Play On (Play On 1)

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—”

“Uncle Aidan!” Sylvie squealed in my ear, making me flinch. “I’m moving but you can’t move!” She unwound her leg from mine and was gone.

“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.