He laughed. ‘No.’ Then he took another swallow of his beer. Given their proximity, Sweeney was afforded an up close and personal view of the way his whiskery throat bobbed and made her aware ofhisevery single movement.
Determined to ignore him, she looked back at her screen, but not for long. Had he just leaned in a little and… sniffed?
‘Are you… using my body wash?’
Sweeney glanced at him, startled. Completely knocked off balance, she swiftly denied his tentative enquiry. ‘No.’ Except she was. But she didn’t want to admit it because that would be weird. Also probably inappropriate.
He did sniff her this time. ‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘You are.’
‘No. I’m not.’ Sweeney went back to her screen. Fin didn’t stop watching her, however, waiting patiently as she tried to concentrate on the puzzle.
Sweeney actually started to sweat. She’d always been a lousy liar, which was why this whole engagement deception was so damn hard. After a minute, with his unwavering gaze firmly trained on her profile, she huffed out a breath and turned her head, fixing him with an exasperated expression.
‘Okay, yes. Satisfied?’
He laughed and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You don’t have any of your own?’
Sweeney shrugged. ‘I like yours better.’
‘You like to smell like a dude?’
She blinked. ‘DoI smell like a dude?’
It was his turn to squirm and look discomforted, which was… interesting. ‘You smell like you.’
Sweeney wasn’t sure what that meant, nor was she sure she wanted to now the vibe between them feltawkwardinstead of companionable. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked.
He frowned, as though he’d lost his place in the conversation. ‘Mind?’
‘Me using it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I actually prefer a lot of men’s fragrances to women’s, to be honest. The floral base they tend to use for women can be a little too light and sickly for my liking. My theory is that the spicier base notes in men’s fragrances, like the rum one in yours, have a much kinder chemical reaction with my pheromones.’
Sweeney wasn’t sure why she was going on about bases and pheromones, but Fin’s continued discomfort was confusing. As was her awareness of the space—or lack thereof—between them, so maybe she was just trying to fill it up with words? ‘Don’t worry, I’ll replace it when it’s all gone.’
Finally, he seemed to snap out of whatever the hell was happening right now. ‘You’d better,’ he fired back, a grin breaking across his face. ‘It’s my favourite.’
‘It’s not hideously expensive, is it?’
‘Nah. A two-pack cost me less than fifteen euro from Aldi.’
‘Even better. A cheap fragrance that smells like a million bucks.’ Sweeney smiled a smile she didn’t really feel. ‘You have good taste, Finley Murphy.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s what all the women say.’
‘I bet,’ she said with a laugh, but as they turned their attention back to the puzzle, there was a little undeniable part of her that didn’t like the thought ofwomenand Fin. Which was, of course, ludicrous.
But there anyway.
Fourteen
Fin was relieved to see, the next afternoon at training, that no journalists—either professional or amateur—were hanging around the field. Their presence had made him self-conscious so it was good to just be himself and not some trained seal in a circus. And good to know theirstoryhad fallen off the radar.
Of course, phones were still out everywhere, but he’d take shitty amateur pics on the local Facebook page over tabloid attention.
To his surprise, as he laid out the cones on the field in preparation for the drills the team was actually getting better at, Gordon Harris approached with Winnie.
