Page 68 of Playing Dirty
"Yeah, Dad messaged me back. He actually apologized and said he understood why I was overwhelmed. Mom sent me a surprisingly decent message too." I exhale a slow breath. “I still feel like a monster for saying it, but maybe it was the right call.”
"Oh my god, yes! I'm only bringing it up because Mom mentioned they actually walked into a therapist's office today," she says, and I let out a startled sound. "See? That's the magic of a well-placed boundary, Margot."
"Didn’t one of the boundaries you set backfire? It was with that unhinged friend... Michelle? About your ex? And then she set your favorite coat on fire?"
"Okay, well, they don'talwayswork out perfectly," she giggles. "Anyway, back to the juicy stuff. Is the 'no athletes' policy officially dead and buried?"
I shiver as the wind bites through my jacket. "I mean, effectively, yes. But the doubt is still there. What if I'm making a mistake even considering this? He’s a huge playboy, he’s not exactly known for commitment. And I like commitment!”
"I think you should just take the leap. I know the whole policy is your way of avoiding that toxic, hyper-masculine bro-culture where being unfaithful is just a Tuesday,andI know how much Jason's cheating hurt you."
I swallow hard against the ghost of that old betrayal. The way I just let him walk all over me. The way I've been so anxiously guarded in every relationship since that I only pick the safest, most forgettable men I can find, just to ensure I'm never that vulnerable again.
"But," Sabrina continues firmly, "Cillian seems like a really good guy, and it sounds like he's crazy about you. And you're so obviously gone for him too. You'll never know unless you try. I've never seen you like this over anyone, Margot.Ever. You sounded so alive telling me about the lock-in and the rage room, and don't think I missed how you were practically glowing after that fake date. I think he’s exactly what you need."
I snort. "Yeah, well. Point taken."
"I'm serious. I think you're so scared of getting hurt that you might miss out on something real. And even if itisjust the accent and the whirlwind talking, then at least you took a chance and lived a little. I'll be here for you either way. And I would absolutely murder him if he hurt you."
I let out a soft laugh, feeling some of the knots in my chest loosen. "Thanks, Sab."
"You're welcome," she yawns loudly. "Also, I can’twaitfor you to get home. One, the house is so lonely without you. Two, oh my god, I have clearly not appreciated how much you doaround here because I’ve had toactuallymake my own lunches for class."
I laugh at that. I've been making Sabrina's lunches since we were kids, and even now I usually tuck one into the fridge for her before I head to the estate. She likes to joke that she provides the entertainment value in exchange for my services as a personal chef. To be fair, she does keep me from taking myself too seriously.
"Not eating so well without your caterer, then?" I tease.
"No, it's absolutely dreadful," she laughs.
"Well, I'll be home tomorrow. Our flight's mid-morning to start the trip back." I tip my head back against the wall. "I wish I could explore the town more, but my schedule's packed until tonight. You'd love it here, Sab. Wehaveto come back together at some point."
"Well, once you marry the hot Irish guy, I'm sure I'll be over here all the time," she says breezily. "I mean, he needs to understand that I come as part of the package. I expect the royal little-sister treatment."
"Let's not marry me off before the real first date," I say. “Now you can go back to sleep, and thanks for the chat."
"No problem. Luckily I'm not an insomniac like you, soI'llbe out in ten seconds."
"Yes, yes, you're very fortunate. I love you."
"Love you too. Get out of the rain and make a move on Mr. Hottie!"
"Goodnight." I laugh, and she's still giggling as I hang up.
I turn back to the storm rolling in over the water. Maybe it's time I stopped playing it so safe.
The cab crawls the last stretch of coast road, wipers going flat out, headlights sweeping across stone walls and sheets of rain.The hotel appears out of the murk, a charming old place perched right on the edge of the jagged coastline, over an Atlantic that's storming harder now than it was this morning.
I lean toward the window and squint at the glowing lobby. No sign of the car Cillian rented when we arrived this morning. He was still at the event when I slipped out, and I'd eaten alone at a little place in town on the way back, telling myself I wasn't timing it to run into him here. No such luck. I shake off the little spike of disappointment, pay the driver, and make a run for it with my head down.
Inside, the storm falls away behind me. The place is a mix of dark wood and old stone with cozy low lighting, and along the far wall a row of tall windows stands black with the weather raging behind the glass.
My bags are already up in the room, showered and settled this morning, which means the day is finally, mercifully done. So, I lift a hand to the woman at reception, who gives me a sympathetic look at the state of me, and steer myself toward the bar.
What I need now is a glass of wine. Maybe something stronger.
The bar is nearly deserted, just me, the storm going at the windows in gusts, and a bartender polishing glasses like she has all the time in the world.
"Can I please have a whisky, neat?" I ask, sliding onto a stool. "Something local, if you've got it."
