On the plus side, I know the perfect guy.
It’s just a shame he’s such a cocky manwhore.
Chapter Three
RONAN
An image of my younger self fills the sixty-inch TV screen in the living room of my penthouse apartment. Watching re-runs of my last race isn’t healthy, but I can’t help it. One minute, I’m the most successful Olympic swimmer this country has ever seen, the next I’m a glorified swimming instructor passing the time with expensive whiskey and faceless women.
Okay, I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to teach at the most exclusive girls’ school in Dublin, the only school in Ireland that has a full-sized Olympic pool, and I actually enjoy the craic with the kids. Even so, it’s a huge lifestyle change.
One that I couldn’t have transitioned into without the help of my friend, Jake Nolan.
Jake and I trained together every day of our lives for years. For each of my gold medals, he secured the silver. There was always a fierce rivalry between us, but it was always good natured.
Unlike me, Jake adjusted to his retirement seamlessly. Probably because it coincided with his wedding to his childhoodsweetheart, Jessica James. They bought an old house in the west of Ireland and divide their time between renovating it and swimming in the sea. Jake might not have secured the gold, but he’s certainly winning at life.
When I was in training, my routine was watertight - pun intended. Now all I have is time and I have no idea how to fill it, apart from partying with my brother and serial shagging, but both pastimes are wearing thin.
I have my medals.
The memories of glory.
The sense of achievement.
But when it comes to something more meaningful, it all boils back to the same thing, the Olympic-sized hole in my life.
There’s only so many first dates a man can endure.
Only so many dull, repetitive questions a man can answer.
Only so many faceless fucks a man can sustain.
I have a ferocious appetite for sex. Nothing compares to the sensation of a woman’s body bucking and writhing beneath mine, legs wrapped around my waist while I drive us both to a decadent finale. But lately, nothing, or perhaps I should say no one, has been able to quench my appetite.
I’m looking for something more meaningful.
The problem is, the only woman I really want, I can’t have.
I have been obsessed with the same woman for two years, one month, and fifteen days.
A woman who never dates.
A woman who has carved out an entire career on being single.
A woman with long blonde hair, a body to die for, and two adorable daughters who I could hang out with all day.
Yep - you heard me right. I am obsessed with Savannah fucking Kingsley, “Single Sav,” the man-hater herself.
Why?
I have no idea.
There’s just something about her. Something deep inside of her calls to something deep inside of me. I’ve wanted her from the very first day I laid eyes on her, even if she did unapologetically write off my Aston Martin in the school car park. She crashed into my car, crashed into my life, and somehow hijacked my head and my heart.
But I can’t have her.
Savannah has cultivated her entire brand based on being single.
