Eamon’s hand darts forward, catching it before it hits the ground. “Sorry, lass. I didn’t mean to frighten you again.”
“Again?”
“Aye. The other night I had you choking on your beer, if I remember correctly,” he teases, eyes wrinkling at the corners in amusement.
I narrow my own eyes at him, “From what I recall,lad, I was choking because Icouldn’t handle a pint of Guinness. I’m not sure which accusation is more insulting.”
I turn back to the dishes and start scrubbing furiously at a bowl. He chuckles softly and begins rinsing the plates I’ve already washed. I try to keep my eyes from darting over to look at his strong hands and forearms, but I fail miserably. Our elbows brush every so often as we go about our duty, and my heart beats wildly at every point of contact. But it’s not the typical fear of a man’s touch that has my nerves frayed and thoughts muddled.
Several quiet minutes pass as we continue to wash and rinse the dishes. I choose to remain silent because I honestly have no idea what to say, butLayla’s words keep coming back to me. Make friends with a guy.Learn that they aren’t all dangerous.I know nothing about Eamon Kennedy other than the fact that he’s the forward for the UNCW Seahawks, one hundred percent Irish, and gorgeous.
Steeling myself, I clear my throat and ask nervously, “So. Have you known Pat long?”
Eamon pauses and looks over at me. “Aye. He’s the first fellow Irishman I met when I came over. It’s been about four years now.”
I mull this over. “I also met him about four years ago. He was the first person I actually talked to when I got here.”
“Where are you from, then?” he asks politely.
“Just a horrible small town in the Midwest. But I had just gotten back from Ireland when I met him,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah? On holiday?”
“Yeah. After my Mom died, I decided to just pack up and go. I stayed for a month, and it was the best time of my life,” I say sadly, thinking back to how broken I was before that trip.
“I’m sorry about your mam,” he says quietly. “Who went with you on your trip?”
“No one. I don’t have any close family. Mom and I had always talked about going, so I booked my ticket and a couple of AirBnBs across the country and just left. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew I was going. I wouldn’t have left if I could have helped it,” I confess, and when he doesn’t respond, I ask, “Why did you leave Ireland? Scholarship?”
“Yeah, that’s part of it,” he replies.
“What’s the other part?” I ask boldly.
“I just needed to get away. The scholarship was as good of an excuse as any.”
“You’re nuts,” I scoff. “Why on earth would you want to escape Ireland? It’s magical and vibrant and peaceful.”
“It’s beautiful alright, but it’s not all rainbows and leprechauns, lass,” Eamon says sarcastically.
Feeling embarrassed at my sudden outburst about a country I’ve neverlived in, I mumble an apology and go back to washing dishes.
I hear him sigh next to me before he says, “Tell me more about your trip. Where did you visit?”
“No, it’s okay,” I tell him. “Let’s talk about something else. How long have you played soccer?”
After a brief pause, he says, “I’ve played all of my life. As a kid, I played in the streets and the fields with my mates and cousins. But in school, I joined a team and have always been a part of one. I thought someday I’d play professionally, but that’s unlikely.”
“Why?” I ask incredulously.
It’s been a while since I’ve been to a game, but I might have done some internet stalking in the last twenty-four hours.
Eamon laughs. “I enjoy the game, but I’d like more from life than traveling all over and kicking around a ball with a group of sweaty guys.”
I’m immediately imagining said group of sweaty guys on the UNCW field…shirtless. Is there such a thing as an overweight soccer player? With all that running and sweating…
“Do you play?” he asks, pulling me from my very inappropriate thoughts.
I snort out a laugh. “No. Does it look like I play soccer? Does it look like I play any sport?” I gesture to myself, slinging water everywhere.
