Page 24 of Trying Sophie

Chapter Eight

Declan

“How’s it then?” Cian asked, concerned over the sound thrashing the team had taken at the weekend.

“Feck me, it was brutal,” I groaned, rubbing the bruise on my shoulder. “It’s like they were trying to take me out on purpose.”

“Fecking mercenaries,” he hissed over the line. “Most of those eejits aren’t even French.”

Cian hated athletes who went wherever the biggest paycheck could be found. Right now that was in France, where team standings were bolstered by the biggest and baddest southern hemisphere players they could hire.

Which is how I’d taken a beating from some Fijians during a tougher than usual match in Paris. At six-foot-one, I was smaller than most of their team. Pitting my speed and agility against their size and strength, I’d done my best to manage the match, which had resulted in a handful of successful penalty kicks and a late-game try, but they’d come at a price. Getting out of bed the next couple of days was going to hurt.

“When are you coming back around?” Cian asked.

“I dunno,” I evaded.

The truth was I was tired of my mam’s constant questions about when I was going to bring a nice girl home and make her a granny. When I reminded her I was only 27, she reminded me she’d had both of her kids by then. I’d stopped trying to explain why that sort of life wasn’t going to work for me.

“Come on, it’s been over a month since we’ve had a proper pint.”

“You could always come here,” I offered, knowing he wouldn’t.

Cian hated Dublin. Even when he lived there, he’d gone home often to get away from the crowds and noise.

“Nah man, I got real work to do.”

Yes, he did. I knew that, but I was starting to hate when his tone made it seem like he had a real job while I was just playing around with rugby. If things had turned out differently he wouldn’t be so flippant.

“When are you next off?” I asked.

I was hoping I could get him to come down for the next match. It’d been months since the lads had seen him. More than that, it’d been forever since we’d gotten shit-faced and went in search of pussy.

As the thought crossed my mind, Sophie’s face flashed through my head. I’d made some inroads with her and I was beginning to think she secretly enjoyed our banter. But if she knew what I was really like—the man who went out every weekend and fucked a new girl—she’d want nothing to do with me.

Note to self: no bar hopping.

“I could probably do with a visit next weekend. Would that work?” Cian asked, breaking into my thoughts of the green-eyed beauty.

“We’re off to Wales then.”

“Looks like you’re on your own then, boyo.”

I was about to tell him I was never alone when two blondes recognized me. It used to be that I could grab a bite or a cup of coffee at the cafe by my place without being harassed, but those days were gone.

“Hang on,” I told Cian, holding the phone to my chest while the taller of the two approached.

Up close she was a lot younger than I’d initially thought, her age masked by the vast amounts of makeup she wore. Now that she was in front of me, I guessed her to be about 16 or so but when she giggled and turned pink under all that face paint, I pegged her for even younger.

“Oh my god, are you Declan O’Shaughnessy?” she squealed.

I gave her my most charming smile and watched her melt. “I am,” I acknowledged, putting my hand out to shake.

She hesitated, then reached for me while looking over her shoulder to make sure her friend was watching.

“Oh my god, it’s him,” she screeched.

“And you are?” I asked, trying to be kind instead of annoyed.

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