Play On by Samantha Young
“Why do you care who he settles down with?”
She gave me a duh look. “It’s Roddy.”
“Surely, we should be happy for him, no matter who he ends up with?”
“I’d quite like to hear you say that to him the next time he complains about one of my boyfriends.”
God, I wanted smack their heads together. Could two people be more blind about how they felt for each other?
“Fair enough.”
“So …” She studied me in that thoughtful way of hers. “Tell me about the volunteering.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know that you’re not surrounding yourself with children who aren’t going to be here in a year’s time.”
Understanding her concern, I gave her a reassuring smile. “Some of the kids are pretty sick but most aren’t terminal. Some of those poor kids are too ill to sit in a room and listen to me tell stories or play games. I’m fine. In fact, this one kid isn’t even sick,” I said, grinning as I thought about Sylvie. “Her mom was a nurse there …” I went on to tell her about Sylvie and her guardian, the epic Uncle Aidan.
“He sounds hot,” Seonaid decided.
I snorted. “How can someone sound hot?”
“Well, for one, he clearly has money. The apartment she described in Fountainbridge … not cheap. Also, she says he works with famous people and has dated beautiful women. Pretty people usually stick together.”
“Not true. There have been many unattractive famous men who have ended up with beautiful young women.”
“I’m not saying he’s probably typically good-looking. Seemingly unattractive men can be so charismatic, they’re hot.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “Why does it matter if he’s hot or not? The important thing is that this great kid has had the crappiest thing in the world happen to her and she’s so strong but he’s clearly blind to that. He keeps her locked up in that flat with a tutor instead of sending her back to school where she belongs. And she hero-worships him so much, she’s not going to complain about not being at school with her friends. She lost her mom—she won’t want to do anything to push him away.”
Seonaid nodded. “I see your point. I do. But you don’t know the whole situation, you only know what you’ve gotten from the kid. Try suddenly becoming guardian to a kid who lost her mum to a long-term illness and has a flaky father. Wouldn’t you wrap that kid up in cotton wool too? Being overprotective in this situation isn’t really a bad thing. Give the poor guy a break.”
Her advice percolated and I found myself frowning. “I didn’t mean to be judgy. I just … I really like the kid. I’m worried about her.”
“I can see that.” Seonaid cocked her head in thought. “Maybe you should try to meet the uncle—get a feel for him. You know, so you can rest assured she’s in good hands.”
Knowing exactly why she wanted me to meet the uncle—and it wasn’t purely for Sylvie’s sake—I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “You’re indefatigable.”
Seonaid’s brows drew together. “All I heard was the word fat.”
“It means dogged. Persistent. You never stop.”
She adopted an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about you trying to match me up with every man I come in contact with.”
“That’s not true.” She waved her fork at me. “I have never tried to set you up with Roddy. I’m not that cruel.”
“Hey,” I waved my fork right back at her, “I’d be lucky to be Roddy Livingston’s girl.”
“Yeah?” She smirked at me. “If you feel that strongly, maybe you should pick up a phone and I don’t know … call him once in a while.”
Well, I walked right into that one. “I call him,” I hedged.
“Then hang up and when he calls back, you don’t answer.”
Flushing at my stupidity, I asked quietly, “Did he tell you that?”
“Aye. He did. And this is Roddy, Nora. He doesn’t think, ‘aw, wee shame, Nora’s having a tough time connecting with her dead husband’s best friend who also happens to be her best friend.’ He’s thinking, ‘If she doesn’t fucking cut the bullshit, I’m done.’”
I blanched at the thought of losing Roddy. “I’ll call him.”
She reached over and grabbed my hand. “He can’t say it because it’s Roddy and admitting any real feelings would send him into septic shock, but he loves you. When he lost Jim, he lost a brother. You’re like a sister to him, more than I ever was. Don’t … don’t hurt him, Nora.”
Tears suddenly burned in my eyes and I dropped my gaze. “He’s the last person I want to hurt.” I couldn’t explain to her how difficult it was to be around Roddy. How it brought all the memories flooding back to that time when I should have let Jim McAlister walk out of my life and find someone who could love him the way he deserved.
“How about this? You, Roddy, and I meet for a drink at Leith’s Landing?”
“Won’t the barmaid you hate be there?”
She sneered. “Yes. But I’m willing to put up with it if it makes it easier for you to spend time with Roddy.”
“It’s because he reminds me so much of Jim,” I hurried to explain, not wanting her to know the real reason.
Seonaid nodded. “I get it. So? Next Sunday?”
“Yeah, okay,” I agreed, hating the swarming kaleidoscope of butterflies that erupted in my belly at the thought.
It was surprisingly easier than I’d anticipated to get through a few hours at the pub with Roddy. Seonaid made it easy by distracting him constantly with her digs at the barmaid he was dating, even though the girl wasn’t working, and therefore unable to defend herself.
However, I knew from the lack of any real emotion when talking about the barmaid that Roddy wasn’t in as deep as Seonaid feared. He was too busy exchanging mock barbs with the woman he actually cared about to give much thought to the barmaid.
My friends’ funny dynamic put me at ease and I got through hanging out with Roddy, assured I could do it again. And if Roddy had been pissed off at me, he never showed it.
That week I’d also had the privilege of spending more time with Sylvie, who had talked her uncle into letting her join the group again for my readings. I also introduced some games that day, and Sylvie served as my little helper. This time she and I couldn’t sit and talk because I’d agreed to have lunch again with Seonaid. At the despondent look on Sylvie’s face when I told her I had to leave, I knew I wouldn’t schedule lunch after my visits at the hospital again.
During our time with the kids, Sylvie expounded on the awesomeness of her uncle Aidan to everyone. I think some of the kids were a little tired of hearing, “Well, my uncle Aidan says,” but others had fallen under her spell. She’d transformed her uncle into a godlike creature, to the point where I think she had some of the younger kids believing he was an actual superhero. I let her. What was the harm? More than ever, those kids needed to believe in miracles and superheroes. Wasn’t that what was I doing there? Spinning them stories of magic and escape?
The Wednesday after my Sunday drinks with Roddy and Seonaid, I found myself in the untenable position of wanting to say no to Sylvie and not being able to. Somehow, she’d gotten her hands on a Twister game board and had talked the kids into playing.
I hadn’t thought it was a great idea, and Jan wasn’t too sure, either, but Sylvie won by announcing only she and I would play, and the kids would take turns spinning the wheel. It actually turned out to be a pretty good idea because we ended up in such awkward positions, in fits of giggles, that we had all the kids laughing and trying to cheat by placing us in even more ungainly positions!
I was in the middle of begging Poppy not to cheat with the Twister spinner when a deep, masculine voice sounded from behind me at the door.
“What is going on here?”
Unable to turn to see who it was, I heard Jan’s voice. “The children’s entertain—”
??
“How is that fair?” I asked. I wanted to move. I had my ass in the air and the mysterious Uncle Aidan was right behind it.
I bowed my head trying to see through my legs but all I saw were his and Jan’s feet and then Sylvie’s as she rushed him.
“Come play, Uncle Aidan,” Sylvie begged excitedly.
“I think I’ll just watch.” His voice rumbled, sounding amused. He had a great voice. A beautiful lilting, cultured Scottish accent. And my ass was in his face. In green Peter Pan leggings that did nothing to hide the shape of my body, I might add.
Great.
I looked super professional right now.
“Oh, please,” Sylvie begged. “Please.”
“No, sweetheart. You go back to the game. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“But I want you to play with Nora—I mean, Peter Pan.”
I almost choked. It was time to get up before Peter Pan was made to play Twister with a strange man. The thought sounded so perverted, I had to swallow a giggle.
“Please, please!” the other kids suddenly started begging.
Sylvie began instructing him on the position she’d been in.
“Guys, leave Sylvie’s uncle—” The squeak of the plastic mat halted me mid-sentence.
And then I felt his heat, followed by the smell of expensive cologne. It was earthy but fresh. Like wood, and amber, mint leaves and apple.
Oh, dear God.
Slowly, I lifted my head and found myself staring into green eyes that were bright with amusement. Familiar green eyes with flecks of yellow gold.
“You must be Peter Pan,” he said, laughter trembling on his lips.
Lips I remembered well.
In fact, I remembered those broad shoulders too, that square, unshaven, strong jawline and expressive mouth. I remembered the sexy laugh lines around his eyes. It all belonged on a very tall, well-built guy who had once picked me up off the floor of a pub and then flirted with me the following day in a supermarket on what would turn out to be one of the worst days of my life.
Uncle Aidan was the stranger from the bar.
Small goddamn world.
Realizing I hadn’t spoken, I managed a croaky, “Hey.”
Our faces were too close together, and his long leg was currently entangled with my short one.
“Right hand green, Peter Pan!” Sylvie announced.
I wrenched my gaze from his to the mat. The nearest green spot would mean climbing her uncle like a monkey. Part of me wondered if she’d cheated. I shot her a suspicious look and watched her shake with giggles.
“Oh, crap,” I muttered under my breath.
I heard the rumble of laughter and my eyes flew back to his. There was a challenge in his, but not recognition. He didn’t remember me. Why would he? I was just a girl he briefly met once.
“I’m not doing it.”
His eyes grew round with mock innocence. “But that would be cheating.”
“Cheating?” Sylvie heard. “No cheating.”
“No cheating, Peter Pan!” Poppy cried out from her chair.
Soon all the kids were buzzing with laughter and conversation as I stared at the man who was already too close for comfort.
There was no way I was doing it. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I moved toward him as if I was going to do it and I let my left hand and foot slip. I flipped at the last minute, crashing down on the mat on my back.
“Oh no, I fell! I lose!” I threw my hands up in the air.
I heard his laughter before his face appeared upside down above mine. My breath caught as he smiled down at me. “Liar.”
“It’s called pretending.” I grinned up at him. “There’s a difference.”
Instead of smiling back at me, he suddenly frowned. “Have we met?”
Although I didn’t like to admit it, I was gratified that he’d felt a flicker of recognition. It was more than a little humbling that I had recognized him immediately, but he had no idea who I was. “No,” I lied. What was the point in reminding him? If he remembered me, he’d only have questions about the wedding ring I no longer wore.
Suddenly, Sylvie was kneeling over me. “You meant that.”
I sat up. “Prove it.”
She thrust a book at me. “You have to read now. I want Uncle Aidan to hear all the voices you do.”
Embarrassment threatened to freeze me in place. It was one thing to act out a story for a bunch of kids, even a parent or two, but for Aidan Lennox? Mr. Sexy Stranger from the bar/worldly music producer/composer/only dates beautiful women/gave up the bachelor life to care for his dying sister and then adopted his sister’s kid?
This guy wasn’t for real, right?
I jumped spryly to my feet and turned to watch him get all six-plus feet of his large build up off the mat with more grace than a big guy should be able to pull off. He towered over me, making me feel like one of the kids. I wondered how odd we looked standing together.
Aidan took a seat and Sylvie sat on the floor between his legs. The kids looked at me expectantly, so I had to force myself to block him out.
I did this for the kids.
Stranger from the Bar wasn’t going to mess up what I had here with them because he was an intimidating hunk of man candy.
At first, I couldn’t help but be aware of the masculine gaze focused so intently on me. Despite his earlier amusement, I could feel him studying me, trying to work me out. I understood it, of course. His kid was spending time with me, and he wanted to see what I was all about.
Eventually, however, the joy of acting out the story took over. Every time I’d look up from the page and see Poppy’s wide eyes and enthralled expression, or Aaron’s unusual stillness that gave away his interest, or Aly’s smiling, encouraging face, or Sylvie’s admiration, I was pushed on, all inhibitions forgotten at my feet.
Soon, Jan reappeared to tell us time was up. Like always and to my gratification, the kids groaned their displeasure. “I’ll be back next week, guys.”
Aaron approached me slowly and then stopped, shifting from foot to foot as he looked anywhere but at me. “I won’t be here next week.”
Please be good news. Please. “Oh?”
“I’m better.” He shrugged, finally looking at me. “I’m going home.”
Gladness suffused me. “Aaron, I’m going to miss you, kid. But that’s the best news ever.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Thanks. You know, for …” He gestured around the room.
He reminded me so much of Roddy in that moment, I had to stop myself from pulling him into a hug. I brushed my fist against his shoulder. “See you around, kid.”
Aaron grinned, seeming relieved I wasn’t going to get all emotional on him. “Bye.”
As soon as he left my side, Sylvie dragged her uncle to me. I smiled at her, even though Aidan made me nervous. Gathering my things, I said, “You heading out?”
“Uncle Aidan said we can have lunch with you in the cafeteria. Please, Nora, please.”
My stomach dropped at the thought as she looked at me with such adorable pleading, my chest actually ached. She had that magical ability to turn you to mush. You know, like puppy dogs had.
My eyes flew up to Aidan’s, but his expression was neutral. I couldn’t make out what he was thinking.
When I looked back at Sylvie, I found I couldn’t deny her. “Of course. Let me grab my stuff.”
They left to wait outside, and I took the time to gather my things and say goodbye to the kids. I squeezed Poppy’s hand as I passed and she rewarded me with the world’s sweetest smile.
Aidan and Sylvie were at the nurses’ station talking to Jan, but as soon as Sylvie saw me, she impatiently pulled Aidan away. I waved at Jan, and then fell into tense silence beside uncle and niece. The silence, however, was only on mine and Aidan’s part. Sylvie filled the hallways with her excited chatter.
However, I didn’t know why Sylvie was so drawn to me. I would’ve thought it was my storytelling but she seemed more interested in Nora than Peter Pan.
As if to prove my point, she gestured to a restroom up ahead. “Do you want to change your clothes, Nora?”
My lips twitched at her suggestion. “Embarrassed by my cool threads?” I tugged at the ragged hem of my costume.
Sylvie wrinkled her nose. “A little.”
“Sylvie,” Aidan admonished, but I could tell by the small smirk he wore he thought she was hilarious. Lucky for him, I thought she was too.
“I’ll change, Your Highness.” I gave her a mock bow that made her laugh.
Inside the restroom, I found my fingers trembling as I undressed and pulled on my skinny jeans and T-shirt. I was all too aware of Aidan. More than that, I was worried he didn’t like Sylvie spending time with me. His stare was unnerving and unwavering, as if he were analyzing my every word and movement, trying to work out if I was good enough to be around his niece.
I hated that feeling.
I met them outside, squirming inwardly as Aidan’s eyes flickered down my body and back up again. Without meaning to, my hand went to my hair, my fingers rubbing against the short strands at my nape in a self-conscious movement. For the first time since cutting it, I felt a pang of regret.
Jim hadn’t been the only one who’d liked my hair.
I liked my hair.
Being short with slender curves and a propensity toward wearing jeans and shorts, my hair had made me feel feminine. I’d loved that I could wear it down, curl it, braid it, throw it up in a messy bun. Anything. It always made me feel pretty.
Huh.