The Cad and the Co-Ed Page 6

  “Of course I have. But that doesn’t negate my love for him. If anything, I love him more for changing Lucy’s mind about having children. And, Eilish, I am sorry I keep pushing you about Bryan.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine. You should allow me to make it up to you.”

  I squinted at him because I knew where this was going. Shaking my head, I opened the passenger side door. “Don’t you dare—”

  “Come on, you know you miss shopping with me.”

  I jumped out of the car and called back at him, “I don’t need anything.”

  “But you want something.” He was out of the car, smiling at me with his small, knowing smile.

  “Not a single thing.” I shut the door and turned from him, employing quick steps. I didn’t want to be late.

  “Wait,” he called after me, making me halt and glance over my shoulder. “You should let someone spoil you every once in a while.”

  “No, thank you. My days of being spoiled are long gone.”

  “You were never spoiled, Eilish,” Sean said, a note of consternation in his tone, as though he were truly distressed by this fact.

  “Well,” I shrugged, pasting a bright smile on my face, “no harm then. I’ll never know what I’m missing.”

  * * *

  “You’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. You’re a professional . . . you can do this.” I nodded at the image of myself in the mirror while I spoke under my breath. Despite the pep talk, a little crack formed in my armor as a potent reminder drifted to my forebrain. You didn’t earn this. You don’t deserve it. The only reason they hired you is because of Sean.

  “Crackers . . .” Sighing sadly, I closed the locker door, rubbing my chest where the spike of nervous energy flared and made it difficult to swallow.

  I’d started saying crackers instead of crap when Patrick was old enough to repeat my words. Running after a two-year-old bellowing, “CRAAAAP!” at the top of his lungs had been a game-changer. So crap became crackers, and shite became shells, and fuck became forks.

  This morning had been extremely difficult, dropping Patrick off at school and knowing he would be there all day. He hadn’t been at a daycare all day for the last year, not since Sean had stepped in and insisted I take a loan from him so I could finish my degree.

  This job was the first step toward paying my cousin back. But the irony tasted sour because Sean had been the one to arrange for the job that would pay him back.

  I’ll never be able to pay him back . . .

  “Hey there, you must be Eilish Cassidy.”

  Startled, I glanced up to find a smiling woman with her hand extended. Remembering myself, I quickly accepted her handshake.

  “Uh, yes. I’m Eilish.”

  “Name is Jenna McCarthy, I’m the nutritionist for the team. I know your cousin Sean. He got you the job, right? Lord, you sound just as posh as he does.”

  She gave me a quick once-over, but other than the bluntness of her words, I couldn’t detect anything judgmental or sinister in her demeanor. Actually, quite the opposite.

  “I . . . uh . . . that’s right, he—”

  “My brother was a coach, way back when Donovan was the team captain in the nineties, that’s how I got my spot.” She nodded once at this information, then turned and waved at me to follow, which I scrambled to do as she continued, “The club knows it’s best to keep things in the family. It’s a good way to keep it professional, you know? Otherwise the support staff would be full of fans and shite-all would get done.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes.

  I huffed a relieved laugh and my smile widened as my gaze moved over the profile of Jenna McCarthy. Several inches shorter than me, her tight, curly hair was blonde with healthy swaths of silvery gray, and laugh lines framed bright blue eyes. She’d led us out of the women’s locker room and into a stairwell I didn’t know existed.

  “This is the best way to the belly of the beast.” She gestured to the steps leading down. “You can avoid all the bigwigs and chatty clan in the office. Plus, you’re the new physio, yes?”

  “Yes. I’m—”

  “Well then, Connors always takes the lift, so you can avoid him, too. Just make sure you hide your lunch because he’s sort of infamous for thieving food around here.” She chuckled again and nudged me with her elbow just before descending the stairs.

  I moved quickly to follow her.

  “He seems to be very knowledgeable.” I’d only met the man who would be my closest coworker once during the interview process. All of his questions were on point, but it was made very clear that he wasn’t my boss. The entire support staff reported up through the health and wellness coach, Brian Tierney.

  “Who? Connors?” she asked over her shoulder, but didn’t wait for me to respond. “I suppose he is. But he’s also a grumpy bugger, which is how we lost the last two physio assistants, if you want to know the truth. Hopefully, you being Sean’s girl means he’ll have better manners.”

  I didn’t volunteer that my cousin Sean had said something similar about Connors. Nor did I relate how Sean had told me in no uncertain terms that I was to come to him immediately should I have any issues with the senior physiotherapist. I’d smiled and nodded at the time, but secretly I was determined to hold my own. Sean had already done enough. I wanted to prove myself.

  I needed to prove myself. He may have secured the job for me, but it was up to me to prove I deserved to keep it.

  Jenna continued to talk while we took the stairs to the lower level. “I’ll be happy to show you the lay of the land. This is the bottom floor, where the team’s locker room is located as well as the base therapy rooms.”

  I listened attentively and smiled politely. Even though Sean had already given me a tour on the day of the interview, and I’d since memorized the schematic of the sports complex, I appreciated Jenna taking the time to show me around and give me these helpful tips.

  “I imagine you’ll spend most of your non-charting time here.” She nudged me again with her elbow. “Hope you don’t mind a few bare arses and wagging dicks.”

  I pressed my lips together and stared at her with wide eyes because Jenna had paired this statement with wagging eyebrows.

  She then snorted and burst into laughter, smacking me on the shoulder. “Lord, your expression.” Jenna shook her head, her face now red as she wiped tears of hilarity from her eyes.

  Meanwhile, I stared at her while the words bare arses and wagging dicks hung heavy in the long hallway . . . no pun intended.

  “Don’t worry,” she finally managed, “they’re all just a bunch of little boys when it comes down to it.”

  “I’m not worried. And I’m undaunted by naked flesh.” I tried to sound both congenial and professional, smiling just slightly, not wanting to seem uptight.

  “Are you now?” Her intelligent eyes flickered over me. “Well, pretty girl like you being down here might encourage them to cover their assets more often. Come on, I’ll take you to the base therapy room where you can get yourself sorted before the hoard arrives.” Turning again, she waved me forward.

  I followed. “I don’t have the schedule yet. I emailed Connors last week but haven’t heard back.”

  She gave me a side-eye squint and frowned for the first time since we’d met.

  Quickly, I added, “I’m sure he’s very busy, so it’s obviously no big deal. I’m sure he’ll have it for me today.”

  She grunted, continuing to squint at me, then said, “Well, if he doesn’t have it for you by the end of today, just ask Alice in administration for a press-kit, it’ll have the team’s practice schedules. In fact, ask her for one regardless.”

  “Thanks. I will.” I made a mental note to introduce myself to Alice.

  Jenna’s gaze swept over me again. “I don’t know if Connors has mentioned it, but you might want to go through the team’s injury sheets before you set to work. You should have been given a password to the charting system.

  I nodded quickly
, eager for every bit of information. “Thank you. I really appreciate the information.”

  “Moore has a shoulder injury that’s been flaring up, Gallagher has been overdoing it with the free weights, Daly has been holding his lower back during practice, and Leech’s knee needs special attention.”

  I stumbled at the name Leech, a familiar wave of both heat and frost traveling down my spine. Luckily, I caught myself against the wall before Jenna noticed.

  Of course, I knew seeing Bryan, interacting with Bryan, touching Bryan was a real possibility when I accepted the position. But I would have been a fool to turn down the job. I needed the money and I needed the experience. Time with a professional team would be invaluable for my résumé.

  I would be professional and, after the events of the party last week, I had every reason to believe Bryan would be as well.

  Why wouldn’t he be? As far as he knows, he only just met me.

  The reminder of his antipathy, of his not remembering, stung—it always did—so I allowed the soothing numbness of ice and resolve to wrap around my heart.

  Stopping just in front of a gray door with the word Therapy in black letters, Jenna’s frown waned and became a small, soft smile as she gazed at my expression. “Don’t be nervous. And don’t hesitate to come to me if you have any questions. You seem like a nice girl, even if that cousin of yours eats more red meat than he should and acts like a posh arsehole most of the time.”

  “He really is lovely,” I blurted, wanting to defend my cousin who’d saved my life.

  And my son’s life.

  “He’s a stuck-up snob, but—”

  “You have to understand how we were raised. It’s a defense mechanism,” I rushed to explain. “He has the best heart, but he hides it because he has to. My family is very cold. Very spiteful and judgmental and . . .” I sucked in a breath, my heart twisting painfully at one particular memory where my mother had been both very cold and very spiteful. I shivered and once more rubbed my chest where it ached.

  Jenna grunted again, not frowning, but not smiling either. “Well, tell him to lay off the red meat. He’s not twenty-five anymore.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked back to the stairway, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the closed door to the therapy room.

  I took a bracing breath, placed my hand on the lever, and opened the door. What I saw filled me first with disbelief, then dismay seasoned with despair, then determination.

  More or less, the room was unchanged from the last time I’d been in it. The three massage and assessment tables were still in the same position, several large cabinets full of supplies were against the far wall, and two work stations for charting and researching were in an alcove off to one side.

  The main difference was that instead of a tidy and clean therapy room, this place was a disaster.

  Old food containers littered the assessment tables and both desks of the alcove. Empty—at least, I hoped they were empty—beer cans and bottles were scattered around floor. Dirty towels lay everywhere. The supply cabinets were all open and mostly empty.

  What the hell?

  Before I could fully react, the door behind me opened and I turned to find Mr. Connors, his arms full with paper bags of food and a six-pack of beer.

  He stopped short, apparently surprised by my presence, but then recovered quickly. “What are you doing here?”

  The vague smell of cumin and greasy chips drifted into the room.

  I straightened my spine and held out my hand. “Mr. Connors, I’m—”

  “I know who you are, Freckles. I didn’t ask for your name, did I? Are you deaf? I asked what you are doing here.” He brushed past me and into the therapy room, kicking the garbage out of his way as he went.

  I frowned at his back. “I work here.”

  “Not here, you don’t.” He dumped the contents of his arms onto an assessment table and faced me. “You do your work in the locker room and gym. This is my space.”

  Gaping at his sour expression, I crossed my arms over my chest. “That is not my understanding of the situation, Mr. Connors. This is the therapy room and, based on my reading of the health and management standard operating procedure, all non-emergent therapy assessments and sessions must take place here.”

  His face grew an unsightly shade of reddish purple just before he bellowed, “You can take your standard operating procedures and shove them up your skinny arse!”

  I flinched, my mouth falling open in disbelief. Jenna and Sean hadn’t been lying when they’d called Connors grumpy. He was like a great, billowing toddler throwing a tantrum.

  “This is my space, my room, and you don’t have privileges.”

  The big man charged toward me. Automatically, I stepped back, holding my hands up between us.

  Before I could manage another word, he slammed the door shut in my face, yelling from the other side, “And stay out!”

  I’m not too proud to admit, I gaped at the door. I stared and gaped, not quite able to reconcile this version of Connors with the knowledgeable yet circumspect fellow I’d met during the interview.

  I don’t know how long I gaped—maybe a minute, maybe fifteen—but when a familiar voice asked, “Are you lost?”

  I jumped.

  I gasped.

  I turned.

  I found Bryan Leech leaning against the concrete wall, regarding me with a quizzical smile.

  Let me amend that.

  I found a grass-stained, sweaty, tattooed and shirtless and gorgeous Bryan Leech regarding me with a quizzical smile.

  Ah . . . forks.

  6

  @THEBryanLeech: Delayed gratification is worth it in the end, right?

  @SeanCassinova to @THEBryanLeech: Not if you’re talking about the expired prunes in your cupboard.

  @RonanFitz to @SeanCassinova and @THEBryanLeech: I hope that isn’t a euphemism o.O

  *Bryan*

  “Are you lost?” I asked, vaguely amused. I mean, I could be scary when the mood took me, but in general my demeanor didn’t usually make women flee my presence like I was a hobo wearing a flasher’s trench coat.

  Unless that woman was Eilish Cassidy.

  “No, not lost at all,” she replied curtly and moved to step by me. She kept her eyes trained on my face.

  Didn’t want to tempt herself with the sight of my bare chest, eh? I liked to imagine that was the reason and not that my nakedness somehow offended her. Not that I should be imagining anything at all, I reminded myself. Female company was still off limits. Specifically, non-platonic female company, and there was nothing platonic about how I felt and thought about Eilish.

  She was still looking at me funny.

  Was I flying low or something? I glanced down just to be sure, and nothing obscene was showing. I was, however, dirty and sweaty and wearing only a pair of scrum shorts. I probably should have put a shirt on before coming in here, but I’d been running circuits out on the field when my trusty old tendinosis started giving me trouble.

  This was why I’d hotfooted it over to the physio room to get Connors to have a look at my knee. Half of me had been hoping I’d bump into Eilish. Meanwhile, the other half knew better and wanted nothing to do with her. That would be the sane, logical half. I had no business even considering pursuing her, yet here I was, looking at her like a lion stalking an antelope. A very beautiful and intriguing antelope.

  “Is Connors in there?” I asked, still a bit breathless after my workout.

  Eilish’s gaze flickered back to the therapy room as she nodded, “Yes, he’s there.”

  There was something in her expression that made me wonder if perhaps I wasn’t the one she wanted to flee. Connors was known to be a dick to almost everyone.

  She moved to walk by me again when I spoke. “Don’t take it personally.”

  Her brow furrowed, her gaze skittering over the tattoo on my arm before moving back to mine. “Huh?”

  “Connors. He’s an incurable arsehole. You could be Sacha
Baron Cohen wearing a bikini and a smile and he’d still find something to criticize.”

  “Sacha Baron Cohen?” she lifted an eyebrow.

  I tilted my head to one side and then the other, considering my next words. “Let’s just say Connors is a big fan.”

  She let out a slow breath and sliced her teeth across her lip. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was holding back. Finally, she relented, “Are we talking Borat or Ali G?”

  “Neither. He likes Brüno.”

  She snickered a begrudging laugh. “Wow. Disturbing as that is, it actually makes me feel better. Now whenever he’s being difficult I’ll just imagine him in pleather hot pants.”

  I shot her a grin, enchanted by her quip. “Happy to help.”

  She mustered a smile in return, but it was still wary. My eyes traced the shape of her mouth and the scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. In spite of everything, I was profoundly attracted to this woman. Perhaps I should pay a visit to the florist . . .

  “He just seemed so different in the interview,” said Eilish, breaking the quiet. “So much less . . .”

  “Like the anti-Christ?” I provided jokingly.

  “I wish that statement wasn’t true,” she went on, nodding and laughing absentmindedly.

  I took a second to study her. She was all flawless skin and bright, vibrant red hair. She seemed young but mature, more mature than her years. If she was doing an internship, then she must’ve just finished college. That’d put her in her early twenties.

  Man, she was way too young for me. Not that she was even an option. She wasn’t. No woman was. My sobriety was a tentative thing, and any kind of change could upset the balance.

  What were you thinking, penis-brain, going after her at Will’s party like that? Yeah, that’s right, you weren’t.

  The problem was, my penis often took over where my brain was either too lazy and too indifferent to care. Which was why I kept digging a hole for myself by asking, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be feeling charitable, would you?”