Page 155 of Trying Sophie

“A family you can’t stand,” she reminded me irritably.

Shit. She had me there.

And so I seriously considered what she was telling me. Was there really a good reason I couldn’t have Dublin as my home base? I could keep an eye on my grandparents—from a few miles away though; I was done living above the pub with them—and I’d have better access to Europe which would make my trips so much easier. Mentally, I created a quick pros and cons list, and was surprised to find the latter nearly empty.

“You love him Sophie, don’t run from that.” Katie’s eyes misted with tears and she swiped her eyes with her fists. “Fuck, look what you’ve gone and done.”

Her words were fierce but her tentative smile told me she would be okay. Eventually.

“Jackson didn’t deserve you,” I told her. “And yes, I love him. The way I feel about him turns me inside out.”

So why wasn’t I already on my way to his match? Because I was an idiot, that was why.

“I’m going to do it.”

“Thank Christ,” Katie exclaimed, her hands thrown victoriously in the air. “I know you don’t think I’d ever actually do it, but I was so going to punch you in the tit if you chickened out on him,” she said, forming her hands into fists and did a little shadowboxing dance.

“I know, I know,” I laughed. “You’ve been looking for a reason to get your hands on my boobs for years now. Happy to say you still haven’t gotten your chance.”

“Only because you inevitably do the right thing,” she remarked. “In the end.”

* * *

When I’d lookedup the train schedule there’d been no way for me to make it to the stadium before kickoff. As it was, driving in, finding parking that wasn’t a mile away, and then walking to Lansdowne in the freezing cold had been cutting it close, but in the end I’d plopped down in my seat with seconds to spare.

Both teams were already on the field when I arrived, Declan taking center stage as he prepped for kickoff. I’d never seen him play in person but I remembered watching, transfixed, the first time I’d watched him on TV.

Once Declan kicked the ball and his teammates raced down the field to do battle against their opponents, all hell broke loose as around me thousands of fans cheered Dublin on. Within moments I was caught up in the frenzy, stomping my feet, clapping my hands, and shouting along with them, my American accent (and general lack of knowledge about the sport) causing a few people to do double takes.

A man best described as a beast tossed Declan the ball and for a moment it looked like he was going to get tackled but then he maneuvered around a crush of opponents while the beast blocked their charge. Declan danced a different player, also much larger than him, tucked the ball close to his side, and charged over the goal line.

“Touchdown!” I screamed, jumping up and down with the rest of the crowd as everyone in the stadium lost their minds.

The couple sitting next to me glanced my way, a curious expression on their face, before going back to their cheering. People in every section waved green flags and sang a tune whose words I couldn’t make out. The celebration went on for a good 30 seconds before a hush descended. I scanned the field, my eyes peeled for an injured player, but I needn’t have worried because there he was, standing tall and proud, all alone, the ball propped in front of him for a kick. I watched as Declan checked the wind, adjusted his position, eyed the goalposts, and then let the ball fly. It arced through the air, dead center between the posts. Collectively, the crowd jumped to their feet again while I sat rooted in my seat, my hands clenched tight, as a smile cut across my face.

On a field of thirty men—all prime examples of exquisite masculine strength and form in their own right—I only had eyes for him. As far as I was concerned, no one else on that field could come close to matching Declan O’Shaughnessy. Maybe it was because I’d seen—experienced—exactly what his body was capable of that I was so confident in my assessment, but I knew Declan was something else entirely.

“God, he fucks like a machine,” I heard whispered from behind me and my whole body seized up and ice filled my veins. I knew that voice. Every other sound in the stadium receded as my ears zeroed in on Maggie’s words as her friend joined the conversation.

“Oh shut it you cow. Everyone already knows you had sex with him, just like everyone also knows you aren’t the only one.”

Maggie let out an indignant huff. “I bet he didn’t pin them up against the wall and go at it like animals. I made him wild.”

Before I could prevent it, an image of Declan thrusting into her popped unbidden into my head.

“No, you didn’t,” the other woman said as she laughed skeptically. “That’s just how he is.”

“How would you know?” Maggie accused, her voice angry with accusation.

“Jesus Christ,” her friend answered. “Do you not hear how people talk about him? Do you not hear yourself right now?”

“You’re lying,” Maggie spat.

I heard her friend shift behind me. After a couple of seconds, she said, “Did he refuse to kiss you? Were you allowed to look him in the eye? Would he only take you from behind?”

“That’s the way I like it,” Maggie argued, her story growing flimsier by the second. “He said, ‘Tell me how to fuck you, lovely Maggie, and that’s what I’ll do.’ I called the shots, not him.”

Her friend harrumphed. “Sure you did.”

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