The barman wears a three-piece charcoal suit. He looks more suited to a wedding than a rugby fixture. I’m glad Mam told me to put a dress on.
I order the same bottle of champagne I helped Emma finish off and wait while the barman polishes the crystal flutes. I should tell him not to bother on my behalf. I don’t drink much but my chosen tipple on occasion is cider from a can in my own cosy cottage.
Smoothing my dress down, I note the people I need to reacquaint myself with. I’ve been introduced in passing here before. The players might run the pitch, but the suits run the show. Three of the directors linger across the room, white haired, with ill-fitting pinstripe suits, it’s easy to distinguish them from the crowd. I make a mental note to pass through that direction when I return to my family.
The noise level in the room is increasing by the second, more to do with the arrival of the team captain, Marcus, than the commentators re-hashing the points of the game from the enormous screen on the wall.
A warm arm brushes against mine and a shudder ripples across my spine. Shivers extend like the incoming tide, from the tips of my fingers to my curling toes. I glance sideways to see who occupies the cramped space next to me. Who could possibly be capable of stirring such a physical reaction in me?
The deep masculine scent of aftershave wafts deliciously close to my nose. It’s Ireland’s one and only number six. I’ve never been this close to Ollie Quinn before and it takes every ounce of self-restraint not to grab him by the collar of his shirt and inhale him into the lining of my lungs. Biting my lower lip, I will myself not to look at him as my heart pounds like a jackhammer in my chest. Why couldn’t Barry the banker have that effect on me? Or any of the men I’ve been with for that matter. Cupid can be so cruel at times.
My skin prickles beneath an invisible force. The sensation I’m being stared at it is overwhelming. Yet it must be in my head. I’ve brushed by him twice before in here and Ollie didn’t so much as glance at me either time.
Battling the urge to look, I remind myself I’ll only be disappointed if I’m wrong. My brain screams at me to let the fantasy live on, but in a swift rebellious motion my head whips to investigate. At the same second, the barman places the champagne in front of me. With my head turned to gape at Ollie Quinn, I hand over my credit card and accidentally punch the glass over, sending the bottle toppling, spraying champagne fizzing over the barman’s immaculate suit.
‘That’s one hell of a punch you’ve got.’ A low voice chuckles in my ear. I tear my stare away from the burning pools of intensity to assess the damage. Thankfully it’s minimal and with the escalating noise, no one appears to have noticed.
My dry tongue sticks thickly to the roof of my mouth; not only am I at a loss for something witty to say, I also seem unable to summon an apology. I try to convince myself I’m glad it was him that witnessed my clumsy faux pas and not the people I’m hoping to impress enough to hire me, but heat still floods my cheeks.
‘Remind me not to mess with you.’ The teasing continues, and his breath brushes against my earlobe. Despite the distracting pheromones racing through every inch of me, his comment sparks a reality check within.
‘Oh, you have no idea.’ Meeting his penetrating stare, I discover Ollie Quinn is actually looking at me, and I meanreallylooking at me. In my wildest dreams I never imagined it would happen, and it won’t ever again – not once he realises who I am.
He continues to appraise me with smouldering eyes, whirling deep pools overflowing with what looks like a hint of curiosity.
‘I’m Ollie.’ He extends a hand to take mine but instead of shaking it as I’d anticipated, he presses it to his full, warm lips before dropping it equally as quickly again. The touch lasts a millisecond, but it’ll be imprinted in my memory forever.
‘I know who you are.’ The words come out blunt, borderline cold. It’s unintentional, sounds simply struggle to form in his magnetising presence.
Laughter lines crinkle his face and he skims a hand over the millimetre of hair that’s shaved so close to his head. I’ve never felt a skinhead before and the urge to do so now is even more overwhelming than the urge to sniff him, and I thought that was bad. I can only blame his mesmerising eyes. They boast a depth a person could dive into and never resurface.
‘And you are?’ he probes, inching closer still.
Eventually I gain enough composure to form a reply. ‘I’m pretty sure you’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Is that a promise?’ His eyes twinkle again, filled with unshed laughter.
When I don’t elaborate further, he seems to mistakes my silent awe for disinterest.
‘So, you must be the treat-them-mean-keep-them-keen type, am I right? I must say, it’s a delightful change from the giggling, selfie-taking fools I’ve recently met in bars.’
Of course he’s used to women throwing themselves at him. No matter how many fantasies are flooding my delinquent brain right now, I’m not one of those women.
Placing his empty glass on the bar, Ollie nods at the barman who’s drying himself off with a perfectly pressed white tea towel. He fills a flute from what remains in the bottle and passes it to me, assuming I’m sticking around for a chat.
My teeth nip my lower lip. It takes an age, but I manage to utter five words in a semi-suggestive tone. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that.’
I tend to give off the aura I’m off-limits, so I’ve been told. I might not be taken by another man, but for Ollie Quinn, I’m the height of off-limits. He just hasn’t realised it yet. He isn’t deterred by my shortness, anyway. If anything, he seems intrigued by it. ‘The rugby doesn’t impress you?’
Licking my lips, I blurt, ‘I prefer individual sport to team sports.’
He snorts with laughter and a hot flush invades my cheeks as I realise what I’ve said.
‘That’s quite the innuendo. And quite the blow-off.’ His eyes darken two shades, even as they spark with devilment.
I sip from the glass, trying not to envision what image he might be conjuring right now. A quick scan of the room reassures me Eddie is nowhere in the vicinity. I should go before he catches us and ruins the fantasy, yet I can’t tear myself away, drawn magnetically to the man before me in a way I’ve only ever seen happen to other people.
I choose my next words carefully, unable to break his penetrating stare. ‘It wasn’t exactly a blow-off, but I’ve always found individual sports to be that little bit more satisfying.’
