Calories: 3,500

Workout: 3 hours in total.

Porridge: Cannot be redeemed by dried fruit, cinnamon, or copious amounts of honey.

 

 

*Ronan*

Her thighs felt good in my hands—too good, actually, all shapely and soft and everything I loved about a woman.

Seeing Annie in the clothes she was wearing today, I actually hadn’t recognized her for a second. The contrast between what she’d been in the last two times I’d seen her and now was striking. I kind of wished she was wearing the old clothes because seeing her like this was testing my willpower. She was all luscious curves. It was a wonder I managed to keep my hands to myself all through the meeting.

It was a relief when the others left us to talk things out alone. I knew my attention made Annie nervous, but at least now she could manage to get a few words out. Before, when her colleagues were in the room, I could tell she was having a hard time finding her voice. Her helplessness in that moment made me want to rescue her. Be her hero.

And now I was gripping her thighs, running my thumbs back and forth over the fabric of her skirt, and wishing it was her skin. In a heartbeat, I’d gone from savior to predator.

“Say again?” she asked quietly, and I repeated my previous statement.

“I said, Annie dearest, that I wonder what you taste like.”

Our mouths were only inches apart, and I felt the air move when she sucked in a soft breath like she was bracing herself. We stared at one another for a long moment, trapped in silence punctuated only by the sound of our breathing. I smiled when her body moved forward by the tiniest fraction as though she was drawn to me against her better judgment.

I could kiss her now.

Shifting in her seat, she swallowed and finally spoke. “Isn’t that kind of an intimate thing to say to a stranger?” Her tone betrayed her. I knew how to read body language, and hers was telling me that she was interested. I’d more than piqued her curiosity.

“Ah, we’re not strangers, Annie,” I whispered against her lips. “We’ve already shared a cozy elevator ride, I’ve cleaned your top, and you’ve sent me a very odd a picture of a question-mark clock. We’re practically dating.”

“I don’t date, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“No?” I murmured.

My thumbs were still caressing her thighs; and if she was feeling me like I was feeling her, I knew she had to be a little bit wet right now. The thought practically made me groan, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.

Decision made.

Gripping her tight, I brought my mouth to hers and kissed her hungrily. When our lips met, I heard her make a tiny sound. Her body went rigid, and she wasn’t reciprocating. I thought it might have been down to shock, though, because when my tongue slid past the seam of her lips, she opened them willingly and trembled against me.

My fingers dug into her thighs, and I pulled her closer. I was on fire, felt like I was melting into her. Never before had a single kiss gotten me so worked up. She tasted like chocolate and mint. Annie rocked forward, and then I felt her tongue move experimentally against mine. Of its own accord, a groan emanated from deep in my chest. When I brought my hands to her neck and massaged her throat, she whimpered. I was hard as a rock already. Her hands were fisting my shirt, almost as though she didn’t know whether she wanted to push me away or pull me closer.

Then the cutest noise in the world came out of her when her stomach rumbled very loudly. Immediately, she drew away, her cheeks coloring. She could barely look me in the eye.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick, I….”

I cut her off. “It’s Ronan, Annie. Call me Ronan.”

She looked at me then, and we stared at one another for a long moment. I wanted to kiss her again. My heart was racing. I could still taste her.

“I can’t call you Ronan....” She said this, and I didn’t know if she was talking to me or herself; her fingers absentmindedly moved to her lips, touching them lightly.

“Yes, you can.”

“It would be too familiar.” Again, she sounded like she was speaking to herself.

“I like familiar.” I inched closer.

“It would be a mistake.” Her eyes were unfocused.

“Sounds like fun.”

“I can’t risk it….”

She was definitely speaking to herself, and the words had a sobering effect. I stilled and leaned back a bit, searching her face, remembering her earlier statement.

“Annie, why don’t you date?”

I was curious. I didn’t do relationships anymore, not after Brona; so I wondered if, like me, Annie had some deep-seated reason for not dating.

“Huh?” She blinked at me, dazed. She yanked her fingertips away from her mouth like she’d just realized what she was doing and shook her head.

I grinned because the kiss seemed to have made her foggy headed. “You said before that you don’t date. Why is that?”

“I just don’t.” Her eyes fell away and then lifted back to mine like she was trying to be brave. I thought that the way she spoke in short sentences was more down to her social anxiety rather than not having more to say. It was like the words were there, but they got stuck in her throat.

“A beautiful woman like you should be dating. It’s a damn shame to waste all that pretty skin.” I leaned forward, her sweet lips too tempting; but her eyes flashed, and she flinched away.

She rolled her chair back and away from me. “I don’t see how not dating is wasting my…skin.” Annie frowned and tugged on her sleeve, sitting up straighter now and obviously trying to regain an air of professionalism. It was way too fucking late for that.

I only raised an eyebrow at her in response, at how she’d pulled away, because I knew she was playing dumb now. I stared at her, trying to figure out how we’d gone from kissing to this. I wasn’t ready to talk business again, not yet—maybe never with her. Not when we’d just been wrapped around each other and I wasn’t sure why we’d stopped.

A second later her stomach rumbled again, and her cheeks grew redder.

I saw my opening, and I took it. “You’re hungry. Let’s go get some lunch.” I stood up, holding my hand out to her.

She glanced at me and then focused on my fingers. She was looking at my hand like it might bite her. “I told you I don’t date.”

“Somebody thinks very highly of themselves,” I teased, wanting to ease the tension. “I’m not asking you on a date. This is work. We still need to finish up here, and you’re clearly too hungry to continue.” Obviously, I was full of shit given that I’d just been feeling her up, telling her I wondered what she tasted like, and kissing the hell out of her. But I wanted her to feel comfortable enough to spend time with me so that I could—well, so that I could get into her pants. And surprisingly, despite myself, I kind of wanted to get to know her better, too, but I refused to analyze why.

Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around her middle, still flustered. “I can grab something here. I’ve got some Snickers bars in my office.”

I stared at her, frowning. She mumbled something under her breath about pricks and Pepé le Pew.

“I’m not letting you eat Snickers bars for your lunch. You need real food. I’ll take you to my mate’s restaurant. You know Tom’s Southern Kitchen?”

Her eyes widened in a weird way and lifted to mine, and there was a beat of silence. “Yes, I know it. I really like the food there,” she admitted, almost reluctantly.

“Well then, how can you refuse?” I asked, still holding my hand out to her. She looked at it again, her mouth making a firm line, and then she turned and gathered her things, standing up without my assistance. She hesitated at the door, glancing at me over her shoulder. I hurried forward and opened the door for her, and she seemed surprised by the gesture.

She gave me a little glance from under her long lashes and then continued walking. I followed, liking my view of her backside as we left the offices.

“Did you drive here, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Annie asked as we stepped into the elevator. Unfortunately we weren’t alone; three other working professional types stepped onto the lift with us.

I noticed that Annie was still insisting on addressing me formally, but I wasn’t going to let it get to me. Truth be told, her calling me Mr. Fitzpatrick was a bit of a turn-on. I could imagine her beneath me, submitting, begging Mr. Fitzpatrick for more. Just being around this woman got me all worked up, got the dirty part of my brain working overtime.

“Because if you did, I can catch a cab and meet you at the restaurant,” she continued as the doors opened to the lobby, everyone filing out.

I rested a hand on her lower back and felt her flinch at the contact, her spine straightening. But then she relaxed and let me guide her through the lobby.

“No, I didn’t drive today. Although I’d love to take you for a ride sometime. It’ll be a real experience for you.” I put a hand on her elbow just as we went through the doors and wondered if she’d picked up on the innuendo. She stopped when we got onto the street, and I saw her throat working. When she looked back at me, her gaze was heated as it moved from my eyes to my hand on her arm, and her cheeks and neck were a delightful shade of pink.

I guessed my offer to give her a ride was putting pleasant thoughts in her head.

“In the meantime,” I said with forced nonchalance, trying to school my smile, “we’ll catch a cab together. That way, we can share the cost.” I winked, having no intention of letting her pay.

She stared at me mutely but seemed to approve of splitting the bill. I made a note of that. Despite her apparent timidity, Annie struck me as the fiercely independent type. I thought it might be a matter of pride to her never to let a man (or anyone for that matter) carry her.

Christ, I knew how to pick them.

She flagged down a taxi quickly enough and didn’t protest when I slid my hand into hers to help her into the car. I sat beside her, spreading my legs wide and taking up as much room as possible. Her brow was furrowed all the while, and I rattled off the address to the driver. Gathering herself, she opened one of the folders she was carrying and began to flick through some pages.

“It’ll take us a couple of minutes to reach the restaurant. We should use the time to cover some things before we get there.”

I leaned closer, my arm brushing hers. “I’m all ears.”

Swallowing, she ran a finger down the bullet points on the page. “So, I think we should start you off with a Twitter account. It’s straightforward enough and will give you a feel for connecting with people online, engaging your audience. We can connect the Twitter to both Instagram and Tumblr.”

“No, thanks. I’m not a Twatter sort of bloke.”

Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile, but then she flattened them into a stiff line. “It’s Twitter. Please don’t discount every idea before I’ve even had the chance to explain it to you, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I’m only trying to make life easier for the both of us.”

The exasperated way in which she spoke made me feel bad, so I replied, “Fine. Go ahead. Tell me all about this Twatter.”

“It’s not….”

“I know,” I interrupted, smiling warmly. “I’m only pulling your leg, hon.”

She shook her head and settled her eyes back on her papers, though I had a feeling she was using them as a safety blanket as opposed to actually needing them. After all, I’d been intentionally trying to get into her personal space as much as I could since we first met.

“In a nutshell, Twitter entails sending little nuggets of information about what’s going on in your life out into the world in the form of ‘tweets.’ Each tweet can be no longer than 140 characters. I suggest checking out the profiles of some other famous sportsmen to see how it works. It’s easier to learn the ropes as you go rather than my giving you a lesson because I’ll just bore you.”

“Oh, Annie, you could never bore me.”

Our eyes met, and she went quiet then, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. A couple of minutes later, the taxi came to a stop.

“That’ll be twelve-ninety,” said the driver, and I quickly pulled out a twenty, telling him to keep the change, while Annie rummaged in her little pocket bag. I put my hand on hers to stop her, and her body went still.

“I’ve got this. Next round’s on you.”

She glanced at me, frowned, nodded, and then made her way out of the vehicle. The lunchtime rush was in full swing when we stepped inside Tom’s restaurant. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it was always busy; and given that it had only been open for two years, it was doing pretty well. Tom and I had gone to school together, and even back then he’d been obsessed with becoming a chef and opening his own restaurant. I don’t think either of us ever expected him to end up running one of the most popular kitchens in New York, but then again, neither did we expect I’d become rugby’s reluctant bad boy.

And yes, I do cringe every time I have to say that.

Placing my hand at the base of Annie’s spine—this time without her flinching—I ushered her in as a waitress led us to a table and handed us two menus. Annie took the seat across from mine and didn’t even open her menu to take a look.

“Not hungry anymore?” I asked, lifting a brow.

She pulled out her phone and ran her finger down the screen, her attention on her messages or whatever she was checking. “I am. I just know what I want already. I’ve been here before a few times.”

I grinned. “Ah, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Her new blush was minuscule, but it was definitely there. I heard Tom approach before I saw him. “Well, would you look who it is, Mr. Muscles. I hope you don’t think you’re getting any of that steamed broccoli bullshit again. I refuse to cook food without a taste.”

I stood and patted my auburn-haired friend on the shoulder. “You’ll make what I ask for.”

He only snorted in response before his attention fell on Annie. “And who’s this fine young lady?”

“Annie, Tom, Tom, Annie,” I said, making the introductions.

Annie smiled widely, her attention no longer on her phone. In fact, she seemed overjoyed to be making Tom’s acquaintance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tom. I eat here all the time. You’re an amazing chef.”

Fuck me. Was she fangirling him?

He winked, took her hand, and brought it to his mouth for a kiss, the chancer. “The pleasure is all mine.” Then he turned back to me and shook his head.

“Look at you, dressed up to the 4 ½’s. Couldn’t you have made more of an effort for beautiful Annie here?”

I glanced down at the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing.

“Oh, we’re not on a date. I’m….”

“She’s teaching me how to twatter,” I interrupted.

“Sounds dirty,” Tom chuckled. “Well, I’d better be getting back to the kitchen. The world can’t wait any longer for my culinary genius.”

He left, and Annie was still smiling at his retreating form.

“You little flirt,” I declared, leaning my elbows on the table and grinning. “So, is that what it takes to bring out your coquettish side, a chef?”

Her expression quickly sobered. “I was being polite to your friend.”

“Uh-huh.”

The waitress returned to take our orders, and Annie asked for the jambalaya. I made a special request for mashed potatoes without the butter and cream, two steamed chicken breasts, and a raw spinach salad. Tom always liked to slag me off about my OCD meal plans; but if I wanted to reach my physical goals, then I couldn’t afford to slack. Yeah, sometimes the food was boring as hell, but my nutritionist tailored my diet to fit my lifestyle perfectly.

Annie was on her phone again, so I reached across the table and touched her wrist. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but in my book, it’s rude to ignore someone when you’re having a meal together.”

Her eyes were on my hand rather than my face when she replied, “Our food hasn’t arrived yet.”

“That’s beside the point, Annie. Put down the electronic tit for half a second, and talk to me. That’s what we’re here to do, isn’t it?”

She set her phone down on the table, and I withdrew my hand. “I apologize, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I was emailing my assistant, Gerta—I believe you two have made one another’s acquaintance via phone and email—about your Twitter account. She’s going to forward you the login information alongside a tutorial on how to use the site.”

“I bet that’ll be riveting stuff.”

She ignored my sarcastic comment and continued to detail the ins and outs of social networking. The topic bored me, but fortunately I was mesmerized by the way her mouth moved when she spoke and the soft, melodic quality of her voice. Plus, it definitely wasn’t a hardship to look at her.

She’d gotten a good ten minutes of talking in when our food arrived, and then she was quiet as she ate. I found myself sitting back and watching her. Similar to when I’d spotted her with the éclair that first time, she was so completely into her food, and it was too fucking sexy. I had no idea why I found it sexy, but there you had it.

Before I met Annie, I’d never really noticed much about female eating habits—probably because my ex, Brona, ate a diet of black coffee and garden salads.

Yeah, that’s right; she took her coffee black to match her heart, I mused bitterly.

“So, what’s with the wardrobe change?” I asked. “Let me guess—those first two times I saw you were laundry days?”

She suppressed a smile, and I was pleased that I’d amused her.

“My boss, Joan, is trying to get me to dress more appropriately at the office. Apparently, my lack of style isn’t good when dealing with…clients.” She seemed a little bit distressed by this which made me think she wasn’t too happy with the idea.

It irritated me because Annie was clearly a beautiful woman, and I thought Joan might be trying to capitalize on that appeal by sexing her up. Despite the fact that I wanted her in my bed, the thought of other male clients being more amenable to working with the firm because of Annie made me clench my fists under the table. My angry protectiveness was a little unexpected, but then again, I’d always hated when people who were too timid to stick up for themselves got taken advantage of.

“Don’t let Joan bully you. You should only ever wear what you feel comfortable in.”

My words seemed to surprise her. “It’s fine. Joan’s just, well, Joan.”

I reached forward and took her hand in mine, and she let me. “I can have a word with her if you want, tell her to back off. Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she can’t be accused of sexism in the workplace. I doubt she’s ever told Ian to stop wearing those shapeless brown slacks to work just because they aren’t stylish.”

“That’s not necessary, Ronan. I can handle Joan.”

I tried not to show my surprise when she used my first name. She pulled her hand out of mine and held her chin high. I didn’t push further, sensing she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Still, I was going to say something to Joan, with or without Annie’s consent. Making the girl wear things she didn’t want to was fucked up.

I finished my food, and the next time I looked up, I found Annie staring at me. It was unexpected because usually she went out of her way to avoid eye contact. A slow smile spread across my face.

“Having a good look, are you?” I said and ran a hand down my chest. “This is what you’re missing out on, Annie. I bet you wish you’d said yes to dinner now.” I put extra emphasis on the word to convey that, by “dinner,” I did not mean dinner.

“How did you get your scars?” she blurted, completely changing the subject, and it sounded like she hadn’t meant to ask the question.

I raised a brow and pointed to the one below my eye. “This one I got from falling off a horse when I was a teenager, believe it or not. The family who lived next door to me would have horses every now and again, and like the stupid shit that I was, I thought I’d have a go. Could’ve broken my neck.”

“Ouch.” She winced and then continued, “That must have been a pretty fancy place, to have horses.”

Immediately, I burst out laughing.

She frowned at me. “What’s so funny?”

“There’s nothing fancy about where I grew up. Where I come from, horses in the countryside are fancy; whereas horses on a housing estate are there because some scumbag bought them illegally from some other scumbag, and they thought it’d be fun to go galloping around for a while.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t pick up on any of that from my research. From what I could gather, you come from a….” She hesitated as though she were choosing her words. “Your family was privileged.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “You really need to start coming to the source for your information, Annie. That’s the only way you’re going to get a clear picture.”

She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Okay then, I’m coming to the source now. Tell me about how you grew up.”

“First of all, my family wasn’t privileged. My ma worked her arse off to send me to school.”

“But your father’s family, aren’t they the well-to-do type?”

I could tell she was fishing, looking for something in particular. I had no desire to talk about my father’s family because they were all fucking bastards, the lot of them. And when I spoke about them, about how they’d left my ma and sister and me to starve, I typically lost my shit.

I scratched the back of my neck, a nervous gesture, and shook my head. “I don’t talk about the Fitzpatricks,” I said, knowing my voice was cold and steely.

Her eyebrows lifted a notch, and her gaze searched mine. I could see her curiosity, her interest, but was relieved when she let the topic drop. “Then, if you don’t mind, tell me more about your childhood.”

And so I did. We sat there for next half an hour, and I told her about my strange background of contrasts, attending a school for posh boys and then going home to a shithole council estate every evening. How I used to wish Ma wouldn’t push me to emulate Dad’s education because walking through the estate wearing that uniform every evening meant I quickly had to learn how to fight. Annie was rapt by my story, hanging on every word.

“The local kids would accuse me of thinking I was better than them, and then at school most of the students thought they were better than me. It was a joke.” I shook my head at the memory.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her expression had gone soft, concerned.

“Nah. Fighting is good practice on and off the field. In a match, you can’t hesitate to get rough.”

“It sounds violent.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, trying to see my childhood and the sport of rugby from her point of view. “But it’s real, you know? When you fight with your fists, it’s real; it’s not mind games and manipulation. I don’t mind the violence so much. It’s insincerity, lack of honesty I have a problem with.”

She nodded fervently. “Yes. Yes, precisely. Trusting people is impossible because you never know, you can never know, what their intentions truly are. Sometimes they don’t even know.”

“That’s not what I said, Annie. Trusting people isn’t impossible. I trust my ma and my sister, my family. Sometimes I didn’t even know where Ma was getting the money to pay the tuition fees, but she managed it somehow. I guess now that I can give her a good life, all the struggle was worth it.”

When I finished talking, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re lucky to have such a supportive mother. I’m sure she’s very proud,” she said and then went quiet for a long time as though lost in thought.

Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “Well, in the end, I had a good deal to do with my own success. It wasn’t all Ma’s doing. Careful, you’ll wound my delicate male ego.”

Her eyes flickered to mine, and she laughed softly. It was a gorgeous sound.

“See, I can make you laugh. I’m not so abhorrent, am I?” I murmured.

“No,” she whispered. “Not abhorrent at all.”

“Even with all my gruesome scars?”

Her eyes flickered over my features as though cherishing each of the rough lines, and when she spoke, she sounded distracted. “I like your scars. Your face would be too perfect without them.”

“Perfect? You mean like your face?” I loved how much she was talking.

Her nose wrinkled automatically, a completely natural and genuine response to my compliment—such a refreshing display of casually honest modesty. God, she was so different from the birds I usually got with. She was fresh air. She was perfect.

She’s what you need…. The thought came from nowhere, and it was sobering. This wasn’t a girl I would be able to fuck and forget.

“There is nothing perfect about my face.”

I cleared my throat, trying to force the teasing back into my tone. “Your lips are perfect.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.” She rolled them between her teeth.

“You forget—I’ve kissed those lips, so now I’m an expert.”

I startled her. The look on her face betrayed that she was remembering our kiss. She seemed abruptly embarrassed again. I was enjoying talking to her and her company more than I’d enjoyed being with anyone for a very long time. I didn’t want her to leave yet, so I quickly changed the subject.

“But enough about your gorgeous face. I feel like I’ve given you a muddled view of my childhood. Growing up wasn’t all about fights. There were some really good times, like the Christmas when I was fifteen. It had been a tight year for us because Ma lost one of her jobs at a café in town. She always put paying for my schooling first, so we ended up eating beans on toast most nights. I felt bad because my sister, Lucy, went without just so that I could go to a fancy school. A couple of months previously, I’d started working a paper route, and I’d saved up almost all the money I earned. Then, the day before Christmas Eve, I went shopping. I bought Ma a bottle of her favorite perfume, and I got Lucy a jewelry-making set she’d been wanting all year. Then I went to the supermarket and spent every last cent I had on the fanciest food I could find.”

Annie was again absorbed in my story, her eyes large and interested. “What did you get?”

“All kinds of things. I swear to God, I felt like Willy fucking Wonka when I got home, loaded down with bags full of treats. And the look on Lucy’s face when she saw all the chocolate—I’ll never forget it. Although, the problem was, when you’re used to so little, your stomach doesn’t really know how to deal with indulgence. We both ended up lying on the living room floor with stomachaches, and we hadn’t even eaten that much.” I chuckled.

Annie was nodding like she agreed, a smile on her face. “That’s so true! I remember this one time a family brought me to dinner at this really fancy restaurant and told me I could order whatever I wanted on the menu. I planned on eating every last crumb of all four courses, but by the time I’d gotten halfway through the second, I was way too full for anything else. I went home all disappointed in myself.”

I looked at her curiously. “A family? You mean, your family?”

It took her a moment to answer, and she wouldn’t make eye contact when she did. “Oh, uh…it was just a, uh, a friend’s family.” For some reason, I had a hard time believing that answer, and I couldn’t pinpoint why. She turned to the side and pulled a credit card out of her pocket, avoiding my gaze.

First, there was definitely something off with her explanation; I would have to press her on this issue later. And second, she had her shit in bucketfuls if she thought I was letting her pay.

“The meal’s on the house. Tom lets me eat here for free,” I lied.

Her brows shot right up into her forehead. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow, I’m actually jealous.” She put her card away, and then it seemed our little heart-to-heart was over because she was all business again. “Okay, well, I need to be getting back to the office now. Please check your email when you get home, and Gerta will be in touch with more information over the next few days.”

She stood, and so did I, blocking her path out of the restaurant. “Why Gerta?” I asked, voice low. “Why not you?”

“I’m…it’s just that I don’t usually work directly with clients, Mr. Fitzp—”

I put my finger on her lips before she could finish the sentence, and she went utterly still. “What will it take to get you to call me Ronan all the time, huh?”

She inhaled deeply and then took a step back so that I was no longer touching her. She leaned forward as I retreated but then caught herself.

“I can’t call you Ronan all the time. It would be unprofessional.”

“But you want to. You’d like very much to call me Ronan all the time.”

Her large eyes settled on my lips and then dropped to my neck. “We have a business relationship. What I want is immaterial.”

“Not to me. I’d like to give you everything you want.”

Annie’s gaze jumped to mine, and she blurted her next question like she hadn’t really meant to ask it. “Why?”

“You’re very real, Annie. I like that you’re without pretense. I like that you’re both smart and sexy as hell without a lot of fuss. I like who you are.”

“You don’t know that. I could be terribly fussy. You don’t know me.”

I felt my mouth hook to the side. “Then tell me.”

There seemed to be a conflict in her eyes, and I knew she was struggling to remain reserved. I could have killed to know what she was thinking.

At last, she glanced away. “As I said, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Gerta will be in touch.” Her voice was low, soft, and trembled a little. With that, she quickly sidestepped past me and shot out of the restaurant.

I stood there, indecisive, considering whether or not I should go after her. I didn’t want to be pushy, though, so I slumped back down into my seat. I decided that I should wait for her to make the next move. I had kissed her. She knew I wanted her now, so the ball was well and truly in her court. The problem with this plan was that Annie was so skittish, I could be waiting a hundred years for her to make a move.

What I needed to do was figure out a way to entice her without pushing. Pulling out my phone, I found a new email from my sister, Lucy, telling me about her day. There was another from Gerta with all the Twitter info, but I thought that could wait until tomorrow.

When I got home, I worked out for a while and then ate dinner. I was lonely, and my fingers itched with the urge to call up Annie. It would have been pointless, though, because Gerta was always the one to answer, and Annie was always conveniently busy. That evening my phone pinged with an email alert, and I almost didn’t even bother to check. Being as bored and lonely as I was, though, I found myself having a look eventually.

What I found surprised the shit out of me. The Socialmedialite had decided to reply to my last message, and it was nothing like what I expected.

 

March 13

Ronan,

Can I call you Ronan? Ronan, you need an intervention. Sorry in advance that this email is so long.

I'm going to be blunt: you need to chill out, Ronan. Relax. You are seriously overreacting. Take a step back, and really, really think about what's actually going on here. Since you like numbered lists, I will use that format.

1. Being featured on my blog—especially how I featured you on my blog—is not a bad thing. It's a good thing. You could have used it to send me an email to highlight a charity near and dear to your heart; instead, you sent me hate mail. :-\

2. You should know better than to email random, faceless bloggers. I could be a 67-year-old shut-in, male, ex-postal worker in the Bronx with a penchant for ginger cats. I could be a vindictive nut. What if I'd taken your email and posted it online? That would have made you look completely crazy and added to your woes.

3. I'm not going to post your email online because I’m not a nut, and you seem like (despite your short temper) a nice person, if perhaps a little too honest and earnest about your feelings. Sometimes it's best to keep your feelings to yourself. You don't need to share what you're feeling every time you're feeling it. Keeping your emotions circumspect will keep you from getting hurt by the cruelty that is most people.

4. You need to relax about all this media bullshit. Do as the song says and Let. It. Go. Just, let it go. Focus on the positive, and IGNORE THE NEGATIVE. Sorry for shouting at you, but—like I said—from the research I've done about you, you seem like a nice person. 

In summary, let me know if you want me to highlight any charity in particular, never send emails to people you don't know personally, share your thoughts and feelings only with those you trust, and let go of the negative, focus on the positive. 

I sincerely hope you take my advice. 

All the best, The Socialmedialite

 

The first time I read it, I was angry. The second time, my anger slowly began to deflate because, although she was coming across a little bit high and mighty, I could also see that she was trying to be kind, and I didn’t know how to handle that. She had given me advice. Good advice. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve left our correspondence where it stood. But it was late, and I was lonely for company.

I was homesick, but at the same time, I couldn’t go back yet. There were too many bad memories there, too many painful feelings. And Brona was there. I didn’t want to be in the same country as her, not yet anyway. It was sad, but I think I would have replied to the Devil himself right then, I was so desperate for someone to talk to. I wanted it to be Annie, but I’d settle for this online blogger.

 

March 13

Dear Socialmedialite,

Thank you for your advice. You didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my anger. It was simply a case of bad timing. When I saw your article, I had been holding my tongue for weeks, allowing people to write lies about me and never once fighting back.

I guess you’re not as bad as I made out, are you?

Believe it or not, I am trying to let it go. In fact, I’m in what you would call media training at the moment. So this is progress, yes? It’s boring as fuck, but at least I’m trying.

Regards,

Ronan Fitzpatrick

P.S. Are you really a 67-year-old ex-postal worker shut-in from the Bronx? Because that visual is totally killing my buzz. I’m imagining you as a sexy librarian dominatrix type. I don’t care if you’re not. Picturing you that way is what makes me happy, so you’ll just have to live with it.

P.P.S. Any charity for disadvantaged children works for me.

 

I knew my response was overly friendly and personal, flirtatious even. What was I on? I was feeling reckless and hit “send” before thinking it through; then I regretted it. I went back and forth on this until I saw a new message come up in my inbox.

 

Ronan,

Feel free to visualize whatever you like. It doesn’t change the fact that I have a scruffy beard, beer belly, and a gigantic tattoo of a topless mermaid on my arm.

SML

 

I laughed and immediately hit reply.

 

SML,

Just out of curiosity, what cup size is the mermaid?

Ronan

 

I went and made my night time protein shake. When I returned to my laptop twenty minutes later, I saw her reply.

 

Go to bed, Ronan.

 

And so I did.