22. Aisling
TWENTY-TWO
Aisling
PRESENT
“You’re gonna be there, right?”
I lean back and survey the empty conference room. “Yes, Theo. I already told you I’d be there. My flight is already booked.”
“Good.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “Because I made reservations for us at one of the best restaurants in the city. Oh—and you can watch me practice! I want to introduce you to all my teammates.”
“Great.” I try to muster up some enthusiasm. He’s been trying to get me to fly and visit for weeks. At first, I was reluctant. It’s not that I don’t want to see him…
It’s just that I’m starting to think Finn might be right when it comes to Theo’s motivations…and it really annoys me to admit that.
Why does he have to be right about everything?
“Nothing but the best for you,” he says with a smug possessiveness in his voice that makes me feel all kinds of uncomfortable.
“You know you didn’t have to,” I tell him, the words coming out in a rush. “We can just order in or something. Save the fancy stuff for your dates.” I throw a nervous laugh in at the end. Real smooth.
He grows quiet. “What dates, Ash? There’s no one else. I thought you knew?—”
“Theo,” I warn, knowing he’s moving into dangerous territory.
“Just come,” he begs. “I’ll pick you up at the airport and show you around. I know you’ve never been to London?—”
“Actually, I have,” I interrupt him, nervously tapping the tip of my pen on the table. “With my mom. Before she?—”
“Oh.” He sounds genuinely hurt like he can’t believe I’ve done stuff without him. “I didn’t know that.”
“We traveled to a lot of places. Remember the vlog I told you about.” The one you said you watched.
“Yeah, of course,” he says absently. “Well, you haven’t seen the city with me, and that’s all that matters, right?”
“I’ll see you in a week,” I manage to say before Shea peeks her head in, and I tell Theo I have to go.
“What’s up?” I glance at my watch and frown. While I wasn’t particularly looking forward to another meeting with our CEO, I still wondered, “Where is everyone? It’s ten past.”
“Didn’t you check your email?” She plops down in the chair next to me and casually places her boot-clad feet on the edge of the desk, one over the other.
Rebel.
“Um, no,” I answer, my face turning red with embarrassment at being caught out of the loop. “I was on the phone with Theo.”
“Well, our meeting was canceled,” she explains. “Finn had to head out early.”
“Oh.” I frown. Finn never leaves early.
“Anyway.” Her boots hit the floor with a heavy thud as she rises to her feet. “I’m going out. Wanna come?”
I look up at her. “What? It’s not even five yet.”
She laughs softly and tucks a short strand of jet-black hair behind her pierced lobes. “You’re so adorably American. Come on, let’s go.” She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door. “And when we get to the pub, you can tell me what you and the footballer were talking about that made your cheeks so red.”
If she only knew…
* * *
I’ve been living in Ireland for nearly three months, and I’ve been to more pubs than I can count. College Ash would be seriously proud if I weren’t still ordering Diet Coke like it’s my drug of choice.
Since that drunken night at Finn’s, I haven’t touched a single drop of alcohol. Not only does my liver need the reprieve, but I clearly can’t be trusted to make good choices when I am inebriated.
Especially when men are involved.
“I’m thinking about proposing to Torey,” Shea says, making me nearly choke on my soda. We’ve just settled into our booth, and I figured she would start with something like the weather or work gossip. Not a freakin’ proposal.
“Really?” I manage to say after regaining the use of my vocal cords.
She nods, a besotted smile curving her lips. “And I’m not even legless this time, so you know I really mean it.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you meant it then, too.”
“Yeah, same here.”
“So, what’s your plan? Are you going to take her out to dinner? Oh! Are you going to ask her parents for their permission?”
“God, no.” She grimaces. “I fancy her parents would rather she marry anyone but me. Well, anyone with a penis, that is.”
“Oh,” I say with a frown. “I’m sorry. That can’t be easy for her. Or for you.”
“It’s not, but she has her siblings. Lots of them—four sisters, two brothers.
“Jesus.”
“Him too, I suppose.” She laughs, then explains when she notices my confused expression. “Big traditional Catholic family. Lots of rules. Lots of expectations.”
“I assume your family wasn’t like that?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “My folks are both artists. My da has a studio where he sells pottery to tourists, and my ma teaches painting at the University of Galway.”
“Do your parents like Torey?”
“Yeah.” She smiles warmly. “They’re really great with her. The first Christmas I brought her home, she was so nervous. She didn’t trust that parents could be so?—”
“Loving?”
She nods. “It’s sad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I learned long ago that blood doesn’t make you family—love does.”
“You are right, and I can’t wait to make Torey officially part of mine. But I have no idea how to ask her. I don’t want to ruin this. I want it to be perfect. Like, really fucking perfect.”
I tilt my head. “It doesn’t matter what you do or how you ask; it will be perfect because you two are perfect together.”
She nervously bites her bottom lip. “Do you mind if I ask how Theo proposed? I just want to cross it off my list, since?—”
I laugh, and I can see her visibly relax. “It wasn’t the proposal that doomed us, Shea. But now that I think back, it maybe should have been a sign.”
“Why?” She leans in as if I’m suddenly Yoda and ready to reveal the secrets of the universe.
“Theo has one of those personalities, you know?”
“Really?” She snickers, and I roll my eyes. “I didn’t notice. The lad is a professional footballer. Of course, he has one of those personalities. It’s called an ego.”
“Well, I always played it off as confidence. The way he flaunted his skills in games and at parties, or how he seemed to dominate every conversation.”
“Ugh, gross. Please tell me that the conversation I walked in on earlier wasn’t the start of you two getting back together.”
“What? No! He cheated on me. I’m never getting back together with him.”
“Okay, we’re circling back to that later, but for now, I have a proposal to plan, so I need you to stay on track. Continue.” She waves a flamboyant hand in front of her, signaling me to proceed, and I chuckle.
“He proposed to me at a soccer—” Her brow lifts, and she clears her throat. “At a football match.”
“Okay…”
“Before Theo transferred to Real Madrid, he played a season for MLS in Chicago. It’s where we moved after college. He was a little bitter about it, to be honest. He thought European teams would be lining up to sign him.”
“Sounds kind of ungrateful if you ask me.” She shrugs.
I didn’t say anything at the time, but I felt the same way. It was one of his major faults. I understood that athletes are competitive, and that was often what drove them to success, but Theo never seemed content with anything. He always wanted more.
“Anyway, he proposed to me during halftime. His teammates dragged me out onto the field, lifting me onto their shoulders. When I got there, I was nearly blinded by the camera crew he invited to capture the moment. When it came to the actual proposal, he mostly addressed the crowd instead of me.”
“Bollocks.”
I nod. “Our proposal was a publicity stunt.”
“Do you think maybe he just got excited and lost focus?”
“No, it was literally a marketing stunt.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’d always talked about marriage, but it was something I expected we would get to in the future after he settled into his career. But, after not receiving the offers he wanted, his agent suggested that boosting his social media presence might help—that nowadays, athletes are celebrities as much as anything else. And what gets more clicks than a good romance story?”
“Stop.” Her expression turns sympathetic.
“Our proposal went viral, and his name went viral with it. He received the Madrid offer shortly after.” I shrug before meeting her gaze. “Look, it doesn’t matter whether you go big or small as long as it’s for her. She’ll love it because it’s you standing there asking. But, just to be safe, don’t do it at a football game.”
She laughs, noticing the emotion in my eyes. “Duly noted.”
After another round and a dozen solid proposal ideas under her belt, we headed to the register to settle up.
“I’m going to run to the restroom. If you reach the front of the line before I return, I’ll give you cash for my share.”
She waves me off. “Just go. You can owe me for next time,” she tells me. Then she adds, “And it’s the toilet, Ash. Or the jacks if you’re feeling particularly Irish.”
I roll my eyes as her laughter echoes through the crowd. I’m nearly at the back when I see him. I come to an abrupt halt. Ice spreads through my veins.
He is not alone.
It’s been weeks since he confronted me in the restroom. Weeks since he told me about his father and the reason he’s avoided me since our bus tour two years ago. We’ve barely seen or spoken to each other since then, reverting to our old game of dodge and weave as much as we can.
Until now.
He’s seated in a corner booth. It’s just the two of them. His large frame appears almost comical, squeezed into that tight space. Under the table, their knees nearly touch, and I feel sick to my stomach as I watch him lean in closer to hear her over the noise of the pub.
He nods, and I watch as the young blond drops her hand and covers his, squeezing it gently. He doesn’t pull away; he just stares at their linked hands as his thumb curls around hers.
Walk away, Ash.
Walk the fuck away.
Just as I’m about to turn, he looks up, and our eyes lock. At first, I swear he seems almost relieved by my sudden appearance, but then his expression shifts to something closer to horror or maybe even guilt—I’m not sure. I don’t stick around to find out. I pivot on my heels and dart back to the front of the pub, forgetting about the bathroom and Finn and his blond.
There isn’t enough air in this place.
I spot Shea, who looks equally shocked and impressed by my quick turnaround in the bathroom. Before she can say anything, I rush toward her and say, “You done? Let’s go.”
“Y-yeah.” She nods, glancing over my shoulder as if she’s checking for ghosts or axe murderers. “Sure.”
Nope, no axe murders. Just one lying ex.
They seem to follow me wherever I go.