Page 9 of Kick Out of It

Nora and Leo perk up at the offer and I apologise for using my phone at the table to text my sister, Bridget. As I type, they whisper to each other. I can’t help laughing to myself overhearing Leo saying in rapid succession, “I might get to play soccer—football—in Ireland! Jake’s going to be so jealous. I’ll have to tell Auntie Elle. Maybe she can come visit us and see me play? It’srealfootball…”

“Shh, let’s not get our hopes up, peanut. He mentioned the season already started.”

My sister is good friends with the organisers who run the league my nephew plays on; I know she’ll pull strings for me. Also, since I helped Ireland win the World Cup, it has to count for something, right? If I have any say in it, Leowillplay this season. “What position do you play?”

“Forward,” he replies, puffing out his chest. “Just like you.”

I lean in and keep my voice quiet. “Then why did you tell our serverI’mthe best striker? Next time, remind them that it’smewho has the pleasure of dining withyou.”

Nora’s cheeks are rosy and I hope she doesn’t think I’m buttering up her son to get to her. Leo is a fun lad and I’m genuinely having a grand time talking with him. Though, mild guilt seeps in that I like Nora but haven’t outright told her.

I ask myself the same question I asked Keith. The answer is simple. Growing up with an absentee father, I would never bond with a child of a single mum I’m dating, without being one hundred percent certain it’s not temporary.

For any other woman, I’d be running the other way. Nora? Fucking hell. Those sheepish smiles, the way her eyes light up while talking to her son, our late night talks, how she undeniably undressed me from head to toe when I saw her at the airport…

This is more than a crush. I like her. A little too much.

CHAPTER 4

NORA

Dinner with Ronan was great. Better than great. Dinner was…

I can never talk to him again.

Ever.

He’s charming, handsome, sweet with Leo, and the last man I should consider dating. I don’t think what happened tonight was officially a date, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Why does he have to be a damn footballer?

Once Leo is asleep, I check my social media one last time for a quick, two-hour doom scroll, only to find a new message from Ronan.

Ronan

Thanks a million, my little night owl. Dinner was grand.

My heart skips a beat at the small little word—my. I’m not his. It’s always just been a teasing ‘night owl.’ Why is he flirting with me? Is he flirting? I could be reading too much into it.

Why are you thanking me? You refused to let me pay!

Of course I refused. Can’t call it a date if you’re paying.

How was that a date? Leo was with us.

Also, to be clear, it wasn’t a date.

I’ve mentioned to you before, if you’re dating a single mum, you’re also dating their kids.

Ronan shared with me off the record that his father left when he was three. My own father died when I was a teenager. And now Leo’s father isn’t around to see him grow up. Ronan understands the dynamic, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s implying there’s something more between us.

It wasn’t a date. We’re not dating. We had a meal together. That’s all.

You got me there, darlin. Leo and I ate. You had a poor excuse for beer.

You’ve been in America too long. Who orders pale ale?

Precisely. You ate, I did not. It wasn’t a date.

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