Page 133 of Trying Sophie

Chapter Thirty-Six

Declan

Cian slida pint of beer across the table and I caught it before it crashed to the floor. Foam sloshed over the rim and rolled down my hand, pooling under the band of my watch. “Goddamn it, man. Be careful,” I garbled.

“You’re the one too drunk not to spill your fecking beer.”

“I’m fine,” I answered, meeting his eyes.

“Sure you are,” he responded, eyebrow raised condescendingly.

Fuck, I hated it when he got that look, all superior-like. He’d been using it on me since we were ten years old and he first realized he could do it. That look had irritated me back then and it continued to do so now, which was probably why he persisted in pulling it out whenever he felt the need to make a point.

“Fuck off,” I murmured when he laughed.

Across from me, Cian palmed his bottle, spinning it and tearing the label loose. “You’re a fucking mess, you know that?” he asked and I harrumphed.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re going to blow everything if you keep this shit up.”

“Everything already blew up. You know that as well as anyone since you see her every day.”

Taking a swig from his bottle, he said, “Actually, I don’t.” He set the bottle down and stared at it intently, as if the green glass contained the answer to the world’s greatest mysteries. “And I’m not talking about Sophie, although why you two aren’t together is beyond me.”

“Fucking Maggie,” I groaned, as if that said it all.

Cian’s eyes shot up and he glared at me accusingly. “You didn’t.”

“Fuck no!” I shot back. Then, with guilt dancing at the edge of my conscience, added, “Not for at least a year.” I hiccupped. “Okay, maybe like six months.”

“You fucker,” he seethed.

That’s when I remembered Cian had fucked Maggie too. In fact, he’d been the one who punched her v-card. “Ah shit.”

“So much for bros before hoes, you fecking hypocrite.” Then, for the next 30 seconds, he mimicked me telling him to stay away from Sophie, how I’d reminded him she was mine.

“You were done with her,” I slurred. “I’m not done with Sophie.”

He shook his head angrily. “You have it all—rugby, money, the best girl—and for the life of me I can’t figure out how you’ve managed to hold on to any of it.” He chugged the remainder of his beer in four deep swallows and then, changing subjects so quickly I had trouble following, said, “If Coach gets wind of your drinking, he’ll bench you.”

“He’s not going to bench me,” I snapped. “He’s not a fucking idiot.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“You don’t know shit.” I downed the last dregs of my own beer and slammed the glass down.

Undaunted by my outburst, he continued, “I know you have everything but you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Get your shit together because this is nothing compared to how bad it’ll feel when you lose your spot on the team.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” I wasn’t being arrogant. I might be an asshole, and now apparently a mean drunk, but my stats didn’t lie. Neither did the money both teams made from the use of my face for advertising and merchandising.

Cian smiled, or maybe it was a sneer. My vision was spinning and it was hard to tell. “How’s training going?”

“Fine. Same as always.” He was crazy if he thought a few lackluster practices were going to impact my standing.

“Really?” His voice dripped with skepticism. “Even after that last match?”

I shrugged. “We lost. It won’t happen again.”

---