My Life in Shambles(27)

“I hate to say it,” Padraig says as I step off the last step. He’s leaning against the kitchen island with my coat in his hands. “But that might be sexier than the dress.”

“It’s because I’m not wearing a bra,” I tell him with a smile.

“You won’t hear me complaining.” He slips the coat on me like a gentleman and leads me outside. The air is crisp and cold, but there’s a purity to it, as if the weather knew it was the first day of the year and needed to be a clean slate. All of yesterday and yesteryear is hidden by a few inches of snow.

I take a quick look around, marveling at the row of neat brick houses, all attached. While Padraig’s door is black, his neighbors are yellow and red with a black iron fence lining them. I can hear the hoots and hollers of a nearby snowball fight, and further down the street, a father is pulling his bundled-up kids along in a sleigh.

“It’s a nice neighborhood,” I say to Padraig as he pushes the button on his key fob and the lights of a metallic grey Porsche Cayenne with a dusting of snow on the hood come on.

“Yea,” he says, opening the passenger door for me. “Lots of families.” He nods at the father and children as they pass. “Lots of my teammates, too. It’s close to the stadium.”

“Do a lot of your teammates have families?” I ask him.

“Most do,” he says. “I guess I’m the odd one out. Even my father used to play professionally when I was young.”

“He did?” I ask as I step inside the car. It looks and smells brand new, all leather and totally luxurious.

He shuts the door and comes around on the passenger side and gets in. “Not for Leinster, he stayed local and played for Munster. Our biggest competition.”

“Was he as famous as you?” I ask.

“No,” he says, and the muscles in his jaw seem to tense. “He wanted to be. He tried. Maybe he could have been but he got injured, tore a ligament, couldn’t play again after that.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yea, it does,” he says. “But that’s life. After that I saw more of him. That was a downfall of him playing so far away. He was gone a lot of the time. Just my mam and me.”

“It wasn’t nice to have him back home?” I ask carefully.

“Nah,” he says with a sad smile. “He hated it. Hated being stuck in Shambles, hated that he had to stay home and couldn’t play. Like he didn’t know who he was anymore.” He seems to think that last part over and then starts the car.

The rest of the ride to the hotel is mostly silent. It’s not uncomfortable at all, it’s just a little sad. It doesn’t seem fair that I finally meet a man that I feel most at home and at ease with that’s opened up a hidden sexual side of me that I didn’t even know existed, and I have to leave him. Never mind the fact that he’s a gorgeous, sexy, rich and famous rugby player with a big dick and a sweet mouth, the kind of guy who I never dreamed I would sleep with.

I wish things were different. I wish I had the guts to keep saying yes. But there’s a difference between saying yes and choosing new adventures for yourself, and being an asshole, and I know if I even considered going off with him, I’d be a major jerk to my sisters.

By the time his Porsche is pulling up to the hotel, I’m in a funk. I don’t want to say goodbye, I don’t want to step out of the car because I know when I do, I’ll likely never see him again. I’m a strong believer in fate, but what I want and what fate wants doesn’t usually align.

“Here we are,” Padraig says to me, putting it in park. “I’d say I had a really good time last night but that sounds too trivial for what it was. I think … I was really lucky ye came over to talk to me. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize how bloody wonderful ye are right off the bat.”

I swallow, my heart doing somersaults and landing hard each time. “I had a good time too. I’m glad you came to your senses.”

He lets out a laugh and smiles so bright that it actually pains me.

This is wrong, my inner voice says. Don’t go. Stay! Tell him yes. Yes, yes, yes to his crazy idea!

But the words don’t come. The fear holds them back.

That same fear I came to Ireland to erase.

Padraig stares at me for a second, his dark, arched brows knitted together as if conflicted. Then he grabs my face hard, his fingers strong and pressing into my cheeks, and lays a deep and searing kiss on me that makes my toes curl in my boots.

Jesus.

His lips are fire and they stir up a million wants and feelings inside me, a straight shot to the heart, but before I can kiss him back with the same intensity, he pulls away. “Take care, darlin’,” he says to me, voice raspy. “Say hello to your sisters for me.”

I’m breathless. I’m broken.

“I will,” I tell him.

Somehow I manage to get out of the car. I push everything that wants to overwhelm me aside, and as I give him a wave and he drives off, I start telling myself the truth.

It was a one-night stand.

He’s a stranger.

He gave you the best sex of your life, what more do you want?

You only knew him for less than twenty-four hours.

Let it be.

Get over it.

I tell myself this over and over as I walk into the hotel, into the cramped and musty elevator, and up to our floor.