I swallowed hard. Fuck. Now I had a whole new image of her to contend with. The image of her perfect body glistening wet in a bathtub, nipples just breaking the surface of the water. I shook the image from my head.Nope. Shut it down.
“You shouldn’t spend the night alone,” I said before I could stop myself. “Have a drink with me.”
She hesitated, arms crossing with a look that said she was weighing me. “You’ve got anactualWimbledon semifinal tomorrow.”
“One quiet drink,” I said, stepping closer. Close enough to smell the faint almond scent from her hand cream. The sweetness cutting through it was all her. “No funny business. Just company.”
Her head tilted, eyes softening, and for once she didn’t cut me down straight away. I could almost see the tug-of-war behind her eyes.
“Just one,” she said at last. “And I’m leaving at nine.”
“Perfect,” I said, willing my voice to stay steady even though my chest felt like it was splitting wide open.
I’d take nine o’clock. I’d take five minutes if it meant I got to be the one she was looking at instead of a book.
The air outside was warm and heavy, the last of July’s daylight stretching thin across the street. Orla walked beside me with her arms folded tight again, like she’d regretted saying yes the second we stepped out the door.
I couldn’t blame her.
I’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying not to picture her naked in a bathtub, and now I was supposed to sit across from her and sip a Diet Coke like a normal person, pretending I wasn’t thinking about how good her voice would sound with my mouth between her thighs.
Good luck, Reed.
“I scoped a place nearby,” I said, nodding down a side street. “Low-key. Outdoor tables. No paparazzi, promise.”
“I’d hope not,” she muttered. “I didn’t even put on mascara.”
“Tragic,” I said, glancing at her. “How will I survive this date?”
She stopped just long enough to level me with a side-eye potent enough to strip paint.
“Sorry. Drink,” I corrected quickly. “This…entirely non-romantic hydration situation.”
Her mouth stayed stern, but the tiniest twitch curved at the corner, and I grabbed onto it like a full-blown victory.
That smile. God, if she only knew what that did to me.
The pub was tucked behind a hedge of lavender, ivy climbing brick walls, soft lighting pooling beneath the string lights. It wasn’t my usual scene but I’d passed it once and thought,Ifshe ever says yes, I’m taking her there.
We chose a quiet table in the garden, shielded from the street and both ordered Diet Cokes. I was being responsible and sensible; I had to prove that I could behave. For once.
“So, Orla,” I said, leaning in on my forearm, watching the string lights overhead catch beautifully against her deep onyx hair. “All I know about you is that you’re Irish, beautiful, and you touch sweaty men for a living.”
She laughed. A real one this time, not just the reluctant twitch of her mouth. It was the most warm, unfiltered sound, and it poured straight through me.Man. I knew right then I could get addicted to that sound.
And just like that, everything seemed to slow down. The air, the lights, the noise around us. It was like she’d pulled me into her orbit without even trying.
“What more do you need to know?” she asked wryly.
“Everything,” I said, honest without even trying.
She gave me a mock-suspicious look, then relented. “Well… I grew up in West Cork, which basically means it rained sideways every day of the year. I’ve got two older brothers. One of them plays rugby professionally, so I’ve been around sports my whole life.” Her eyes dropped to her glass before drawing a breath. “My mum died when I was two, so my dad raised us all. I was draggedto muddy sideline after muddy sideline. I think I learned how to strap an ankle before I learned to tie my shoes.”
Something tightened in my chest. I knew that kind of loss, not the same, but close enough that it hit somewhere deep. My dad had left, sure, but the hole he left behind was its own kind of death.
“Rugby, huh?” I said lightly, steering us away. “That sport always terrified me.”
She laughed again. “Yeah, you’d get eaten alive.”
