For the next several days, I kept reminding myself that Donal wasn't going to walk through the kitchen door. And yet, my eyes strayed there every time I heard footsteps in the hall.

Except today was different. Just now I’d heard boisterous shouting on the other side of the door, some "fuck you's" and then he was there, limping into my kitchen. They’d changed out his boot for a larger, more stable one, and he lumbered now more than he walked.

"How'd your meeting go?" I asked as he made his way to my side and tugged me forward for a kiss. I made sure to keep my hands—coated in olive oil and herbs and spices—away from his clothing as I wrapped my arms around his neck and went up on tiptoe to meet his lips.

"About as well as you'd expect,” he answered, leaning his hip on the counter.

Donal had talked with his coach on Monday about what his options were, but they'd both known there was really only one. Today, the team would announce his retirement. Normally, a third string player retiring from rugby at the age of 22 wouldn't be newsworthy, but when your dad was Callum Casey and you'd suffered the same career-ending Achilles rupture as he had, the press was hungry to write about it.

I wiped my hands on a towel and clasped our fingers together. "I'm sorry. I know I keep saying that, and my words don't do anything to change the situation or make it better, but I'm here for you."

"I know," he said, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Just being with you makes everything better."

Across the kitchen, Kathleen and Bess snickered and rolled their eyes while I pretended to ignore them. At first, I'd been concerned how people would react to Donal and I being together, but then I'd pushed those worries aside. If I were a 32-year-old man and he a 22-year-old woman, no one would bat an eyelash. In fact, one of the guys on the team who was nearing 35 was currently dating a former Miss Ireland who I was pretty sure was barely legal.

But it wasn’t just our age difference that drew curious glances. People like Bess and Kathleen thought Donal was a major player and I was “a stupid fucking eejit” for having fallen for his smooth words and practiced come-ons. But they didn't know him—not like I did. All they saw was a guy who hadn’t a care in the world, and who spent all of his free time indulging his baser instincts.

Once I’d realized that wasn’t who he was at all, I’d asked Donal why he let people think he was a walking, talking asshole. He’d shrugged and told me it was just easier that way. Easier how, he hadn’t said, but I’d walked away with the impression that Donal had grown up with a lot of expectations placed on his shoulders, and everything he did now was to rebel against that upbringing.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

He clasped the back of his neck and shifted his eyes away, a nervous gesture he pulled out whenever he was about to discuss his father. Donal loved Callum, but their relationship was complicated and fraught with landmines—especially now that his career as a professional athlete was over. He and his dad might have played different sports, but Callum Casey had expected his son to excel just as much as he had.

“I’m meeting Dad and his lawyers to go over my trust.”

My eyes darted toward my co-workers, but they were absorbed in their prep work for today’s meal and didn’t appear to be listening. “Anything you need to be worried about?”

“Nah,” he answered, pushing my concerns aside. “I started getting regular monthly payouts when I turned 21, but now that I won’t have my rugby money—not that it was much—they’ll probably just want to discuss managing the portfolio and planning for my future.”

“Okay then,” I said, going back to my prep work. Sometimes I wasn’t sure whether Donal’s blasé attitude toward his future lack of employment was an act or if he truly wasn’t concerned with not having a backup plan in place now that rugby was off the table. But since he seemed indifferent to it, I didn’t want to worry on his behalf. “Let me know if you want to get together later.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied, taking a step closer so our hips touched. With the table blocking anyone’s line of sight, Donal skated his hands over my hip to cup my ass. “I’m thinking dessert first, then dinner,” he growled.

My body immediately grew hot with desire. “Let’s do dinner first and then dessert. I’m thinking an all-you-can-eat buffet that’s open all night long.”

Just thinking about all the wicked and delightful things he’d do to me tonight had my breasts turning heavy with longing.

“You are the smartest fucking woman I know,” he said, squeezing my ass in his big, strong hands. I’d never get over how he could palm an entire cheek with just one squeeze. “Tonight, you’re coming no less than five times.”

Donal was voracious. If it was up to him, we’d never leave my apartment, ordering delivery every night and then fucking until we passed out from exhaustion. I shouldn't have been surprised—he had youth and an athlete’s stamina on his side—but good lord, he could come and then be hard again in a minute. Sometimes it was difficult keeping up with him. A woman was supposed to hit her sexual prime in her 30s, but my prime was clearly no match for his.

Now that he didn’t have to worry about winning matches anymore, he’d told me his only goal in life was to fuck me until I couldn’t walk the next day. As far as goals went, I supposed it was as good as any, but I’d never seen someone pursue an endeavor so single-mindedly. It was a miracle I was managing to keep up, I thought, flexing my jaw. This morning, I’d had to resort to a quick blow job to keep him from mauling me as I was walked to the bathroom to get ready for work.

With a quick smack on my ass, and then a smack of his lips to my cheek, Donal turned and strolled out of the kitchen, winking at Bess as he went.

The second the double doors swung shut, Kathleen—her eyes remaining glued to the lamb she was butterflying—said, “You need to tell me your secret.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You didn’t just land one of Dublin’s most eligible young bachelors, you’ve got him panting after you like a dog in heat.” She chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cast a love charm on our Donal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you’re the only woman in Dublin who’s been able to get Donal Casey to come back for seconds.”

“And thirds and fourths, from the looks of it,” Bess chimed in.

I shrugged. “We get along all right.”

“I’d say you do,” Kathleen tittered and then went back to cutting vegetables, while I tried to put the conversation behind me.

I’d been sufficiently warned about Donal, so their commentary shouldn’t have fazed me, but somehow it did. Not that I didn’t trust him. Since our first kiss, he hadn’t been with anyone else. He wasn’t the manwhore he’d been before we met. He’d changed—for me.

But what about when I’m gone?

For the second time this morning, I found myself wondering what would happen when I boarded the plane back to Los Angeles. I’d tried not to get too attached to Donal, but like I’d said from the beginning, I didn’t do casual sex. During our time together I’d grown to care about him—more than I’d ever wanted to. And now, the idea of leaving him had me tied up in knots.

He’d asked me to stay in Ireland a few extra weeks after my contract with Dublin Rugby was up, but maybe there was a different solution. Maybe, now that he was officially retired, I could convince him to come back to L.A with me. He had family there, too. Surely he’d want to spend time with his half brothers and sisters?

Hmm, this idea doesn’t sound half bad, I thought, shoving the lamb in the oven to braise for the next couple of hours.

Maybe we could explore Ireland together when my contract was up, and then I’d show him California. It didn’t have to be a big deal. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Shit, who was I kidding? I really wanted it to.