Page 36 of Trying Sophie

I shuffled my feet and looked at the ground.

I could probably tell him a hundred things about Sophie she didn’t even know herself. I’d made a study of her for years, and now that she was back, we’d talked more than I’d ever talked with a woman I wasn’t related to. Yeah, I knew her.

“That girl will cut a bitch,” I said, laughter in my voice.

“No, she wouldn’t,” he snorted.

“And she’s sarcastic and witty” I added. “She has a wicked sense of humor. She has the best laugh.”

“That girl’s one of the sweetest people I know. There’s nothing wicked about her. And when did you make her laugh?”

Ah, there it was. If Cian’s glares back at the pub hadn’t given him away, this conversation would have.

My gut clenched.

I hated that Cian had fallen for Sophie. No woman had ever come between us, and it scared me to think she might.

Briefly, I wondered if I could walk away from her if it meant salvaging my friendship with Cian. But just thinking that, my heart beat frantically against my ribs. No, there was no walking away from Sophie Newport. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Which was terrifying since she was leaving soon.

“You’re into her,” I observed. Pacing a few steps back, I asked, “How could you?”

Cian rubbed the black stubble on his chin. “Fuck you,” he spat. “I’m not sniffing around your precious Sophie.”

“No?” I asked. “You’ve only spent the last … what has it been … three weeks hanging out with her, keeping it a secret. I’m not an idiot.”

“You sure about that?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” I shouted, immediately regretting it when Mrs. Maloney stepped outside her gate to take her ancient dog on its daily walk.

“Hello Mrs. Maloney,” Cian and I chorused in unison.

She looked sharply between the two of us. “Cian, good to see you again. How’s the hotel coming along?”

“Just fine, Mrs. Maloney. Should be open for the summer season.”

She craned her neck and zeroed in on me. “And you, Declan O’Shaughnessy. Are you going to bring that cup back to Ireland again this year?”

The cup in question was the trophy for the Six Nations Championship. Ireland had won it three years in a row, but after a terrible upset at the Rugby World Cup where we’d had our asses handed to us by the Australians, and a few early losses for the provincial teams in the European Champions League, there was a lot of speculation whether Ireland could win an unprecedented fourth championship in a row. Personally, I wasn’t worried, but I was just one man on a thirty-five-man squad.

“That’s the plan,” I assured her.

“Well, you see to it,” she ordered, then shuffled away before pausing about ten steps beyond. “Oh, and you boys stop hollering at one another.”

She shook her head, and fixed us with a defiant glare before tsking for her corgi to follow.

“Yeah, Declan. Quit hollering at me.” Cian snickered, a smirk bordering on a full on laugh kicking up his lips.

“Get stuffed, arsehole,” I grumbled.

“As I was saying,” Cian continued, “You’re way off the mark, man. About me wanting her, and about her being someone she’s not.”

“I don’t think I am. In either case.”

“You’re only seeing what you want to see.”

“You think I want to see my best mate slobbering after the woman I might l—” Catching what I’d been about to admit, I snapped my jaw shut while Cian’s fell open.

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