‘I’m fine.’ It’s a lie. I saw how she hobbled across the pitch this morning to look at James O’Malley’s knee. However sore she is today, she’ll be worse tomorrow.
I rise and step towards the door. ‘Any plans for the few days off?’ Come tomorrow, we’ve all been given two days off before Sunday’s big game.
A blush creeps up her neck, turning her tan skin a deep shade of auburn. ‘A few. I’m not sure they’ll turn out to be all that exciting…’
‘And we all know you crave a bit of excitement.’
‘What I’d like is the full package, but clearly, it’s too much to ask.’ She opens the door to the treatment room where James is waiting with Gareth, sipping Ballygowan from clear plastic bottles. My working day is almost over, hers is only just beginning. I wish I had more time to probe her, analyse her cryptic comments.
‘See you around, Ollie.’ It’s a clear dismissal.
In the evening, I breeze into the gym to pick up a pass for a friend and spot Amy repeating her squats. Her eyes are misted over, her jaw set in concentration. This time last night my face was merely inches behind her as she brushed herself against me. Who does she see tonight? Who is the full package she’s imagining behind her this second? What is it exactly that she wants that’s different to me?
Frustration rips through me. For the first time since I learned about it, I’m actually glad I’m going on a date on Saturday. And I’m glad it’s been arranged by a professional. Because apart from needing a distraction from the pressure of Sunday’s big match, it’s exactly what I’m going to need to get Amy Harrington out of my head – professional help.
ChapterFifteen
AMY
It’s Saturday night and my nerves are shot to pieces. Smoothing down my red dress with a quick flick of the hand, I run my tongue over my teeth to remove any stray lipstick marks and step through the frosted-glass door of the restaurant. Its name ‘The Spicy Affair’ causes me to snort, I can’t imagine it could be any spicier than the week I’ve had at work. I can only pray I’m proved wrong. Doubtful though, highly doubtful.
Geri convinced me to go. After the sexy gym work out, and battling all week not to throw myself on top of him while he was lying on my treatment table like a Christmas present begging to be unwrapped, she assured me there’s no other option. The only way to get him out of my mind is to fill it with someone else. There’s nothing worse than having the forbidden fruit dangling temptingly in front of you and not being able to touch it.
It’s fine for him to act all casual when it’s nothiscareer on the line. The man gives me emotional whiplash. He goes from ‘we have this intense connection, to let’s have casual sex.’ Does he use that connection line to get all of his conquests to drop their knickers? I’m torn between feeling stupid for thinking we might have something special, then feeling stupid for not just shagging him and at least experiencing the little he was offering.
I’m going out of my mind with inappropriate lustful thoughts. So much so that I can’t even pretend to be Miss Goody Two Shoes anymore. I seriously hope my date tonight is everything I need in my own personal number six, because this good girl has turned infinitely bad. If all else fails, Geri bought me a Rampant Rabbit which arrived yesterday. A poor replacement for Ollie but thoughts of him have me at the edge of combustion.
After spending two hours trying on outfits from the same bag of Keira’s clothes, I finally settled on a scoop-neck midi with long sleeves. The scoop neck is very daring for me, but the sleeves provide a sense of security. If I’m mostly covered, my date might not see my apprehension, or who I really am underneath the crimson mesh.
An odd sense of surrealness descends, like I’m watching myself from the clouds. As if this moment is significant, or could be at least. I brush that notion off; I’m becoming delusional as well as everything else now. The only blind date I’ve ever been on in my life was with Geri’s husband Alex’s cousin, Brendon. He was number two on my list. It was never going to end well.
Despite the initial chemistry and his keenness to progress to the next level, it didn’t work out. My family hated him, Eddie especially, because he followed him round like a lovesick puppy, turning up in places where he thought he might be. Then when Brendon would bother to bring me out to the cinema or for dinner, he’d have this mooning, moping look on his face and proceed to ask me stupid questions like, ‘do you think Eddie likes me?’
It was at that point in my life I decided to hide my famous brother’s identity from any potential boyfriend for as long as possible. Long enough to at least make sure the man was worthy of an introduction and not going to drop me like a sack of spuds anytime my brother was in the vicinity. The ironic thing is, Eddie would have had far more time for him, and far more respect for him, if he’d treated his youngest sister a little bit better. Ollie wouldn’t idolise Eddie. He’s an idol in his own right. Huh. Why am I thinking of him now?
I’m going to kill Geri if there’s a fifty-year-old man with a pot belly waiting in here for me. Shit, what if there’s no one in there at all? What if I’ve been stood up? Oh the mortification. I don’t know what’s worse. At that thought, I almost turn on my heels again, but a waiter grabs my jacket from its position draped over my arm and takes it before I can bolt.
‘Can I take your name please, madam?’ he asks with a respectful bow of his head. He wears some sort of traditional Indian garment in a shade of brilliant white that matches the pristine tablecloths. They must have one hell of a laundry bill at the end of the week.
I have no idea if the table is booked under my name, or his, or the company name. Heat floods my cheeks; this is so fucking embarrassing. Thank god for the romantic low-wattage lanterns and huge church candles. The tables are spaced well apart, giving each couple their own privacy. Glancing round the room I try to work out who is for me. ‘It’s Amy. I’m supposed to be meeting someone…’
The waiter offers a reassuring smile, the warmth of which extends to the crinkling corners of his eyelids. ‘Ah, Amy, your date has already arrived.’
A wave of nausea sweeps through me as I discreetly scan the room for a clue, with no success. ‘He’s through the back. We have a separate room for VIPs.’
VIPs? Could it be possible I’ve been set up with a young, but terribly good-looking member of the Russian Mafia? Or perhaps he’s an old retired porn star looking to inject some youth back into him. The suspense is killing me. If I make it through tonight I amneverever going on a blind date again. At least with hours of swiping comes a sort of prior knowledge, a level of preparation, a hint of what to expect. This is pure torture. The only positive in this entire scenario is it’s taken my mind from imagining Ollie Quinn naked, which is a success in itself.
My heart beats furiously in my chest as I follow the waiter through the restaurant to a back door. I’m actually tempted to text Eddie and tell him where I am, just in case I require rescuing. I replay the route of today’s sprint triathlon in Meath to distract myself. It was an easy one, done solely as a training exercise to take my mind off Ollie Quinn. But even as I expended every ounce of energy I had, I couldn’t expend my lust for him.
Geri is right, I needed to come here tonight, to at least try to find someone more appropriate. If he turns out to be a sexy doctor or dentist, I’ll get the most pleasant surprise of my life. I’ll never rebel against my brother again.
The waiter opens the door to a spacious room with dark wooden panelling; intricate, exotic colourful tapestries hang from the walls. There’s only one rectangular table in the centre, it’s large enough to comfortably seat four, but only one man sits at it. His broad shoulders are encased in an expertly tailored suit jacket and he has a familiar looking skinhead that causes my heart to rattle in my ribcage.
At the creak of the opening door, he looks up, confirming my suspicions. For some bizarre reason, Ollie Quinn is sitting in the seat my date is supposed to be in. The waiter pulls out the chair opposite him but instead of sitting down I freeze, stilettos glued to the thick burgundy carpet beneath my feet.
‘You.’ His handsome features pinch together in a frown. If he’s shocked, he appears to recover exceptionally quickly. Green eyes lighten and shine with amusement. He rises in slow motion, as if standing might startle me.
If the waiter senses there’s a problem he ignores it, motioning for me to sit. I do so, not because I want to but because if I don’t my legs may well give way beneath me.
