His face grew an unsightly shade of reddish purple just before he bellowed, “You can take your standard operating procedures and shove them up your skinny arse!”

I flinched, my mouth falling open in disbelief. Jenna and Sean hadn’t been lying when they’d called Connors grumpy. He was like a great, billowing toddler throwing a tantrum.

“This is my space, my room, and you don’t have privileges.”

The big man charged toward me. Automatically, I stepped back, holding my hands up between us.

Before I could manage another word, he slammed the door shut in my face, yelling from the other side, “And stay out!”

I’m not too proud to admit, I gaped at the door. I stared and gaped, not quite able to reconcile this version of Connors with the knowledgeable yet circumspect fellow I’d met during the interview.

I don’t know how long I gaped—maybe a minute, maybe fifteen—but when a familiar voice asked, “Are you lost?”

I jumped.

I gasped.

I turned.

I found Bryan Leech leaning against the concrete wall, regarding me with a quizzical smile.

Let me amend that.

I found a grass-stained, sweaty, tattooed and shirtless and gorgeous Bryan Leech regarding me with a quizzical smile.

Ah . . . forks.

Chapter Six

THEBryanLeech: Delayed gratification is worth it in the end, right?

SeanCassinova to THEBryanLeech: Not if you’re talking about the expired prunes in your cupboard.

RonanFitz to SeanCassinova and THEBryanLeech: I hope that isn’t a euphemism o.O

*Bryan*

“Are you lost?” I asked, vaguely amused. I mean, I could be scary when the mood took me, but in general my demeanor didn’t usually make women flee my presence like I was a hobo wearing a flasher’s trench coat.

Unless that woman was Eilish Cassidy.

“No, not lost at all,” she replied curtly and moved to step by me. She kept her eyes trained on my face.

Didn’t want to tempt herself with the sight of my bare chest, eh? I liked to imagine that was the reason and not that my nakedness somehow offended her. Not that I should be imagining anything at all, I reminded myself. Female company was still off limits. Specifically, non-platonic female company, and there was nothing platonic about how I felt and thought about Eilish.

She was still looking at me funny.

Was I flying low or something? I glanced down just to be sure, and nothing obscene was showing. I was, however, dirty and sweaty and wearing only a pair of scrum shorts. I probably should have put a shirt on before coming in here, but I’d been running circuits out on the field when my trusty old tendinosis started giving me trouble.

This was why I’d hotfooted it over to the physio room to get Connors to have a look at my knee. Half of me had been hoping I’d bump into Eilish. Meanwhile, the other half knew better and wanted nothing to do with her. That would be the sane, logical half. I had no business even considering pursuing her, yet here I was, looking at her like a lion stalking an antelope. A very beautiful and intriguing antelope.

“Is Connors in there?” I asked, still a bit breathless after my workout.

Eilish’s gaze flickered back to the therapy room as she nodded, “Yes, he’s there.”

There was something in her expression that made me wonder if perhaps I wasn’t the one she wanted to flee. Connors was known to be a dick to almost everyone.

She moved to walk by me again when I spoke. “Don’t take it personally.”

Her brow furrowed, her gaze skittering over the tattoo on my arm before moving back to mine. “Huh?”

“Connors. He’s an incurable arsehole. You could be Sacha Baron Cohen wearing a bikini and a smile and he’d still find something to criticize.”

“Sacha Baron Cohen?” she lifted an eyebrow.

I tilted my head to one side and then the other, considering my next words. “Let’s just say Connors is a big fan.”

She let out a slow breath and sliced her teeth across her lip. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was holding back. Finally, she relented, “Are we talking Borat or Ali G?”

“Neither. He likes Brüno.”

She snickered a begrudging laugh. “Wow. Disturbing as that is, it actually makes me feel better. Now whenever he’s being difficult I’ll just imagine him in pleather hot pants.”

I shot her a grin, enchanted by her quip. “Happy to help.”

She mustered a smile in return, but it was still wary. My eyes traced the shape of her mouth and the scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. In spite of everything, I was profoundly attracted to this woman. Perhaps I should pay a visit to the florist . . .

“He just seemed so different in the interview,” said Eilish, breaking the quiet. “So much less . . .”

“Like the anti-Christ?” I provided jokingly.

“I wish that statement wasn’t true,” she went on, nodding and laughing absentmindedly.

I took a second to study her. She was all flawless skin and bright, vibrant red hair. She seemed young but mature, more mature than her years. If she was doing an internship, then she must’ve just finished college. That’d put her in her early twenties.

Man, she was way too young for me. Not that she was even an option. She wasn’t. No woman was. My sobriety was a tentative thing, and any kind of change could upset the balance.

What were you thinking, penis-brain, going after her at Will’s party like that? Yeah, that’s right, you weren’t.