The Player and the Pixie(2)

“Great,” he replied with enthusiasm and I tried to return it.

“That’s good. That’s great.”

He nodded and slipped his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

A few seconds of awkward silence ensued and I wanted to leave. Ben was being friendly, and he seemed like a lovely guy, but I was still panicking over the nail polish. Stupid tempting canary yellow. How was I supposed to resist such vibrancy? How?

“You look different these days,” Ben said finally.

I laughed nervously. “Different good or different bad?”

He shrugged. “Just different.”

“Must be that sex change I put in for,” I said and winced. I always made weird jokes when anxious.

Ben gave me a consolation laugh but he clearly didn’t see the humor. I didn’t blame him. I was so odd sometimes. He cleared his throat. “So, you know I’m a massive rugby fan, right?”

My stomach dropped a little at his question. For a second I thought he might be chatting me up, but no, this was about Ronan. I loved my brother to pieces, but his career meant that people often wanted to be friends with me because of who I shared DNA with. Kind of depressing, but I always tried to look on the bright side. Outweighing negativity with positivity was the key to a happy life, and being related to a famous person brought with it many advantages. I always tried to concentrate on those. Plus, I was a naturally happy and bubbly person when I wasn’t dealing with my mam’s undermining influence.

“Oh, you are? That’s cool.”

Ben nodded. “So, do you think maybe you could get me into tonight’s party? I’d love to go and meet the team. Seriously, it’d be a dream come true.”

The Irish squad had just played their last game of the season, and tonight there was a celebration going on to mark the occasion.

“Um, I’m not actually sure I can swing that, Ben. The party’s in a couple of hours,” I told him honestly.

All of a sudden, Ben’s expression changed. He no longer appeared sheepishly polite. Now he seemed cynical – cocky even. He stepped forward and narrowed his gaze. “Get me into the party and I won’t tell my manager about the nail crap you just stole.”

My heart pounded and I swallowed harshly, stunned by his sudden personality change.

My attention flickered to the older man who was manning the service counter. It was ridiculous, but I felt a bit like crying. Sometimes I was so naïve, so gullible. Ben wasn’t lovely. He was trying to blackmail me. I didn’t cry, but I felt like it.

“All right then,” I told him. “I’ll make sure your name is on the guest list.”

I turned to leave.

“With a plus one?” Ben called after me. Negative thoughts tried to flood my mind but I pushed them back, repeating a few lines from the Tao Te Ching I often used while meditating. Ah, that was better. I was calmer now.

“Yes, Ben, with a plus one.”

***

On the way home I dropped the nail polish into a charity collection box. I knew it was a weird thing to donate, but I thought maybe the bright color would put a smile on some poor woman’s face. I certainly didn’t deserve to keep it. I rarely kept the things I stole—giving them to charity or people I thought needed them.

Later that evening, I got ready for the party. My dress was cream lace, sort of floaty, and I wore my hair down with a single daisy clip at the side. I was sitting in a VIP room at the back of the venue with my brother, his fiancée Annie, and a couple of Ronan’s teammates. We were enjoying a few bottles of champagne and discussing the success the Irish squad had enjoyed during the year. Mam was elsewhere, socializing with the other team mothers, and I was glad. I just wanted to enjoy my night without her saying something about how unattractive or embarrassing I was.

We were all having a great time until the door swung open and Mr. Tall, Blond and Up Himself walked in. That would be Sean Cassidy to those not in the know, Sleazy Sean, as nicknamed by the rugby club. I tried to always see the good in people, but he and my brother didn’t have the best relationship. Not only had Sean slept with Brona, Ronan’s ex-girlfriend, but he was also universally acknowledged to be an arsehole.

It went against everything I believed in to say, because I liked to think everyone was redeemable in some way, but Sean just wasn’t a nice person. He actually seemed to be proud about the fact, like he wanted people to dislike him.

The conversation died down, everybody casting surreptitious glances at Sean who swaggered his way up to the private bar and loudly ordered a bottle of bubbly. That’s actually what he called it, but speaking of bubbly . . .

Almost of their own accord, my eyes wandered over his broad shoulders, muscular back, and down to what must have been the most perfect bubble butt I’d ever seen. You know how sometimes male athletes develop those really defined, rounded but masculine derrieres? Well, Sean Cassidy was most definitely rocking one of those, and I couldn’t resist the urge to ogle it. It was pure muscle and simply bite-worthy.