Chapter 41 Robert
Robert
Another day, another Morrigan family event.
Today’s, however, is my girlfriend’s birthday party, so I don’t feel quite so apprehensive about being surrounded by people who hate me.
Or at least I wouldn’t, if she had let me give her my present this morning before she skipped out to meet her mum and sisters for afternoon tea.
Girlfriend.
I guess we’re really doing this.
My chest swells like I’m taking my first full breath of the day. The next one catches halfway, the way it always does when I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I should be happy. I am happy. But, it still feels like there’s a timer ticking somewhere I can’t see.
Instead of excitement, an uncomfortable ache cramps my stomach.
I’ve decided that tomorrow, I’m going to sit her down and talk to her about my options for writing a new story, a better story.
She already knows I’m under pressure from my boss, but I feel like if we put our heads together, we could collaborate on a fantastic story that ticks all the right boxes.
I’m not normally one to put things off until the last minute.
I like to prepare, research, write a few drafts.
But I’ve procrastinated the fuck out of this new draft with a new direction because I just didn’t want to write it, so now I have no choice but to write it all in one day and hope it’s enough to satisfy my boss.
And won’t make my new girlfriend want to break up with me for writing about her and her family. Or want to murder me. Again.
We stayed in bed until late. I brought her breakfast in bed and made her come another two times.
There’s no sweeter sound than making a woman come on her birthday, and this woman is insatiable.
She broke another rule by talking about her ex while we were snuggled up naked together and told me he’d never explored her body the way I have.
Bastard.
Little does she know I’ve only just begun.
She’s picking me up in a while. Against all rational sense and reason, she invited Sully to her party tonight as well. I tried to warn her that he’d only eat all her food and outdance everyone in the room, but she insisted. And the fucker accepted.
A honk outside tells me she’s here, and she’s early. Not that I’m complaining, I’ve been unsettled for the last… uh… six and a half hours that I’ve been without her. Fuck. I’m so done for.
I could lie and say I didn’t notice her absence, but there’s been a nervous ripple just under my skin and an anticipation in my gut at seeing her again. She beams at me when I open the car door.
“You look great.”
My chest swells, like I’m taking my first full breath of the day. “Thanks. I needed to scrub up to keep up with you.” I sink into the passenger seat. “You look incredible.” She’s wearing this dark blue, shimmery, jumpsuit thing that’s low cut and giving me a great view of her perky tits.
“You can’t look at me like that when we get to the party.”
I palm the back of my neck. “The fuck I can’t.”
“Then I need to get changed.”
I’m laughing and shaking my head. “I’m looking at you exactly the same way as I looked at you wearing my t-shirt yesterday.”
“Fuck.” She drops her head to the steering wheel. “You’re right. You are.” She snaps up her head and looks me dead in the eye. “When you look at me like that, it makes me want things.” She shifts her arse in the driver’s seat. “And I shouldn’t want those things.”
I open my mouth to tell her she can want sex whenever the fuck she wants it, however often she wants it, but she covers my mouth with her hand. “I’ve never had so much sex in one night. I’m feeling it.”
When I fight a smile, she widens her eyes. “My kitty is crampy.”
That pulls a laugh from me, earning me a slap. “It’s not funny, Robert. It’s achy, and throbby, and it has a pulse of its own.” She’s outright whining now. “And I want more.” She points at me. “This is all your fault.”
“What did I do?” I hold my hands up as she starts the car and pulls away from my house.
She wags her finger again. “Your dick is possessed.”
I’ve never been accused of having a magical cock before. I’m not sure whether to laugh, cry, or order some kind of award to present myself with.
“You’ve turned me into some kind of sex-craving beast.”
Shrugging only earns me a glare from the distressed woman navigating the roads of Larne. “I fail to see a problem with your, er, problem. You like dick, I have a dick.”
“I have stuff to do. I can’t just give up my career to spend my days in bed,” she exclaims on an exasperated sigh. “I’m hoping the novelty wears off, and I’m not this horny forever.”
“If the novelty wears off, I might die. I’d rather my dick wore off before you stopped wanting it.”
She gasps. “Wish for no such thing.” She pats my crotch, waking up the appendage in question. “Don’t listen to the bad man.”
I shake my head. “You want your present?” I’m eager to give it to her while the prying eyes of her family are nowhere to be seen.
“Right now, while I’m driving? No, thank you.”
It doesn’t take long to get to the Pigeon Club: a local landmark. It’s an old man bar with no fee to book their function room, which has a cash bar. There’s a space for a live band or DJ, a dance floor, and can easily cater for a crowd.
Thelma’s got a local caterer doing the food. She and Rhiannon’s sisters were decorating earlier, and from what Aoife told me this morning when I offered to help, the place is coming down with balloons.
“Are your mum and sister coming?” My Rhi-Bird side-eyes me as she pulls into a parking space. Not only did she invite my best friend, but she also invited Emma and Mum as well.
I nod. “Emma’s very excited to have a child-free night. She’s leaving the wean with her daddy.” I gesture to the rose gold, pink, and gold balloon arch under the massive Happy 30th Birthday, Rhiannon banner with a picture of what I assume is baby Rhiannon’s face.
“She might not make it in the building though; she’s terrified of balloons.” I laugh. “And Mum hates birds, so if there are any actual pigeons in this place, they’ll hear her screaming in Whitehead.”
Rhiannon laughs. “We’re early, and if I go in before I’m allowed, they’ll all get mad at me.” She pushes her seat back and turns to me. “Gimme my present.”
She points to the gift bag tucked neatly at my feet. Suddenly, I don’t want to give it to her. What if she thinks it’s stupid?
My body dries up, mouth, palms, skin. My heart races. She makes grabby hands in my direction. “Don’t chicken out on me now, Robert.”
“I’m nervous. What if I fucked up?”
She tips her head back and lets out the belly laugh I love hearing. The one that tells me she thinks I’m fucking ridiculous. “I know you love talking about my ex, but his idea of a good birthday present was a new Dyson hoover.”
I groan. “He didn’t.”
She nods. “Thought he was the bee’s knees when he gave it to me too. Gets better.”
I shake my head. “It can’t possibly.”
“He got me an electric toothbrush for Christmas.”
Her words both infuriate me and make me feel better all in one go. What a piece of shit. “Well”—I hand her the bag—“if nothing else, please know that these gifts came from the heart, even if I miss the mark.”
She touches her chest. “You’re too sweet, Robert McAllister.” She peers into the gift bag. “Robert.” She meets my eyes with a tearful gaze of her own. She plucks out the leather-bound journal.
She’s always got a notebook in her hand during training. When she’s on the sidelines, she’s scribbling frantically, making notes as to how to make her game better, or how to better slaughter the opposition.
She traces her fingers over her debossed jersey number on the cover.
She opens it and gives a watery laugh when she reads the inscription: “To Rhiannon, bring the fucking juice. Happy thirtieth. All my love, Robert.” She doesn’t linger on the L word, thankfully.
I’m not ready to tell her I think the L word is sprouting roots in my chest. She clutches the journal against her body and gives it a squeeze. “I love it. I really, really love it.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my chest starts to ache with tightness, so I let out a slow release of breath.
Next, she pulls out a little cardboard box. Nestled inside is a succulent charm for the laces of her rugby boots. “You know I’m a plant killer, right?”
I nod. “But when you’re having a hard game, and you feel defeated, this little plant will remind you of me.
And you’ll remember that I believe in you wholeheartedly, there’s literally nothing I don’t think you’re capable of.
I trust your judgement, your capacity to win, and your strength.
Hopefully some days it’ll be enough to pull you back to believing in yourself. ”
She blinks at me, the cab of the car shrinking around us as her eyes search my face. Tears stream down her cheeks. “You’re such a fucking romantic.”
I shrug, my face on fire under her assessing stare.
“Guilty as charged, I guess. But your dad seems to have instilled an uncertainty in you where he shouldn’t have.
You’re fucking good at what you do, Rhiannon Morrigan.
You’re a force of nature. And you don’t need a weathercaster to tell you what the forecast is. ”
The metaphor loses its way a little, but I’m hoping she connects it to her father, and how he polices her game.
She blinks at me, tears still trickling down her face. “How the fuck am I going to contend with this on your birthday?”
I shake my head. “It’s not a competition. And while I don’t know you all that well, I know enough to know how much you question yourself when you really don’t need to.”
At the bottom of the bag lies the biggest risk so far.
“This is heavy.” She hauls out the big book and sits it on her lap. Tossing me a curious glance, she lifts the cover of the scrapbook. After a few seconds of silence and turning the pages, she turns to me. “Wh-what is all this?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s a collection of every news story about you I could find from the day you started playing rugby.”
Her mouth drops open. “This must have taken… how?”
I flash her a grin. “I know a guy.” I am the guy, but working at a local publication and having connections with people in the media industry comes in handy sometimes.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m in a tight hug as my girlfriend cries on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
I can’t believe no one’s done this for her before, but I keep that thought to myself. I don’t want any more bad blood than necessary going into tonight’s party.
“This might be the best birthday present I’ve ever received.” She kisses every ounce of breath from my lungs. It’s desperate, consuming, and so full of something I can’t name that my heart grows right here and now in this car.
In for a penny, in for a pound. When she pulls back to catch her breath, I cup her face with both hands. “You don’t need to perform well to earn love.”
A sob catches in her throat, like I’ve uncovered her darkest secret. Maybe I’m really just talking to myself. Maybe I’m trying to convince us both that love doesn’t have to be earned. My hands tingle the way they do when I have too much adrenaline and nowhere to put it.
“I love you just fine without any performance or expectations.”
She gasps, her eyes going wide. She’s still staring at me like I just dropped a grenade in her lap, and maybe I have. The rush fades fast, leaving that familiar hollow behind, the one that whispers: You’ve gone too far again, McAllister.
“You c-can’t. It’s only been a month!”
“Not to be a hopeless romantic, but some people fall in love at first sight. I know in my heart I love you. I’m okay waiting for you to accept it and realizing you might love me a little too.”