‘I’ll make you a deal.’ I return to the couch with our refills.
‘What kind of a deal?’ Confusion clouds her earnest eyes.
‘I’m going to lay it out straight. Do not slap me. Bear in mind that I came to your room long before you were picked.’ I raise my hands in surrender. Her blackening eyes narrow with each word that leaves my lips. I never was very good at keeping secrets, except my own of course.
‘Go on…’ Her voice is thick with distrust.
‘Marcus Williams bet me that I can’t keep a woman long enough to bring her to James’s wedding.’ It’s like telling tales at school again.
‘Who is James?’ At least she doesn’t thump me.
‘James O’Malley. My best friend, teammate, fellow prop. Seriously, girl, have you never watched Ireland play rugby?’ I’m part curious, part horrified.
‘I don’t do team sports.’ It doesn’t surprise me now I’m getting the measure of her.
‘They’re adamant I can’t keep a woman. They bet that the next girl I date, I can’t keep interested long enough to actually bring her to James’s wedding.’ Wincing, I feebly attempt to word it in a way that doesn’t make us sound like a bunch of sexist masochistic arseholes, yet that’s exactly what it sounds like.
‘I see.’ Abby blows a stray strand of hair up in the air thoughtfully. ‘So, if I agree to come to this wedding with you, you will agree to feature on my show?’ Her show’s clearly more important than our lowly behaviour. That’s something, at least.
‘Yes.’ I nod. The boys will destroy me for talking about love and that sort of shite on national radio. Coach might even kick me off the team. No, on second thought, he’d think it was great advertising for our sponsors.
She sticks a dainty hand out quickly to shake on it before I can change my mind.
‘Deal,’ we say in unison.
As my hand envelops hers, a powerful stream of chemistry surges between us. She flinches, physically affected by my touch, and tries to pull her hand back. Sensing her discomfort at being exposed, I deliberately hang on for a few seconds longer than necessary, enjoying the glaringly obvious attraction between us.
‘One more thing, Fabby Abby,’ I remind her. ‘I’m supposed to be dating this girl until the wedding.’
‘And when is exactly is that?’
‘Three months away. Fifteenth of August, to be precise.’ I fight to restrain the upward curl of my smirking lips, I have her over a barrel.
If I can’t get her into bed with me in the next three months, then I might as well hang up my boots. Excuse the pun.
‘You’ve got to be joking.’ Mixed expressions flit over her face. I can read almost all of them; fear, excitement, and finally – reluctant acceptance.
‘What do you want me to do?’ The resignation in her voice would be humorous if it wasn’t so damning. Am I that bad? ‘I’ll rephrase that. Here’s what I’m willing to do…’ She considers it for a few seconds. ‘I’ll show up at a game or two? We could go out for dinner once?’ She sets the bar deliberately low. Scrap the politics, her negotiation skills could secure her a job at MI5.
‘One dinner? You’ll have to do better than that.’
‘We can cement the terms over the weekend. You do realise I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t date. Prepare for a thousand questions from anyone that knows me.’ She glances at the floor hesitantly.
‘Neither do I. Hence the bet,’ I remind her.
‘Just out of interest…what’s the prize for this interesting bet? What do you win?’ She’s curious, yet borderline reluctant to hear the answer.
‘Marcus’s Audi.’ She should hear the full truth from me, rather than anyone else down the line.
‘Why me?’ Another woman might have been fishing for compliments, but Abby seems genuinely puzzled.
‘Because you were the best looking woman in the room. And he said if I could pull you, there was no way I could keep you.’
Surprisingly, she laughs out loud. ‘I’m flattered that someone thought so, although this bet goes against everything I normally preach.’
She’s nothing like the bra-burning feminist I feared.
Without warning, she stands to leave, handing me her empty glass.
‘I’ll see you for breakfast.’ She pulls a business card from her tiny gold bag, her name and number emblazoned in bold italic.
I’m compelled to try once more. Just because we have a business agreement, it doesn’t exclude the possibility of a little pleasure along the way. ‘You could stay here for breakfast.’
‘I don’t think so, Callum.’ She places a warm hand on my chest and pushes past me toward the door.
I groan internally as she sways out of the room, leaving a delicate trail of perfume in her wake. She is my new favourite smell.
The knockbacks are torture, but it will all be worth it when I wipe the smug smirk from Marcus William’s face once and for all.
