Predictably, he hadn’t even remembered doing it the next day.
While I usually told Lizzy almost everything, I didn’t exactly want her knowing about how bad Josh’s stalker-ish behavior had gotten. She was younger, and I prayed she wouldn’t ever have to deal with the same kind of crap from a suitor. Then again, Lizzy was a lot different from me. Over the years, I’d had to really push myself to become confident and strong, while Lizzy had been like that since the beginning. She’d been the younger tomboy to my girly girl. Hell, one of the reasons she’d gone to Manchester was because she was obsessed with some soccer team who were based there.
Thinking about Lizzy in Manchester reminded me that I should do some research. I didn’t really know anything about England, except for London. And even then, my knowledge of London was outdated—mostly from reading old novels and seeing TV shows and movies that were based there.
As I checked out a Manchester website on my laptop a few minutes later, I was pleased to read that the current weather there was quite a lot cooler than the humid NYC summers here, but I had to roll my eyes at the constant references to Manchester United. There were even pop-up ads for flights to Manchester with pictures of the team carousing and partying. Yeah, like I’d want to spend eight hours crammed into a jet with a bunch of drunk playboys, even if they were admittedly kind of cute.
When I went to the site for the Manchester Evening News, there was an article featuring one of the star players from the team. The large bolded headline practically yelled ‘Belfast Playboy Plays Dirty With the Ladies,' and splashed underneath that was a shirtless photo of a very muscular man named Jay Walsh. Even though I felt like rolling my eyes at the sports worship—I’d never been a particularly sporty person—I couldn’t deny that he was incredibly sexy, and my knees felt a little weak as I took in the picture.
He had a sculpted face and body—slightly wild, like he could be dangerous—and piercing blue eyes that made my stomach do flip-flops. His dark brown hair was cropped close to his head, and I found myself admiring the strong line of his jaw.
“Stop it,” I muttered to myself, slamming my laptop closed. The last thing I needed to do was start fantasizing over completely unobtainable men….especially arrogant playboys. From what the article had said about Jay Walsh, he was the kind of guy who took home a different woman each and every night.
Maybe sometimes even more than one woman.
Ugh. As I imagined an English person might say, a man like that really wasn’t my cup of tea.
Standing up, I stretched and walked over to my closet, and after throwing the doors open, I grabbed a handful of dresses and tossed them on the bed. They were mostly the kind of thing I could wear to work; stylish, simple, attractive but not really sexy. For my job, I always had to look perky and relevant. The sexiest I could dare go on the show was ‘girl next door,’ and that was honestly fine with me.
I smiled when I saw one of the dresses in the pile that I’d selected. It definitely wasn’t a work dress; it was a close-fitting black sheath with lace sleeves and a pencil skirt that hugged my ass to perfection. It was one of the dresses I’d bought right before moving to the city, when I thought that I’d actually be going to bars and looking for men to pick up after being inspired by one too many re-run episodes of Sex And The City. I’d almost never had the nerve to wear it, and I was honestly glad Josh hadn’t ever caught a glimpse of me tucked into the silky fabric. If he had, it would probably be harder than ever to make him stay away, because knowing him, he’d try to say I was ‘asking for it’ by wearing it around him.
After a moment of hesitation, I folded the dress and put it to the side. I’d take it with me just in case, even though there was probably no way in hell that I’d get to use it. After all, staying with Lizzy didn’t exactly scream ‘single woman on the town,’ but maybe there would be a decent guy or two there…
The muscular, tattooed guy from the soccer team—Jay Walsh —popped into my mind automatically, and I laughed out loud. One thing was for sure; even if I met a man on vacation, it definitely wouldn’t be a man like him.
No flippin’ way.
Chapter Two
Jay
Jesus… how much did I drink last night?
“My head is fucking pounding,” I mumbled to no one in particular as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and padded across the unfamiliar carpet to the gleaming white hotel bathroom.
From the bed, there was a slight stirring sound, and I glanced up and saw a naked torso, attached to an attractive strawberry-blonde head. Blue eyes were staring right at me, dry pink lips working their way into a faint smile.