“Now you can write a whole article about the weekend you spent with Sean Cassidy,” he preened. “Your views will skyrocket.”
I laughed. “I’m pretty sure my brother would blow a gasket if I did that.”
“Oh, tell Mother Fitzpatrick to go take a Valium and relax.”
My laughter died down as my expression sobered. “He’s just protective of his family. Ronan’s a good person. You’d know that if you simply took the time to get to know him.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because maybe if you knew him, you’d stop trying to ruin his life.”
We stared at each other. Actually, he glared at me while I tried to meet his gaze evenly. It wasn’t easy. I could see his mind working, words on the tip of his tongue, and he seemed to be debating whether or not to speak.
“Ruin his life?”
“Brona O’Shea,” I repeated. “Ring any bells?”
“I think I did him a favor with that one. His current bird is a definite step up.”
“Yes, but the suspension from the team? After he found you two going at it? I don’t care much for Brona, but you knew how he was going to react. He almost ruined his career.”
“It’s not my fault he chose to act with aggression. The man’s a chimpanzee, mindlessly flinging excrement at anyone who doesn’t worship at his holier-than-thou altar.”
My mouth fell open at his audacity and I jabbed my finger toward him. “He’s the ape? You’re the one who was knocking knickers with his fiancée!”
“No,” he responded firmly. “Technically, I wasn’t. I never actually tapped that. So, to be fair, going back to your earlier statement, my taste isn’t as questionable as your brother’s.”
“What do you mean you never ‘tapped that’?”
“I never fucked Brona O’Shea.” His voice was as flat as a deflated tire, and I winced at his vulgarity and tone.
I immediately contradicted him, “Yes, you did.” Everyone knew he’d seduced Brona. It’s how he’d earned his nickname, Sleazy Sean. “Ronan walked in on you, he saw everything.”
“No. He saw what we wanted him to see. And Mother Fitzpatrick, being Mother Fitzpatrick, jumped to all the wrong conclusions. Do you really think Ronan could best me in a fight? Unlikely. I let him win, so I could win.” He reached for and gulped his water, watching me.
I studied him, seeing the truth in his eyes. He’d staged the whole thing. How could someone be so despicable? Anger swelled within me, an emotion I didn’t often have cause to feel.
“You wanted him to find you. You wanted him suspended.”
“No. I wanted him expelled.”
Mounting fury had me raising my voice. He wasn’t Sleazy Sean, he was Sinister Sean, and I couldn’t believe I’d ever agreed to this farce of a dinner date.
“I can’t believe you!”
“Shhh.” He glanced around the restaurant, presumably to ensure we weren’t causing a scene.
Leaning forward, I whispered harshly, “You are such a prick.” Then I picked up his water glass and tossed it in his face.
Immediately, I stood, refusing to listen to him any longer. To be perfectly honest, it was a surprise he’d managed to go the whole meal without saying something mean. He’d just reminded me exactly why I shouldn’t ever have been gullible enough to give him the time of day.
“Hey,” he frowned, mopping the water from his jaw. “What was that for?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“You’re leaving?”
I spun on him, so angry I couldn’t see straight. “Call me when you get a clue and stop being so jealous of my brother.”
He snorted at this and threw the wet napkin to the table. “Jealous. Right. What a joke.”
I just shook my head, shot him a final parting grimace, and walked out of the restaurant. He was so oblivious I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Later, on the train ride home, and after I’d calmed down a bit, I did something that completely contradicted my outburst in the restaurant. I shouldn’t have wanted to see Sean’s face again for as long as I lived, and yet there I was, pulling my phone from my pocket and searching for the picture he’d taken. I couldn’t stop looking at it, studying the curve of his mouth and the intensity of his eyes as he stared directly into the camera. His look made me shiver.
What on earth was wrong with me? Sean was not a nice person. Looking at a photo of him shouldn’t be giving me all these . . . feelings. The thing was, for someone who claimed to be without depth, his gaze told a different story. Had I been right last night when I’d thought of him as a rescue dog, behaving badly because he was afraid? Or were those notions complete and utter nonsense?
Either way, Sean Cassidy needed help.
Again, my eyes fastened to the image of his arm, which was wrapped tightly around my waist. The more I looked, the more the picture gave me belly tingles, and despite everything I’d said to him in the restaurant, and all the reasons I told myself he didn’t deserve it, there was a small place deep within me that desperately wanted to help him.
And that was the most disconcerting part of all.
Chapter Four