The Player and the Pixie(71)

@LucyFitz to @BroderickAdams Whaaa? Does it come with a striptease from a 1988 Axl Rose?

@BroderickAdams to @LucyFitz LMAO.



*Lucy*

It was exactly three weeks to the day after my last cookie thievery that Broderick and I arrived at JFK for our flight to Dublin. Being such a good friend of Annie’s, he was coming to the wedding, too, and I was looking forward to forcing him into joining us girls for the hen night.

Sean and I had continued to swap text messages. With each exchange I grew increasingly confused and . . . involved. Two weeks ago I’d taken a picture of my cup and sent it to him because the person had spelled my name Loosey instead of Lucy.



Lucy: I demand you change my contact information to Loosey on your phone. It is now my name.

Sean: If you want me to, I’ll fly over to NYC and beat the shit out of the guy who wrote that on your cup.

Lucy: You don’t think it’s funny?

Sean: No one calls my girl loose.



The next day he sent me a picture of his coffee cup; the barista had written a phone number on the side. I felt a pang of jealousy until he texted.



Sean: At least you get a word. They’ve assigned me a number. Just call me Jean Valjean.

Sean: And yours is “loosely” based on your name.

Sean: See what I did there? ;-)

Lucy: I can’t even with you. How do you know who Jean Valjean is?

Sean: Everyone knows 24601. ;-)

Lucy: Random thought. If everyone winked as much in real life as they do on social media and in text messages, the world would be a much creepier place.

Sean: I’d send you a “I’d love to lick your pussy” emoticon, but my iPhone doesn’t have one.

Lucy: Those Apple engineers have seriously been sleeping on the job

Lucy: ;-)

Sean: Ah yes, embrace the creepy winking. ;-)



Those everyday—because now we were messaging every day, all day—conversations were confusing because they were friendly, but they were often much more than friendly. Yet neither of us made any attempt to call the other. And the lack of resolution had me feeling like a mixed-up basket case.

Hence my current airport crime spree.

“You got something up your sleeve?” Broderick asked several seconds after I’d slipped a tube of lipstick up there.

How the hell had he seen?

“What?” I asked, frazzled.

Rick smirked. “You’ve got this mischievous expression going on. Tell me what you’re up to.”

I exhaled heavily in relief and lifted a shoulder. “Just looking forward to introducing you to all my girlfriends in Dublin. They’re going to absolutely adore your accent.”

He didn’t react how I expected him to, instead he frowned and perused a bottle of men’s cologne. “Oh, right.”

I chuckled. “Don’t get too excited or anything.”

“I’m excited,” he said in the least excited voice ever.

“Oh my God! Broderick Thelonious Adams, you’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and attempted to look unconcerned. “I knew I’d regret telling you my middle name. And no, I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Your dad named you after Thelonious Monk, that’s a bloody cool middle name. But seriously, you’re not hiding a girl somewhere?”

“You got me. Smuggled her in my suitcase. Don’t tell airport security.”

I gave him a narrowed-eyed grin just before my phone started ringing. My heart pounded for a second, like it always did as I wondered if it might be Sean. But no, I pulled it out to see my mam’s number flashing on the screen.

Taking a few steps outside the cosmetics section of the duty free, I lifted the phone to my ear and answered.

“Hi Mam. I’m just at the airport now. We’ll be boarding our flight soon.”

“Lucy, what’s all this I’m hearing about you staying at Ronan’s house?” she asked in a shrill voice.

I sighed and closed my eyes for a second, wishing away this entire conversation. “It’s just easier since I’m Annie’s maid of honor and everything. There’s going to be a ton of last-minute stuff to organize. And we’ll be staying at the K Club from Thursday onward, so it’s not like it matters much either way.”

“Yes, well, you could’ve at least let me know. I had Bernie make up the spare bedroom and everything, thinking you’d be staying with me, then I have to hear from your brother that you’re not. Nobody tells me anything these days,” she said, a note of disdain to her words as she tried to affect a hurt tone. Bernie was her housekeeper, though she called him her manservant. You’d swear she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and not to the humble beginnings she’d actually had.