The Cad and the Co-Ed Read online

  She eyed me warily. “Why do you ask?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “I have tendinosis in my left knee, and it’s seized up on me. I was just headed to get Connors to work on it, but would much prefer if you had a look instead. I’m willing to bet he’s in a shitty mood, and I’d rather not be on the receiving end of it.”

  Her gaze trailed down to my knee, skimming over my chest, abdomen, and the tattoo on my arm in the process. A little buzz of awareness went through me. I liked it when she looked. I liked it way too much. She was chewing on her lip, clearly uneasy.

  Abruptly, with a shrill denial, she blurted, “No, I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m not set up properly yet.”

  “What’s to set up? Everything you need is right through that door,” I said, gesturing casually over her shoulder.

  She swallowed visibly, and for a second I thought about giving her an out. But something inside me, either my dick or my heart, I swear I didn’t know which, spurred me on. One or the other of them wanted Eilish’s pretty little hands on me. So yeah, probably the former.

  After a long hesitation, she glanced at the door and seemed to steel herself.

  “Okay well, I can’t promise miracles, but let’s see what I can do for you.”

  I smiled widely, and she blinked as though caught off guard. Then she turned quickly and opened the door. Don’t follow her. Don’t do it.

  I followed.

  “I thought I told you to . . .” Connors’s words petered off as soon as he saw me, which made me wonder if he’d been about to chew Eilish’s head off for no good reason. What an arsehole. I’d keep tabs on his treatment of her, or at the very least mention it to Sean.

  “Oh, Mr. Leech, I don’t recall you being penciled in for an appointment today,” he said, unkempt eyebrows furrowing.

  “I’m not but my knee’s been acting up. I thought young Eilish here could take a look at it, seeing as it’s her first day.”

  She noticeably bristled at the word young, shooting me an irritated glare.

  Meanwhile, Connors tossed her a disgruntled glance. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I can do it.”

  “But—” Eilish started, and I intervened.

  “I’m happy for her to see to me, Connors.”

  “Be that as it may, she isn’t qualified,” he sneered and looked at her like she was a piece of gum stuck to his shoe.

  “I’ve been around the block enough times to be able to guide her myself,” I said, irritated by his attitude. “So you can stand the fuck down.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” he sputtered. “I’ll have you reported.”

  “Oh yeah? Because you’re a gleaming paragon of virtue. Go back to your six-pack and let Eilish do the job she’s supposed to be training for.”

  “I need to oversee her work.”

  “Not this time you don’t.” I stared him down. He seemed to conclude that going up against me wasn’t worth the trouble. Everybody knew I could be as stubborn as they came.

  With a few unkind words muttered under his breath, he retreated back into his office and turned the TV on. I motioned to Eilish. “Lead the way.”

  I could tell she was upset, likely by Connors’s disrespect, but was doing her best not to let it show. I made a mental note to have a word with Coach Brian about it, see if he could maybe give our physio a stern talking to. If he didn’t, I was liable to do it myself and lose my temper in the process. Again.

  Eilish stayed quiet as she gestured for me to sit on the examination chair. She bent low to have a look at my knee, and I swallowed tightly, my mind wandering to a place it had no business going. She was obviously young and inexperienced, and all this must’ve been a little intimidating. The last thing she needed was some old perv having dirty thoughts about her, even if she was unfairly beautiful. Too beautiful for a job like this. My single teammates were going to be throwing themselves at her before long. I clenched my fist just thinking about it.

  You have no business clenching that fist of yours, my conscience finally intervened. You promised yourself no women until you kept a plant alive for six months, and now look at you.

  Yeah well, where were you five minutes ago when I needed you to stop me from following my dick? I shot back grumpily.

  “Which knee is it again? Your left?” Eilish asked softly, her cool fingers gently probing.

  “Yeah, my left,” I answered, uncharacteristically lost for words. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been touched by someone I actually wanted to touch me.

  “How did you develop the tendinosis? Injury or overuse?”

  I noticed her eyes move over the tattoo on my arm again, then she frowned as though the sight of it was confusing.

  “Overuse, but I did tear the meniscus years ago. I pushed my body too hard for too long. I used to be a heavy drinker, you see. Substance abuse and training for six hours a day don’t make for a healthy combination.”

  Her gaze came back to mine and she seemed interested in this information. “You used to be?”

  “Yep. I’m sober almost two years. You wouldn’t recognize me these days from the man I was when I drank.” I gestured to my tattoo, the one she’d been looking at a minute ago. “I got this a couple weeks after I quit drinking for good. It’s an ancient Mayan symbol for endurance, makes me feel stronger when I look at it. It also reminds me of how I never want to go back to where I was.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, nodding thoughtfully. She was quiet for a moment as she very gently stretched my knee. She was being hesitant and far too careful in her movements, but it still helped to relieve the ache a little.

  I continued talking, hoping it might make her more comfortable. “Yeah, take it from an old dog who’s been through the ringer, you’re better off steering clear of all that partying and heavy drinking business. People your age think they’re invincible, free to do whatever they want, but believe me, there’s always a price to be paid.”

  She stiffened at this, almost like I’d insulted her. “I’m nothing like most people my age.”

  Her statement made me curious. “No?”

  “No,” she answered, giving no insight into why.

  “Yeah well, that’s a good thing, I guess. I just turned thirty and only now am I starting to appreciate all the things I used to think were boring. You know Will? Will Moore, the American, built like a brick wall?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know if you saw yesterday when you stopped by, but he and I live together now. And keep this between you and me, but most of the time we’d both prefer to stay in and play Scrabble than go out clubbing with the rest of the squad,” I said and winked.

  Then I tried not to grimace because I’d just winked at her.

  Why the hell am I winking?

  She gave a light chuckle, “Yeah, I think I guessed that from the episode outside your neighbor’s apartment.”

  I didn’t let her comment faze me, instead I plastered on a carefree smile. “I’ll have you know women all over the country would be queuing up to catch a glimpse of me in my PJs. You should count yourself lucky.”

  “Oh really?” she challenged. “Who are these women? The same ones who go to Daniel O’Donnell concerts and play bingo on a Friday night?”

  I glared at her playfully. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I don’t know why any man would sleep naked when they could be wearing a pair of flannel jimjams.”

  She gave me a funny look, blurting, “You’re sort of unexpected, do you know that?”

  I shrugged and flashed her a toothy grin. “I like what I like.”

  She returned her attention to stretching my leg. When she relieved a particularly sore spot, I let out a pleasurable groan. She looked up at me and our gazes locked. For a moment she appeared transfixed as her hands continued to work their magic. I knew she had more in her though, so I encouraged huskily, “Don’t be afraid to be rough. I’m tougher than I look.”

  Something in my tone made her freez
e, her hands withdrawing into her lap. A moment of quiet passed before I asked, “Eilish, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I just . . . I forgot myself for a moment,” she said very quietly as she shook her head.

  I frowned. “You what?”

  “I’m sorry, I mean, I forgot to leave off some forms at HR. I need to go.”

  “Right now?” I asked quizzically.

  She nodded very fervently. “Yes, right now. Put an ice pack on your knee and keep off it for at least thirty minutes.” And with that she hurried from the room.

  . . . Ooooookay.

  I replayed our conversation in my mind, trying to figure out if I’d inadvertently offended her. Sure, she’d gotten a little huffy when I’d stereotyped her age group, but something told me that wasn’t it.

  Two years ago, I wouldn’t have given a flying feck if a beautiful woman got huffy with me. They’d mostly still be up for a quick shag anyway. Yeah, I wasn’t that impressed with the man I was. But, I wasn’t him anymore. And Eilish wasn’t just a beautiful woman.

  No, there was something up with Eilish Cassidy, and I’d be damned if I wasn’t determined to find out what.

  * * *

  “What’s the story with your cousin?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Eilish. I bumped into her earlier over in physio. She doesn’t seem to like me much.” I claimed the spot next to Sean on the grass and stretched.

  He gave me the side-eye. “What did you say to her?”

  “Oh, of course you think it’s something I said. I was a perfect gentleman, but you’d swear I was Charles bloody Manson, judging by how she couldn’t get away fast enough.”

  “She’s shy,” said Sean, not meeting my gaze.

  Shy? Ehhhhh no.

  The way his jaw stiffened told me he wasn’t telling me the whole truth. My brain worked overtime, wondering if maybe some dickhead had treated her poorly and now she hated men. Or maybe she just found me “unsavory” because I had a reputation and she was a Cassidy. The family were notorious snobs.

  “Well, she’ll have to get over that pretty fast if she’s going to work with the team. No room for shyness when you’re feeling up muscled rugger buggers for a living.”

  “She’s a trainee physiotherapist, Leech, not a goddamn happy-endings masseuse,” he said.

  I smiled wide, taking satisfaction in riling him. “Is there a difference?”

  At this he reached over and gave me a slap on the head. “Yes, there’s a difference, fuckface, and you know it. I swear if you so much as make one wrong turn with her, I’ll end you.” He paused, his voice lowering when he continued, “She’s been through a lot.”

  I put my hands in the air. “Relax, I’m joking. I’ll behave around her, I promise.”

  He made a low sound in the back of his throat and returned to stretching. I couldn’t stop wondering about what he meant when he said she’d been through a lot. It was out of the ordinary for me to be this curious about a virtual stranger.

  Then again, I was still figuring out what my ordinary was. Maybe I’d always been a busybody, just too shitfaced all the time to indulge the impulse.

  This thought made me grin.

  Later that day, when I was driving home from training, my phone lit up with a call from one of my closest friends. Sarah Kinsella was my AA sponsor. Someone who, over time, I’d become close with. She was different to the usual sort of people I met, and it was nice to have someone in my life who had nothing to do with rugby. She was one of the coolest, most honest women I’d ever known and had survived a much rougher life than mine: abusive father, heroin addict mother, foster homes, more abuse.

  People like Sarah had a reason to turn to alcohol, and the fact that she was so in control of herself now made her someone I really looked up to.

  “Hey Sarah, how’s it going?” I answered on hands-free.

  “Bryan, hey! I’m good. Just thought I’d give you a quick call and see how you’re getting on.”

  “I’m good, could be better. Mam’s been pulling her usual stunts.”

  “Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, leaving it open for me to talk if I wanted. It was one of the things I liked most about her. If you wanted to talk she let you, but if you didn’t she never pushed. Today, surprisingly, I found that I actually did want to talk.

  “Yeah, I was at my mate Will’s birthday when she called asking me to come over. I tried to say no, but you know how she is. She’s my weak spot. Sometimes it feels like I’m all she has and I can’t abandon her. Her refusal to accept that I’m sober now is making it difficult to do right by her.”

  “Mm-hmm. That happens a lot. Usually it’s the friends you used to drink with that can’t accept your new lifestyle, but with you it’s your mother. You were basically her drinking buddy since you were a teenager, Bryan. Plus, you not drinking anymore shines a light on the fact that she still is. Addicts don’t want to see what they are, because denial is easier than trying to change.”

  “I just wish I could make her understand that I’m not judging her. If she wants to drink, that’s her choice. I’m not going to force sobriety down her throat.”

  “It’s hard for her. She’s been in this lifestyle for a lot longer than you were. All you can do is be there for her and help her if she asks for it. If she wants to change, it has to be her choice.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I sighed. “Sorry for being such a depressing bastard all the time. I feel like all I ever do is vent my problems to you.”

  “Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Besides, you let me talk to you about my failing love life. So we’re both getting something out of it,” she replied, a smile in her voice.

  “Speaking of, any news on that front?” Sarah was a lesbian living in a small city, and I often sympathized with her given how tiny the dating pool could be.

  “Not really. If you think your life’s depressing, you should swap with me for a while. Even Tinder’s given up and started showing profiles of people I previously swiped left. It’s like it’s subversively trying to tell me I should consider lowering my standards.”

  I chuckled at this. “Such a judgy bitch, that Tinder.”

  “Tell me about it. But what about you? I take it the orchid I bought you for Christmas has wilted and died since you haven’t mentioned it in a while.”

  “Yep. Buried it in the back garden next to my dead budgie and childhood cat.”

  “Liar. You don’t have a garden in that fancy-pants penthouse apartment. It’s all sterile countertops and tiled floors.”

  “Well, if I had one I’d have buried it. I don’t know what it is, but I think I was born with the opposite of a green thumb.”

  “Death thumb?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve got. Thumb of death.”

  She laughed. “So I guess you won’t be moving on to the next stage anytime soon?”

  “Nope.” An unbidden image of Eilish Cassidy flashed before my eyes. The back of my neck prickled, which it did these days whenever I wasn’t being completely honest, causing me to exhale a frustrated breath.

  “Nope? Are you sure?”

  “Well, kind of. There’s this girl . . . this woman who’s caught my eye, but I’m pretty sure she finds me about as appealing as a fungal infection.”

  She let out a scoff. “Sure.”

  “Hey! I’m being serious.”

  “You didn’t pull the old Bryan Leech ‘Come on Stronger than Hulk Hogan on Steroids’ trademark, did you? Because that only works with rugby groupies and the intoxicated. Any sane woman would run a mile.”

  “First of all, Hulk Hogan has probably been on steroids since the eighties, so you need a new comparison. Second of all, what makes you think I come on too strong?”

  “Remember when I first became your sponsor and you fell off the wagon? I had to come drag your arse out of some hellhole pub, and since you didn’t know I was gay back then you came on to me. It was sort of hilarious. You had all these lines—”

 
“Okay, no need to regale me.” I frowned. “I’m almost home, and I need to go pick up some groceries.”

  She chuckled some more. “Fine, fine. I want to know more about this lady you’re into, and we should probably talk a little about you taking the next step and starting up a relationship, but all in all I think you’re ready.”

  I chewed on my lip, her words hitting a chord. She thought I was ready. Was I ready?

  “Yeah, you’re right, we should . . . talk,” I said and hung up just as I pulled into the shopping center close to my apartment.

  I parked my car and started heading inside when I caught sight of the florist. Plants were displayed in the window and I walked toward the display before I even realized what I was doing.

  “Well, since I’m already here . . .”

  A bell rang when I stepped inside the shop and the overpowering perfume of nature hit me immediately. A middle-aged blonde woman stood by the counter, offering me a friendly smile as I looked around.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  I scratched my head, no idea what I wanted to buy. Plus, the place was tiny and there were shelves and flowers everywhere. I felt all big and cumbersome in the small space, like if I wasn’t careful I’d end up knocking something over. “Uh, yeah,” I said and gestured to the collection of plants by the window. “Which of those is easiest to keep alive?”

  She obviously thought my question was odd, but she didn’t comment on it. “Well, the spider plants. You see the ones with the long floppy leaves, they tend to be fairly low maintenance.”

  “Great, okay, I’ll take one of those.”

  I couldn’t explain it, but I suddenly felt self-conscious, like this florist woman somehow knew I was a lowlife recovering alcoholic who could barely even keep a plant alive. It was part of my recovery. I needed to learn to look after other things than just myself. So far, I had failed. But now, for some inexplicable reason, I was more determined to succeed than ever. An image of blue eyes and red hair flashed in my mind.

  Yeah, I knew the reason, all right.

  The florist walked over to the window and picked up one of the spider thingies, then made quick work of wrapping it and ringing up the purchase. I thanked her and walked out of the shop with a renewed sense of determination.