Open Play (Passion Players), page 7
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ayanna knew exactly what Charlotte was talking about, but what did it matter? How would she see him again? Ask Eoghan for his number? “I mean, he’s cute and has nice abs, but . . .”
“See? Look, I don’t care who you do, but do one of them.”
“I can’t with you.”
“I just want you to be happy, Yaya. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and yes . . . sexually too. Pick one and go play.”
Ayanna’s last boyfriend had been years ago, and it had been eight months and counting since she’d been with anyone. When her desires flared, she’d seek out someone to satiate her urges, but intimacy had taken fourth fiddle to work, research, and speaking engagements. While she placed pleasure in the back seat, love, on the other hand, she’d locked in the trunk of an abandoned car somewhere. The present, however, provided her an opportunity to enjoy herself, carefree.
“I hear you. I mean, this is the best place, right? No one knows me, and I’ll be leaving soon.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Go ’head with your empowered self.”
Ayanna laughed and yawned simultaneously. “I’m hanging up. It’s late here.”
“Have fun, and don’t let me down,” Charlotte threatened more than wished her well.
“Bye.” Ayanna hung up and readied herself for bed. She took inventory of her day and logged the goodness in her brain’s “fun file.” She rolled over and grabbed her phone and sent Eoghan a text.
Ayanna: Happy to hang out tomorrow.
She didn’t expect Eoghan’s immediate response, but just as she laid her phone on the night table, it vibrated an alert.
Eoghan: I’ll pick you up at noon for lunch. Would like to take you out for dinner as well if you’re game.
“Wow. Lunch and dinner, huh? I didn’t realize we were trying to spend the whole day together,” she said to herself out loud as she typed a more temperate response.
Ayanna: We’ll see.
She had a date with Eoghan—most likely dinner, too, if all went well. Now if only her mind would stop flipping back and forth between brunet and redhead.
Shane had had one job. Pick up the girl, take her to the stadium, and let Eoghan impress the American with his match-day shenanigans. Deliver the woman into his friend’s arms and leave. That was it.
Then why had he almost kissed her? Why had it been so hard for him to leave her with Eoghan? And why the fuck did her lips and smooth, light-brown skin float through his head like an anchored boat? She wasn’t remotely close to his type. He tended to go for long-dark-brown-haired green-eyed lasses with small, delightfully perky tits. Yet he still smiled at the thought of Ayanna’s awful jokes, and his heart pounded against his rib cage at remembering her chest pulling against an O’Farrell jersey that he wished were his.
He parked his car and stopped at the lobby to get his mail. He hoped his quick pace would expel the pent-up energy circulating through him. What did it matter? Eoghan would bed her, and she’d be out of both their lives and on her way back to America in no time.
“Good evening, Mr. MacCallum.”
“Aye, James.”
“Great match today.”
“Yes, it was,” Shane returned.
“Think Ireland has a chance this year?”
“Ireland always has a chance,” he responded. “Good rest to your evenin’.”
He ducked into the elevator and rode up to his flat. One thing he still had left from his professional days was his Dockland apartment. He’d considered buying a home with a bit more property, but he had yet to decide if he wanted to remain in Dublin. The location worked for now with his job with the local Dublin Rovers, and he was satisfied with things for the time being.
His current mission, however? Get Ayanna out of his head, fast, and for a slew of reasons, including the top three: she was on a date with his best friend, he had a pact with said best friend about dating the same woman, and she lived in America. What good could come out of any interest in her?
“Blasted.” The woman wouldn’t dissolve from his mind. He settled onto his couch and turned on the TV. Highlights from the match he’d returned home from played on the news. The two announcers offered additional commentary on the success of the national team and the standings for the cup-qualifying groups.
Like Pippin and Eoghan, he’d played for the Dublin Rovers and the Ireland national team, including playing in the cup-qualifying rounds. Their success and any mention of either should leap to his primary focus, but Ayanna’s smiling eyes sparkled at him as if she were in the apartment with him. He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the announcer on the screen.
“The Europa tournaments are coming on fast. If the Rovers maintain their place, then they’ll secure their spot . . .”
She does smell like heaven, but in the springtime. “Like flowers,” he mumbled. He shook his head and surrendered to the hold she had on his sense and senses.
“. . . bringing home a World Cup title next year.” He caught the end of the announcer’s thought.
Since he and his friends were little ones, they’d dreamed of holding up various cup trophies for Ireland, especially the most coveted one. The dream, though no longer possible for Shane, was one he helped instill in players as a team liaison. He wanted to see Ireland win and celebrate with the players and coaches, but most of all with his friends. Despite all that had happened between him and Eoghan, they were still thick as thieves, just not as thick as they once had been.
He washed off the day, letting the jet pressure beat at the tension in his shoulders and softening muscles. Most would say he was still in good form, but during his days as a player, he’d been in machine shape. Back then, he’d been pursuing his passion and motivating his teammates to do the same. He dressed for bed and cracked open a beer he’d snagged from the fridge. He stretched his right leg and circled his ankle both ways. The injury ached from time to time, depending on the temperature, the humidity, and his activity. The leg that he’d once used to drive the ball into the net as one of the most sought-after midfielders to play the game.
Three years after he’d signed a five-year, multimillion-dollar deal, he’d suffered a career-ending injury. He guzzled his beer instead of reaching for the painkillers that rested on the night table by his bedside. Even now, he longed to be on the field, wished that things could have turned out differently, but after three years without playing, he did his best to stay connected to the game in any way possible.
He expelled the heftiness of the history. With so many overlapping tournaments, in addition to working with a new team physician, he had many long and exciting hours ahead of him. Tonight had been fun, watching a novice experience the game from such a close vantage point. When they’d jumped and cheered, it had made him remember to just be a fan again, not only a member of an organization.
Ayanna.
Why’d he bring her up again? Certain that the only way he’d get her out of his head was to go to sleep, he finished his beer and retired to bed. He didn’t expect to dream about her.
Shane woke up grouchy and cursing a beautiful short-haired vixen for his lack of sleep. He met up with the kit man and some of the coaches regarding the team’s upcoming match against Derry. He’d be away with Daniel Finnegan, their new head physician, though he’d much rather be watching the match from the sidelines if he could. Shane wasn’t sure why he needed to chaperone Finnegan, but he suspected that as player liaison he could be helpful to the doctor. Part of injury prevention included a level of intuition about player needs like R & R or more physical conditioning. Evaluating player personalities and whether some players downplayed or exaggerated minor injuries also contributed. No matter the reason, he’d be accompanying Dr. Finnegan.
Shane texted Eoghan to find out about his evening with Ayanna, for no other reason than he wanted to know.
Shane: How was your date last night?
Eoghan: No date. I was knackered after the game.
Eoghan: Meeting up with her for lunch today and dinner tonight.
Shane’s elation that Eoghan and Ayanna had had a short night quickly deflated.
Shane: The whole day?
Eoghan: And night if things go my way.
Eoghan: I’m dead for her, mate.
How many times had he heard that one? The phone creaked in his hand, and if Shane hadn’t been convinced of it before, he was certain of it now. He wanted Ayanna too.
Shane: Grand.
Eoghan: Still thinking of where to take her for dinner.
Shane thought of his evening with Ayanna, and only one place came to mind that would make her happy.
Shane: You should take her to the Shelbourne.
Eoghan: Not trying to marry her.
Shane: She mentioned it at the game. Take her there.
Eoghan: Guess it’ll do. Still training. Make us a reservation will ya?
The response shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. It had been years, but even though he and Eoghan had buried the hatchet, some of the comments, in this case texts, that Eoghan made ticked Shane off.
He typed and erased, typed and erased, sure that on the other end of the phone ellipses kept popping up in his and Eoghan’s text exchange.
Shane: Sure. Okay. Have fun.
Shane thanked God for texting, because if Eoghan knew how he really felt about his date with Ayanna, he’d surely box him right in the face.
He packed for his trip and called the hotel to make reservations for Eoghan and Ayanna. He texted Eoghan the time, and then he focused on getting to the airport. Perhaps his travel to Liverpool would abolish any visual of her at Eoghan’s flat and help erase the woman who trudged with heavy boots through his mind.
Chapter Seven
Early the next morning Ayanna sipped a cup of coffee and practiced discussing the case studies from her research until Kathleen invited her to breakfast. Kathleen had to get the boys to school but insisted on cooking a traditional Irish breakfast for Ayanna, complete with eggs, beans, blood sausage, and toast.
“We can’t possibly send you back to America without you having a proper morning meal,” Kathleen said when she fixed Ayanna a plate. The meal was more than she normally ate this early in the morning, but Ayanna’s excitement to enjoy the meal had her gobbling forkfuls of the tasty breakfast. All it needed was french fries.
When Eoghan arrived to pick her up at the McKinleys’, Ayanna was still stuffed and wished she’d worn leggings with an elastic waist instead of her skinny jeans. Though a driver manned the wheel, Eoghan hopped out and opened the car door for her. She took in his energetic form, from his loose-fitting T-shirt down to his snug jeans.
“Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday at some soccer game?” she asked.
“It wasn’t me,” he teased back.
She slid into the car, and he followed.
“I’m all yours,” she said.
“Are ye now?” He was even more handsome when his rascally smirk revealed he was up to no good.
“So where are we going?”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not at all.” She explained Kathleen’s massive breakfast.
“I also ate after training, but I could have another bite. It’s a nice day. How about a walk in Saint Stephen’s Green?”
Ayanna had seen the park during her travels but hadn’t spent any time inside. “Great,” she said. “Is it okay for you to be out in public? You have a driver.”
“He’s better at getting us out of a situation should a crowd form.”
“Oh, okay. But you said that doesn’t happen much, right?”
“Definitely.”
She squinted at him. Eoghan wasn’t her first high-profile rodeo. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Sometimes fans will give me a hard time about plays I could have done better or want a picture or autograph. They hover some, but they don’t attack me often. The paparazzi are another story.”
“Hmm.” Her mouth twisted to one side.
“Let’s be off,” he said, and they were on their way.
Saint Stephen’s Green reminded her of Central Park, only much smaller. Eoghan’s driver let them out by one of the entrances. The delightful patch of green was in the densest part of Dublin. She would have loved fewer naked trees, but the green grass and early blooms of red tulips and yellow dandelions sprinkling the gardens still made their walk a bright point.
Eoghan grabbed a bite to eat at a little burrito place.
“Burritos? Seriously? I come all the way from the States and not only have pizza here but also burritos.”
“Yeah, they’re popular here. There are at least half a dozen places to get them just around the green alone,” Eoghan stated. He stood at least six feet, and if his training resembled anything close to the cardio required in his games, then his body blew through calories. She was still stuffed from breakfast.
“Thank goodness I had a real Irish breakfast this morning.”
“With all the blood sausage and such?” he asked.
“Yes, and it was very tasty but heavy.”
“Good for you, Ayanna.”
They strolled for a while until they were deep into the park. The mostly bare trees offered hints of the fast-approaching spring. Tiny buds were forming, and the branches housed songbirds chirping their presence. They found a bench, and though people watched them, Eoghan didn’t seem to notice as much as she did. Maybe it was the nerves that had her partaking in Eoghan’s burrito.
“I thought you were stuffed. I would have bought you whatever you wanted.” He gave her half of a second burrito.
“I don’t want that much.” She nibbled at a small piece. “Never did I ever think I would be in Ireland eating a burrito with a professional soccer player.”
“Never did I think I’d be eating a burrito with an American from New Rochelle.” Their repartee and playfulness reminded her of Solomon at her medical institute. He and Ayanna often kept each other alert with bad jokes and wordplay.
“So how long have you been playing professionally?”
“Oh, about ten years now,” he said. “I was selected for academy early on and then called up to play in the under-twenty league.”
Ayanna had worked with athletes of all types in her career and had seen how playing at that level could take its toll on the body.
“Do you still love it as much as you did when you were younger?” Ayanna took another bite of her burrito.
“I love it still, but it’s a bit different,” he said. “I’m more focused on winning on a level that I could never comprehend as a boy.”
“I get it.” Ayanna had never dreamed she’d find a career she loved as much as rehabilitating people with injuries. On the flip side, she hadn’t comprehended the hard work, long nights researching, and physical exertion of massaging, stretching, and flexing muscles and joints until she was knee deep in her career. “I’ve never played sports to that level. Maybe a little tennis and running, just to stay fit.”
“Fit?” Eoghan smiled.
“What?”
“Well, when we say ‘fit,’ here it means good looking. You know, sexy like.” Eoghan winked and took a swig of water.
Ayanna did the same and remembered Shane’s first comments to her. “Oh.” She blushed. She handed him the rest of her burrito, but he fumbled the pass, and the food fell to the ground. They both went for it, and she banged her head into his.
“Owwah!” She rubbed her forehead. “Your head is so freakin’ hard!”
“Mine?” he laughed. The heel of his hand massaged his reddening skin. “Yours is harder than Drombeg stone.”
“Whatever.” She giggled despite the dull ache.
“Here, let me.” He replaced her hand with his and thumbed slow circles over the sore spot.
Ayanna sobered from their collision and looked up into Eoghan’s face, now inches away from hers. When his hand slid from her head to her cheek, she brought her hand to his but didn’t move his hand away.
“I’m going to kiss you, Ayanna,” he said.
“Okay,” she whispered and waited.
“Are you going to say that thing to me again? About permission?” he whispered inches from her lips, his breath tickling the fine hairs there.
“Not this time.”
His lips were soft and warm. They were both tentative for their first kiss, but soon Eoghan’s lips separated hers, and she felt the gentle touch of his tongue against hers. He didn’t rush, but his jagged breath, flowing into her mouth, signaled his deliberate pace. Their kiss wasn’t unpleasant, but she awaited sparks that never came.
“Mmm.” He pulled away from her. “You taste like a chicken burrito.”
Ayanna couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She then made a noise with her mouth as if she tasted something. “Kinda gross, but must say . . . you’re pretty tasty yourself.”
He grinned and tugged her to stand with him. “I thought I’d take you for a pint.”
“Sounds good.”
“In Kilkenny.” His eyebrows fluttered.
“But that’s more than an hour away.”
“Right. We should leg it now.”
An hour and a half later they were having a pint in Kilkenny after Eoghan’s driver cruised through the town.
“I grew up not too far from here. I was raised in Limerick,” he explained before they landed at the Smithwick’s brewery. They took the tour, and a few people spotted Eoghan, but like he’d assured her, they had a quick chat, got a photo or autograph, and then let him be.
“This country is seriously beautiful.”
“Filmmakers love it. They filmed plenty of Game of Thrones here.”
“My tour to Northern Ireland the day after we met did mention that quite a bit when we toured the Dark Hedges. I only wished we had more time there. We were up before the crack of dawn and got back pretty late.”
“It’s quite the journey. What’d you see up there?”
