Page 53 of Playing Dirty
"Cillian!" Derek's bark cuts through the electricity like a siren, and we both jerk our heads toward him.
He makes a frantic 'get over here' motion. "Let's go, we've got more hands to shake."
I exhale and give Margot a small, pained look before peeling myself off the stone wall to follow him.
The rest of the day is back-to-back media interviews and flashing bulbs, and that night I'm awake at three in the morning anyway, watching the score tick over on my phone. Against Vegas, the lads down by one halfway through the second, and me five thousand miles away in a hotel bed. Every notification is the crushing guilt of my own recklessness hitting all over again.
Getting benched during the playoffs is a fucking nightmare—a professional gut-punch that feels every bit as career-threatening as a torn ACL. And I’m the only one to blame. It’s torture not being in that locker room, suiting up and bleeding with my teammates.
And because the universe has a sense of humor, the next notification is a pundit clip from a New York presser. Brennan, asked about my suspension, giving the cameras a shrug with a shit-eating grin.
"Well I can’t say I’m shocked since he’s been a hothead lately,” he says. “Or maybe he was trying to avoid having to face me again and the humiliation of a second loss."
God, I fucking hate this.
14
Margot
It’s nearing evening on my second day in Dublin, and I’ve retreated toward the edge of the room, putting some much-needed distance between myself and the steady swell of the crowd.
We're at a pub for one of the bigger foundation events, with Solstice providing a substantial donation as part of our ongoing partnership. My role tonight is mostly representing the brand and making connections.
I have another hour or two of this and then a meeting with the PR coordinator later, and then hopefully I can grab dinner and collapse into my hotel bed.
Cillian is across the room, held captive by a small crowd while a few cameras flash in his direction. He looksridiculouslygood. And where his little fan clubs used to just irritate me, now I only feel a sharp, possessive jealousy of every person in his orbit, because I want to be the one occupying his attention so badly it actually hurts.
But I can't, because of my own stupid rules, which onlymakes the longing feel that much more like a penance. I suppose I'm just a glutton for self-punishment. How very Catholic of me.
I take a long sip of my wine and turn my attention toward the window. Dublin at least has been an absolute dream so far, vibrant and historic. I just wish I'd actually had the chance to explore the city beyond the glass of a town car and work obligations.
It doesn't help that my mood has been spiraling all afternoon. My parents have texted me three times in the last hour about a fight they’re having, despite the small detail that I am currently on a different continent in the midst of a media storm. It's as though they pick the exact moment I'm least able to help and ramp up the urgency accordingly.
Between the long-distance dance for them, the endless hand-shaking here, and a level of sexual frustration that has graduated to a physical throb, I'm about ready to vibrate out of my skin.
"Margot, thank you again." An older man from a marketing team appears at my shoulder. "The whole organization has been thrilled to collaborate on this. Absolute marketing gold for both our labels."
I summon my most professional smile. "Of course. It's a privilege to represent Solstice here."
"Yes, well, it's certainly a pleasure to have such abeautifulwoman leading the initiative," he murmurs, leaning in close enough that I can smell his breath. "And I was wondering, I happen to know a charming little speakeasy just a few streets over…"
He launches into elaborate detail about what a fun little after-hours stop it could be, and I nod and smile like a hostage. My eye is officially starting to twitch. Because what my day truly required was a flirtatious older man added to the existing pile of disasters. Perfect.
"Hey, Ace." Cillian materializes at my side, shooting the guy alook that is less than friendly. "I need to steal her away for a moment. Business, you understand."
"Oh, naturally," the man stammers, his attention suddenly on his whiskey glass.
"Sorry, but duty calls," I say with a smile, letting Cillian take my elbow and guide me away from the crowd.
"Thank you," I whisper the second we're out of earshot. "I was trapped."
"Yeah, I caught the look on your face," Cillian says, glancing down at me with amusement. "You looked about ten seconds away from committing a felony."
"Generous estimate."
“Well, we can't have that.” He smiles at me. "If we both start brawling in public, it's going to be a bit on the nose, don't you think?"
"Yeah, that'd be a nightmare for the PR team." I laugh softly as we navigate the room. "I think they would actually die on the spot."
