Page 39 of Since We're Here
Patrick
Also, there’s a soccer game at the park if you’re interested in watching. We’re about to start. My sister’s here and suggested I invite you. She said something about you being sad and lonely, so...
Me
There’s no way your sweet sister said that about me. I’m a social butterfly, happy and outgoing, and I have thirty-six thousand friends. Never sad or lonely
Patrick
Sweet sister? Not sure who you’re talking about
Me
I’ll see if I can fit you in my schedule today. I’m very busy
He texts an eye roll emoji and I snort a laugh.
Patrick’s inviting me to watch him play soccer? I dart back into the flat and get dressed as fast as I can, sweating my ass off and choosing another dress before grabbing my new rain jacket on the way out. At the bottom of the stairs, I pause to touch the bike before sliding out the door of the flat to street level, a grin on my face.
Friends. I’m making friends. See? I’m already starting over here, even though it’s more like a practice run. I stride down Main Street and turn toward the park in the middle of town.
The players are all already on the field as I approach Saoirse, who is standing on the sideline. Her daughters are on a picnic blanket behind her, wrapped in warm jackets and winter hats, Niamh playing with a pair of Barbies, Erin staring down at her iPad and probably rubbish YouTube.
“Morning, Saoirse.” I slide next to her, adjusting my hood to block the lightly falling rain.
“Maddie, hey!” She turns to me with those hazel eyes, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail beneath a colorful winter hat. “Did my brother actually text you?”
I nod.
“I told him to. I’m shocked he listened. I would’ve, but I don’t have your number.”
“We can fix that.” I pull out my phone and text the number she gives me right away. The ref blows the whistle to start the game. I turn to watch.
Specifically, the smoking hot goalkeeper.
Patrick towers in front of the net. His thighs are thick in athletic shorts, and his biceps push against the sleeves of his tight, long-sleeved green jersey. He stands in the middle of the goal, arms hanging by his sides, padded goalkeeper gloves making him look like some kind of fighter. As I watch, he pulls the hem of his jersey up to wipe moisture from his eyes, revealing the bottom half of his chiseled abdomen—much more than I caught a glimpse of during his yawn the other day. The muscles in my lower belly clench and all my blood seems to rush between my legs. I reach in my hood and scratch my neck roughly to feel something somewhere else.
The rain falls harder. Saoirse pulls her hood over her winter hat. Her girls open an umbrella and huddle together.
I groan. “Does it always rain in Ireland?”
“Yes, it does. It’s cold enough to need a hat and gloves, but usually not enough to snow. Lovely, huh?” She glances back at her daughters. “We won’t last long. Probably just another few minutes.”
The men are already slipping all over the place, the ball slick on their feet. Water is dripping off Patrick’s face, and he shakes his head to clear the moisture as Liam dribbles up and takes ashot at goal. Patrick easily catches it and throws the ball three-quarters of the way down the field. Liam curses and chases the ball. He’s cute, too, and really would be a better choice for me to fawn over, not the man I’m renting a flat from, working for, and planning a road trip with.
Patrick turns toward us and raises a hand, not smiling, but keeping his eyes trained in our direction while the ball’s on the other half of the field. I wave back, although certainly he’s waving to his sister or his nieces.
Next to me, Saoirse huffs a laugh, and I turn to her watching me with her eyes crinkled at the corners.
“What?”
“It’s just that I haven’t seen my brother acknowledge another woman in public in a long time.”
“I’m sure he was waving to you.” My cheeks burn. And even if the wave was for me, we’re friends. I’m absolutely not thinking of that hot hallway kiss, the one that definitely doesn’t haunt my days and nights. Thankfully, there’s zero percent chance he told his sister aboutthatincident.
“He already said hi to us.”
I look back on the field, where Patrick’s standing with crossed arms watching the game. Someone scores and his team celebrates, Patrick pumping his fist in the air once.
