaxing, quiet night I had planned.

  I tried to concentrate on reading but the reverberations of the bass and volume of the noise grew consistently louder, and I decided I’d had enough. I grunted, slammed my book down on the coffee table, and strode for the door. When I took a peek in Will’s bedroom I saw he had his earphones in. He had the right idea.

  Still, I was in too much of a grump to let it lie. I needed those dipshits at the end of the hall to know that blaring music on a Sunday night—or any night—wasn’t going to fly with me.

  I stomped out of the apartment and only realized I was still holding my half finished mug of tea when I raised my hand to slam on the door. Nobody answered. It took several more bangs before someone finally opened it. A pasty white man wearing a beanie and an Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt stood in the entryway, a stylish Asian woman with him. Over their heads I could see at least fifteen to twenty people partying inside.

  “Yeah?” the man asked, his eyes moving over me in a judgmental fashion. I couldn’t give two fucks what he thought. All I wanted was for them to quit interrupting my evening.

  “You need to turn the music down,” I said in a measured, albeit aggressive, voice.

  The man scoffed. “It’s only half past nine.”

  “I’m aware of what time it is.”

  “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday,” he said, throwing his arm around the woman’s shoulders. “And we’re not turning the music down. Like I said, it’s early. We’ll turn it down later.”

  He made a move to close the door in my face but my arm shot out to hold it open. I took a step closer until I was glaring down at him from my admittedly impressive height. Less impressive, I was also glaring at him through my reading spectacles and still holding my tea.

  “Turn it down or I’ll go in there and throw your motherfucking stereo system out the window.”

  The woman rolled her eyes in a way I found obnoxious. “It’s an iPod dock, grandad. Jeez, get with the times.”

  I shot her an uncompromising look. She was right about me being out of touch, but she was wrong if she thought I gave a shit. I was who I was, and I made no apologies. PJs, housecoat, fur-lined slippers, and all. It was funny to think that just a few short years ago I’d been the one blaring the music and giving the neighbors shit when they complained.

  Perhaps this was karma.

  Karma is a wanker.

  “I don’t care what you’re playing your trashy music on. I will throw whatever the hell it is out the window and then you’ll have nothing for your noise pollution. Now, can you turn it the fuck down so I can get back to the quiet night I was enjoying before you so rudely interrupted it?”

  “Oh man, this is priceless,” came a familiar voice, and I let out an irritable grunt. Why did I think it was a good idea to recommend Sean Cassidy move into my apartment building again? Not just that, but the same floor? He’d taken up residence two weeks ago, after the tenancy agreement ended at his old place.

  I turned and found my teammate standing a few doors away and several feet down the hall, a smile on his face like he’d just won the lottery. “Eilish, hand me my phone so I can get this on camera. This is the stuff YouTube was invented for.”

  Wait, Eilish?

  It was th
en that I became aware of the tall, willowy redhead standing next to him. I made eye contact with her and her lips parted in surprise as they traveled lower, taking in my appearance. For the first time in a long time, a measure of self-consciousness had me standing straighter. And, in spite of the circumstances, a swell of attraction stirred within me.

  Fact: I found her incredibly alluring and beautiful.

  Also fact: I wasn’t allowed to have her.

  Therefore, fact: it was painful to endure.

  “What is that?” Sean lifted his chin toward my mug.

  I glowered at my mate. “Mint tea.”

  Sean laughed, looking as pleased as I’d ever seen him.

  Karma is a wanker and so is Sean Cassidy.

  “Are you really holding a mug of mint tea and complaining to the neighbors about the noise?” Sean asked in amusement, tutting. “I thought you were thirty, not seventy-five.”

  “It’s too loud,” I said gruffly, glancing at him before my attention returned to Eilish. She no longer looked surprised. Now her lips twitched as though she was holding back a smile as amused as the one Sean was sporting.

  “Is that a housecoat?” she asked, one side of her mouth tilting up.

  My hand not holding the mug went to my hips as I answered curtly, “Yes.”

  “I didn’t realize they still made those,” she continued, full on smiling now. Sean chuckled.

  I arched a brow, unable to stop myself as I asked quietly, “Would you like me to remove it?”

  She ignored the question, her cheeks heating a little, and nodded to the door right as it slammed shut. “Looks like they aren’t going to uphold your request.”

  I swore, then turned and started thumping again, but they didn’t answer this time. I let out an irritable sigh, my shoulders slumping as I headed back to my apartment, her light, musical laugh trailing after me and causing my steps to falter.

  Damn. Even her laugh is lovely.

  This attraction for Eilish was . . . inconvenient. It was also a temptation I wasn’t willing to test any time soon. I needed to get away from her. Unfortunately, Sean Cassidy wasn’t the kind of person to let this amount of personal humiliation go without utilizing it.