“Aye, and front-page news in the Larne Chronicle.” She drags her finger across the cream on her hot chocolate before sucking it off her finger. “My family are so proud to know they’ve raised a slut.” She sighs, like the weight of the whole world is resting heavy on her broad shoulders.
“Whoa.” I hold up my hand. “No one thinks that.” I wince. That’s a lie, and her raised eyebrows tell me she knows it. “Okay, wait.” I roll my fingers around each other in midair. “Let me walk that back a sec. Those who matter don’t think you’re a slut. Those who are jealous or want their three minutes of fame will use that word to discredit you.” I swallow. “I don’t think you’re a slut. Not that it matters.”
Fuck. I feel guilty that I contributed to her stress, to her public demise, and despite the fact her father hates me, her brother hates me, and hell, I bet the women in her family all hate me too, I want to do the right thing. “What can I do to make it better?” We both know I can’t magically fix anything, but sometimes asking is enough to make a person feel better, less alone. “I have some ideas, if you want to hear them.”
She purses her lips, shaking her head like she’s already made up her mind. There’s a storm brewing in those gorgeous eyes. She’s thinking about God knows what, then takes a slow sip of her drink as though buying time to compose her thoughts. “I’m a professional athlete, not just some rugby princess.”
I nod. “I know that.” Not sure her da does, but there are plenty of us in the industry who respect Rhiannon in her own right, not because of who she happens to be related to.
“I want to take control of the media circus. Tell my side. But keep the public from eating me alive in the meantime.”
Another nod. “Sounds like a sensible plan.” Someone has clearly chatted to the PR manager of the team. Or maybe herda pulled his head out of his ass and put his daughter first for a change and gave her some guidance.
“We’re about to start a new season. I have my sights on making the international team for the Six Nations.”
I stay quiet, but again it’s no surprise. She’s played for Ireland before; she’ll play for Ireland again. She has skill in spades, and a determination unparalleled on the pitch.
“The team has stayed quiet, for now, but it’s not going away.”
She’s selling the situation short, because it’s getting worse. There have been more and more stories online about Rhiannon over the last twenty-four hours. The more she stays quiet, the worse the trash-talking sorry excuses for journalists come up with.
“I could publicly apologize. Say I took advantage of you, that you didn’t know who I was…”
She holds up her hand. “I’d still be a slut, just a dumb slut. And you don’t get to look noble at my expense.”
I snap my mouth closed.
“There have been emails, propositions…” She shifts in her seat. “Dick pics.”
“To you?”
She nods. “Via the club’s email. For now.”
There are no words I can say to answer what she’s just said. If I try, I could end up with a black eye. I don’t think she’s a slut, but my opinion doesn’t matter in this situation, so I stay quiet and let her tell me what she needs. And I’m not naïve, if people want to find her, they’ll find her, and the number of doxxing incidents is growing at an alarming rate.
To make sure nothing stupid or potentially patronizing comes out of my mouth, and to continue listening and hearing what she is saying, I take a drink of my hot chocolate, burning my tongue for good measure.
“I think we need to date for a while.”
At her words, I spray part of the mouthful of chocolate. Unfortunately for both of us, it hits her right in the face. Fortunately, it’s mostly cream and marshmallows, so she doesn’t get burned.
“Christ. I’m so sorry.” I grab the napkins on the table and instinctively pat her face. She rolls her eyes, snatching the tissue from me and clears the glob off her face. When she’s done, I swallow hard. “Did you just say you think we should go out? Like… go steady? Like… a relationship?”
My brain must have misheard. There’s no way this woman I just spat melted marshmallow on, this woman who hates my guts, my career, and the very sight of my face wants to be my girlfriend.
And come to think of it, I don’t want a girlfriend either, not least of all one who might kill me in my sleep. I’m attributing a lot of violence to her before she’s given me any evidence that it’s part of her personality, but I’ve seen her play full-contact rugby… I’m not taking any chances.
She gives a firm nod. “Crisis management, control the story, give the haters a love story to get behind so they don’t keep doing what they’re doing. Or propositioning me for that matter.”
I open my mouth, but her hand goes up again. “Nope. Before you say anything, you need to know it’ll be one hundred percent fake. I’m just out of a very long, very public relationship, and I don’t need a rebound guy. I need stability, I need to appear grounded, focused on my career, and not like an unhinged, heartbroken, deviant chaos goblin.”
The irony is, with her wild eyes, unruly hair, and the speed she’s talking, she’stotallygiving chaos goblin. And I read the comment about deviance. God only knows what the men propositioning her are thinking or offering. A shudder slides down my spine.
I don’t want to ask her what her father thinks of this ideabecause she’s her own woman who can make her own decisions, even if I’ve long since suspected she’s been sheltered under her father’s dominating wing for her entire life and career.
“Have you…? Uh…” I trace the handle of the mug cradling my barely touched, luxurious hot chocolate. “Chatted about this to your eh… family?” Subtle, Robert. Real sly, she’ll have no idea what you’re actually asking her.
Her nose twitches as her lips fight a smile. “Subtle. No, I haven’t told Dad yet. He’s still not speaking to me since finding out you had your dick in me.” She snorts. “I sure know how to pick them.”
