Page 24 of Red Card (Prescott University #1)
“Yeah, definitely a good place.” His voice lowers.
“This is the part where you smile and show the lad that you’re interested in continuing the conversation.
You’re in control, but it gives him the opportunity to ramp up the flirting, keep it going.
It’s the small signals that you need. Let’s skip to the questions, you’re doing great, St. James. ”
His instructions give me an odd sense of reassurance, and it helps me relax some.
“What’s your major?” I blurt out the first question that comes to mind. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s something I don’t already know about him. It’s simple yet hasn’t been something I’ve thought to ask before now.
“Business management.”
My brow lifts in surprise. He doesn’t at all seem like a business kind of guy.
I open my mouth to say something about his rugby career, then I remember that I’ve been strictly forbidden from mentioning sports, so I snap it shut.
“What about you?” he adds, leaning in slightly.
“Sports medicine. I’ve always loved learning about how the body works, especially when it comes to athl—” I stop short, and Cillian chuckles, humor dancing in his irises.
Damnit.
Sports. Yet again.
“You said you were a foodie. What’s your favorite?” he asks before I can retreat into my head, and I almost sag with relief.
“That is… an impossible question. I love all food.” Laughing, I reach for my Coke and place it back down after taking a sip. My fingers trace the rim of the cup while I try to think of what my favorite food actually is if I had to choose. “Probably chicken nuggets from McDonald’s.”
“Bloody hell. You Americans and McDonald’s.” Cillian blanches, the disgust evident on his face. His brow pinches and his nose crinkles like it’s the most horrid thing he’s ever encountered.
And I nearly lose it. I’ve never seen someone be so personally offended by a chicken nugget.
I bring my hand to my lips as a giggle slips free. “Hey, no judging. I’m a chicken nugget kinda girl.”
He eyes me warily, still shaking his head, but his lips twitch in amusement. “Out of all the foods, you choose fake chicken. Sorry, love, but I’m judging you for that. What do you like to do for fun? A hobby?”
“I don’t even want to tell you because you’re just going to judge me again!” I laugh.
He leans closer as he says, “I promise I won’t judge you. Tell me.”
I don’t believe him in the least, but whatever. “I like to… cross-stitch.”
“Fascinating. You really struck me as more of a crochet type of girl,” Cillian murmurs with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen him wear.
I almost believe he truly thought that until his lips split in a smile that meets his eyes, crinkling them slightly in the corners. For a guy who tackles other guys on a regular basis, he has a flawless smile. Perfect teeth. Blindingly bright and straight.
His laugh settles around me, the low timbre making my belly tighten with something like arousal.
God, am I turned on right now from his… laugh? It’s easily becoming one of my favorite sounds.
“Stop laughing at me, Cillian! I told you that you’d judge me. You shouldn’t talk shit until you’ve tried it,” I say defensively. “It’s relaxing and a way to turn my brain off when I need a breather.”
“Not judging you, St. James. It’s cute.” His lip quirks.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, lifting my drink and taking a sip from the straw.
That’s when it hits me. We’ve been going back and forth for a while now, and his teasing and playfulness have kept me completely out of my head. Every time I retreated, he simply pivoted, pulling me right back out before I could stress about it.
Yet again, I realize how effortless it is to talk to Cillian.
To laugh with him and talk about things that normally would make me freeze up around someone else.
He doesn’t make me feel like I’m not meeting expectations, or like I have to be worried that I’m going to say something stupid.
Because even if I did, he wouldn’t run in the opposite direction.
Fake date or not. And despite my… growing attraction for him, I am able to have a conversation without rambling or going off on an awkward tangent.
“Wanna go play pool for a bit?” Cillian nods toward the tables tucked in the back of the bar that are currently unused.
Hesitating, I admit, “Uh… actually, I don’t know how? I’ve never played before.”
“Add it to the list of things I’m teaching you, St. James.
C’mon. I used to play a lot back in London at the pub by my flat.
” His sneaker-clad feet hit the floor as he slides out of the chair and offers me his hand, gently pulling me up from mine.
“Actually, my… mum, she uh… was the one who taught me to play.”
I can tell by each tight syllable it was hard for him to tell me that. Every time he’s mentioned his mom to me, a pained look passes over his face, his jaw tightening, his throat pushing down a swallow.
Placing my hand on his arm, I say, “Teach me.”
After a quick rundown of the rules and how to win, Cillian thrusts a pool cue in my direction, instructing me to break. I’ve got beginner’s luck in my favor.
“Do you miss it? Home, I mean. London.”
There’s a beat of silence hanging in the air between us before he says, “Sometimes. I miss the familiarity, our old flat. Going to Borough Market on Saturdays with Mum and Ais. Going to watch London Irish with the boys and the occasional England match at Twickenham if we were lucky. Shit, and I miss Greggs. Sausage rolls.” He clarifies when the space between my brow furrows in confusion.
“Bloody hell, what I would do for Greggs right now.”
It’s the first real peek into his life he’s given me, and I selfishly want to hoard this side of him all to myself.
“Sounds amazing. I want to visit London one day; it’s on my very long bucket list.” I give him a smile as I bend, placing the tip of the cue stick near the bottom of the rack. This is going to be terrible because I have quite literally never done it before, but whatever.
“You should. Europe is an amazing place, to live, to visit.”
When I pull my arm back to shoot, the tip blows past the balls, missing them entirely, and I can hear the low chuckle from Cillian behind me.
“Like this,” he murmurs, and then I feel the heat of his hard body behind me, his breath causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise and send my heart into overdrive.
His palm covers mine on the pool cue, and then he’s bending me slightly farther, lining the tip up with the rack. His fingers are strong and warm against my skin. My breath stutters as my pulse begins ricocheting inside me.
God, he’s so close that I’m having a hard time focusing on anything but him.
“Rory?”
I twist to face him, and now we’re so close that I can practically count the constellation of light freckles that are scattered along the bridge of his nose.
His dark, thick lashes fan out along his cheeks as his gaze drops to my lips and lingers there, as if he’s thinking of… kissing me, or something .
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” he breathes quietly as he lifts his gaze back to mine. “And I really fucking want to kiss you.”
I swallow. “Y-you do?”
He nods. “Fuck yeah, I do.”
Holy shit. I mean… is this even fake right now?
Because this doesn’t feel like pretend. I am pretty sure that my panties are soaked, and I’m going to pass out any second in this stupid bar from how hard my heart is pounding in my chest.
The song changes around us, suddenly much louder, the heavy bass causing the glasses on the table behind us to clink together loudly.
And only then am I able to pull myself together long enough to form a real thought.
When I open my mouth to speak, a wide smile flits to his face and he steps back, arching a brow. “A plus, St. James.”
I blink, trying to clear the lusty haze from my head.
I nearly groan.
“That’s it?”
He nods again. “Yeah, and you aced it. See? You took everything you learned and look what happened.”
“Yeah, uh… yeah,” I say, tearing my gaze away as I set the pool cue against the table. I can’t believe I just got so caught up in that performance.
I realize it was an act, a moment in character, but it truly felt like something different.
And also just how badly I wanted it to be real.
Just how much I wanted him to kiss me too.