I hadn’t told Sean about Bryan, partially because Sean had a mean streak. He was infamous for his nasty grudges and lack of conscience when it came to people he perceived as enemies. I didn’t want Bryan to suffer.

That’s a lie.

Part of me wanted to cut his enchanted dick off and burn it.

But mostly, after the last three months of thinking about that night way too much, I blamed myself.

I’d been sober. I’d wanted him to seduce me, and—drunk or not—he’d been an epic seducer. I’d had a crush on him for years. I’d been infatuated by the idea of him sweeping me off my feet. For heaven’s sake, he had been my fantasy for years. That night I became that girl, the girl I’d always scorned and internally mocked.

He’d melted my cold, pragmatic, sarcastic heart. I may have regretted everything the morning after, but what had happened between us that night had been one hundred percent consensual.

At least, from my perspective it had been. But, apparently, Bryan had been so drunk he hadn’t even remembered my name. Perhaps he hadn’t been capable of giving consent. Maybe I’d taken advantage of him. Perhaps I’d been the seducer . . .

Ugh. I was so tired of this loop of self-recrimination and doubt.

Collapsing onto the couch, I rested my elbows on my knees and covered my face with my hands.

“Eilish,” Sean prodded, “will you tell me who he is?”

I shook my head. I wouldn’t. That morning had been terrible, so terrible, humiliating. Bryan’s apathy and rejection had carved a hollow space out of my heart, leaving a wide, gaping hole. I’d been naïve, too trusting before. Too honest. Too uninhibited. Too reckless. Too stupid.

But I would never make that mistake again. I needed a plan and it needed to be a good one.

I was determined. No matter what it took, Bryan Leech would never find out about my new superpowers.

HE WILL NEVER FIND OUT!

. . . dun dun DUN!

Chapter Two

THEBryanLeech: The main problem with being sober: you can tell when people are faking their laughter. #MyJokesArentFunnyAnymore

RonanFitz to THEBryanLeech: Your jokes were never funny. #SorryNotSorry

*Bryan*

~Five Years Later~

I hated parties.

Well, maybe hate was too strong a word. It wasn’t necessarily that I hated them, they just weren’t my thing anymore. They were also inconvenient as they had all the stuff I was supposed to avoid: drink, drugs . . . women.

“You don’t have to be here,” William offered with his trademark quiet solemnity.

I shook my head but kept my eyes fixed on the closed doors at the end of the hall. “No. I wouldn’t miss it.” Would rather be home in my slippers watching Judge Judy, sure, but duty calls.

That was my style of party these days. Throw in a slice of Battenberg and some Werther’s Originals and I could go wild on a sugar high. But no, today was William’s birthday, so I was going to try and keep my grumpy old man behavior to a minimum.

Try being the operative word.

No promises.

My teammate, and the guest of honor for this particular party, tugged on the sleeve of my suit jacket and brought us to a stop. “Hey. Seriously. You’re eighteen months sober.”

“Has it been eighteen months already?” I stroked the stubble on my chin and cracked a grin. “Time flies when you’re killing house plants.”

He didn’t need to tell me how long I’d been sober. I still counted the days, but not for the reasons people might think. Yes, I’d been sober a year and a half, and oddly enough, I didn’t miss any of it; the late nights that turned into days, the constant hangovers, the inability to remember the events of the previous evening—that had been the true misery.

The main problem was other people, people who knew me as the fun-loving, party-hard bloke I used to be. They were uncomfortable with my sobriety, thought I’d gone “sad” and “boring.” Kept asking me if I’d have a drink.

Go on, treat yourself.

One won’t kill you.

Except William “The Brickhouse” Moore.

“You can leave at any time.” His frown deepened.

I gathered a breath and met Will’s earnest brown eyes. The bloke was entirely too earnest. “I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck up your birthday party.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

I placed a hand on his shoulder and slipped on my very best you can trust me expression. “You’re not supposed to worry at all. This is your party. Let’s go in and have a good time, knowing I’m on call to be your designated driver.”

We both knew that was an empty offer as Will never drank, at least, not that I’d ever witnessed. Regardless, my teammate nodded with some reluctance and finally turned back to the double doors where sounds of the party carried out into the hall.

I eyed the doorway to the revelry as we approached, feeling nothing but grim determination. Nowadays my life consisted of training and clean living. Well, that and taking care of my mother, and she was enough of a handful for ten men. Needless to say, I was kept on my toes.

I opened the door for Will, happy to push him forward and into the fray ahead of me. Maybe I was using him as a shield, a decoy—just a little bit—but I felt no remorse. The man had the moral fortitude of a saint and the temperament of a puritan minister.

I ensured I wasn’t around alcohol very often, but sometimes—like tonight—social obligations were expected of me. Will was from the States, and he didn’t have any family in Ireland, so I’d be a shit not to show up. Plus, we were flatmates, having grown closer over the last eighteen months.