ABBY
I sip on the prosecco, soaking up the atmosphere. Callum’s dad is a dote, if a little confused. His sister watches him like a hawk. I wonder where Callum’s mother is. Perhaps she stayed at home, or maybe they’re divorced. Either way, if I’m assuming the role of girlfriend for the foreseeable future, I’ll need to know these things.
Callum looks ridiculously good in his team colours. White shorts display strong toned thighs. Thighs I long to touch. I manage to control myself, but the smell of his raw masculine sweat drives my hormones wild. Mother Nature’s ability to incite the desire to reproduce has taken hold of me. Callum is physically the perfect mate. He’s exactly what I need for my show, and exactly what I don’t need entwined in my daily life.
The dynamics have subtly shifted between us. He stares at me as though we have a newfound, deeper connection after Monday night. I feel it too, but it doesn’t change the logistics. The sensible side of my brain reminds me of the cold, hard facts. My rapidly pulsating heart reminds me of something else entirely. A booming voice resounds over thoughtfully positioned speakers in each corner of the drinks tent, summoning us outside once again for the afternoon’s results. I wave goodbye to Callum’s dad and aunt and follow him outside. Close to a thousand spectators gather in the park, in addition to the team and their families.
I strain my neck to the point of pain, scrutinising the crowd, a fleeting image of Sean Fitzpatrick in a red baseball cap sparks my attention. My mind has an awful habit of conjuring him up in the oddest of places over the years, probably because he left so abruptly. Subconsciously, I’m constantly looking for closure.
I used to openly fantasise that I’d bump into him somewhere and give him a piece of my mind, some cleverly worded, cutting retaliation for the way he just abandoned me. The opportunity has never arisen, and now I doubt I want it.
‘You all know why we’re here today,’ Callum’s Coach booms into the megaphone from a makeshift stage at the front of the crowd. A long round of applause follows.
‘This is an annual event close to all of our hearts. I’d like to extend a special thank you to Callum Connolly, who is, of course, ambassador for Pieta House Charity. He organised everything once again this year. Callum looks like a brute, but there’s a heart of gold in that hollow chest somewhere.’ The crowd offers a thunderous round of applause.
I drop my sunglasses to cover my eyes and mask my shock. Callum organised this. I wouldn’t have believed he had it in him. Double brownie points for not using it to impress me earlier in the week. The remainder of the speech escapes me, stunned with the revelation that Callum was an ambassador for any charity, let alone this specific one – the one that I had turned to myself for counselling almost four years ago.
‘Now time for the results.’ I’m lured back into the moment by the noisy whooping of Shelly and Nadine as they wait to see whose man achieved the overall highest score. I’ve got a distinct feeling it’ll be my man in the first place. I’ll pretend he’s mine, anyway, seeing as that’s our agreement.
‘Third place goes to James O’Malley. Coming first in the sack might work with Nadine, but it wasn’t enough this afternoon, buddy.’ Coach calls James forward with a laugh and places a makeshift bronze medal over his head. The crowd dissolves into laughter and a steady flow of clapping ensues.
Nadine throws her arms around her fiancé proudly. James squeezes her toward him.
Marcus and Callum realise they’re head to head, jostling elbows playfully.
‘Second place goes to Marcus Williams. It’s not easy for a man of his size to transport an egg on a spoon a hundred metres.’
Marcus takes to the front but isn’t overly impressed with the fake silver medal hanging round his veiny bulging neckline.
I hold my breath even though I’ve got a fair idea of what’s coming. Callum takes my hand. I squeeze it tightly in anticipation, unwittingly drawn into the excitement of the whole event.
‘In first place, with the highest score overall, is the one and only, Callum Connolly,’ Coach shouts, raising his hands in the air. Callum’s obviously his first choice, as well as mine. The crowd goes wild.
Callum struts confidently to the front, hops effortlessly up on to the stage and accepts his makeshift gold medal with a modest grin.
‘Speech, speech, speech, speech,’ the spectators chant. Callum raises a hand to quiet them, a natural at working the crowd.
‘Save it for the Oscars; we aren’t interested,’ Marcus shouts rudely. A ripple of annoyance flashes through me. I can see the appeal of taking his Audi.
Callum ignores him and clears his throat. ‘Thank you all so much for coming here today and supporting this event, because without the spectators, there’d be no fundraiser. Hopefully, we’ve raised a large amount today for Pieta House and I’m fairly sure the loser, oops, I mean second place is going to donate another fifty thousand to the cause in a few short weeks.’
Marcus raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He hasn’t accepted defeat yet.
‘I’d also like to say a special thank you to a new friend of mine for joining us today…’ Callum trails off, staring directly at me.
Oh shit. I will the ground to swallow me up whole. He edges forwards, extending a strong hand out to mine and pulls me unceremoniously on to the stage with him, forcing me into the limelight despite my obvious reluctance.
‘This is Abby Queenan. You’ll all recognise her voice, but you mightn’t be familiar with her beautiful face. Her show, Ask Abby, airs daily at 11 a.m. on Ireland Today. I want to take this opportunity to remind everyone here, that it’s ok not to be ok. There are people here to help you. Ring Pieta House if you are in bother. Ring a friend, ring a family member. If all else fails, you can Ask Abby, who I’m proud to say is my date today.’
This wasn’t part of our deal.
Catcalls and whistling ensue. My cheeks flame in response. Blushing is becoming an awful recurring habit. Callum’s doing a great job of marketing my show. Candice will be over the moon, but I’m mortified, preferring the anonymity of the radio studio to the bright lights of the stage. I never would have cut it as an actress, no matter how many stage school camps my mother paid for.
‘Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,’ an increasingly restless crowd demands.
The chanting grows louder and more consistent.
Horribly vulnerable, my heart pounds erratically, and my tongue traces my tingling lips uncertainly. I haven’t kissed a man in years. I’ve forgotten how to. Saliva floods my mouth in anticipation. This is a terrible idea on so many levels. And it couldn’t possibly be any more public.
Frozen to the spot, unable to even swallow, uncontrollable desire floods every cell within me. I yearn to give the crowd what they want, not for their sake, but for mine. Callum faces into me, resting his arms lightly on my waist. He removes my sunglasses and sparkling eyes search mine for permission. I’m exposed and protected simultaneously. My head warns me I’m hovering at the entrance of the lion’s den, but my body craves him like a drug. I’ll never get a better excuse. Swept up in the moment, I offer the subtlest nod, submitting to the man that I swore wholeheartedly I wouldn’t.
His full, firm lips meet mine. His tender tongue pushes into my mouth, tasting, probing, dancing with mine. Sparks ignite my body, a match to the flame. I press my chest closer to his, enthralled by his warmth, dragging him towards me, wrapping my hands tightly around the nape of his neck, desperately hungry for more. The crowd melts. In this moment, there is only us. My rusty floodgates are thrust open. It can only mean a rapid downhill spiral from here on in.
‘Easy!’ Marcus interrupts from an all too close proximity.
‘Get a room,’ James yells.
‘Lucky son of a…’ Eddie breaks us up physically, resting his hand between the two of us on Callum’s chest. As he pulls away, the aching intensity of his glassy eyes mirror mine. That was the most sensual kiss of my life. I can’t meet his eye.
The crowd erupts, clapping wildly and wolf-whistling. The distinct clicking of cameras and flashing lights illuminate the stage intrusively. Coach tries to settle everyone once again with the megaphone, but the damage is done.
