The Varlet and the Voyeur

  “It’s just . . . interesting.” He said this haltingly and then winced slightly, giving me the impression he hadn’t meant to say the word ‘interesting.’

  I blinked at my miniature reflection in the knife, and then at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’ve got”—he lifted his chin towards my face and breathed out, sounding frustrated—“you have interesting features.”

  I stiffened.

  I knew I wasn’t the most conventionally attractive flower in the garden—more like a thistle than a rose—but it wasn’t a nice feeling when someone pointed it out. When I was younger I’d get upset, but these days I tried to own it.

  Considering him, and his conventionally attractive everything, I crossed my arms. “My friend Alice from school used to say I looked like a bug.”

  Will’s brows drew together, like my statement irritated him. “No. You remind me of those big eyes paintings from that movie. Ever seen it?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” I mumbled quietly. Big eyes?

  I had no idea what paintings he was talking about or what movie. I also didn’t want to know, because if they were ugly or weird looking, that meant he thought I was too, and I’d rather live in blissful ignorance of the extent to which my features were “interesting,” thankyouverymuch.

  The waitress came with our drinks and I busied myself adding sugar and milk as I tried to get the conversation back on course. “So, about this job, what sort of person are you looking for?”

  Will thought on it a moment, then answered, “I need someone who’s honest.”

  I waited for him to continue, widening my eyes. When he didn’t, I prompted, “That’s it? Just honest? That’s the only requirement?”

  He stared at me, as though considering, or maybe struggling to find the right words. Maybe he was one of those verbally constipated people. I noted his eyes were gray-ish green, the color reminded me of granite for some reason.

  Abruptly, he said, “Living with Bryan worked because he was sober and attending AA. He had this rigid routine and I followed it. But then he left to move in with Eilish and things went downhill.” He glanced at his hands, like they held a memory.

  Studying him, I nodded. “So, you need someone like Bryan? Who doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs, who goes to bed at a reasonable hour and gets up at 5:00 a.m. to work out?” Because if so, I was not that person.

  I loved wine. We were in a relationship.

  I did exercise, but mostly (only) because of my dog.

  I’d also indulged in a little marijuana every now and again. In fact, my parents were the only ones I smoked it with. Most people thought this was weird, I know, but my dad was an intellectual and my mam was an artist. They claimed it opened their minds, helped them access a higher plane of thinking, but really, they just liked getting high.

  Honestly? I liked it because of the snacks. My dad couldn’t cook a real meal to save his life, but he made the best snacks whenever he was high. My favorite was his fondue. Sometimes I’d pretend to smoke just to get the snacks.

  And last but not least, I wasn’t a morning person. My alarm going off at 7:00 a.m. was my least favorite part of the day.

  “No, I don’t expect you to be Bryan.” William’s eyes seemed to smile, but the rest of his expression was unchanged. “Honesty a-and boundaries.” He took another deep breath, his gaze moving over my shoulder. “Someone to”—he frowned, again looking frustrated—“someone to help me resist my worst impulses, and check in on me, hold me accountable.” A dark cloud seemed to form behind his stare as he brought it back to me.

  “Can you explain that a bit more? What do you mean, ‘check in on me’?”

  He glanced over my head, squinting. “Be present. Ask me about my day, tell me about yours. Ask me what I’ve been doing, if I’ve been tempted to seek out company.” His eyes came back to mine. “That kind of thing.”

  “So, I’ll be like a mish-mash between a therapist and a babysitter.” Blarg! I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.

  But he nodded, not looking at all perturbed by my description. “Yeah, basically.”

  “And what if you are tempted?”

  “Distract me. Remind me of all the reasons why it’s a bad idea, my responsibility to the team, the ramifications to my career.” His gaze flickered over me, and he added quickly, “If you think you can do that then the job is yours.”

  The job is mine? What??

  YES!

  Except . . .

  My stomach flipped over.

  I really wanted to lie and tell him I was sure I could do that, but I had to be honest. “Cards on the table, I might not be the person you’re looking for.”

  He sat back, his gorgeous head tilting to the side as though he were studying me, his delicious voice a deep rumble. “How so?”

  “I’m messy and disorganized. I drink too much wine and I oversleep. I’m not great with boundaries, frequently overstepping, or just saying absolutely the wrong thing. I never seem to know when something is or isn’t my business, offering opinions when I should hold my tongue. I also have a dog. He’s a bit of a handful.”

  “I like dogs,” Will said, his eyes seeming to smile again. “On the farm we had lots of working dogs.”

  Rocky was about as far from a working dog as you could get. He was a ball of pampered, energetic mischief, but I wasn’t going to get into that right now.

  “The fact is, in all honesty, because I have a real problem with honesty—in that I’m always honest and frequently to my detriment, like now—I would absolutely love to take you up on this offer, but I think there are people out there far better suited. You’ll have a much higher chance of success if you choose someone else.” I paused to give a soft laugh. “Someone who’s the opposite of me, basically.”

  Will didn’t say anything for a moment, studying my face in a way that made me start to feel self-conscious again.

  Then he said, “You’re hired.”

  My brows shot right up into my forehead. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said? I’d make a terrible sober companion, or well, voyeurism abstinence sponsor, I guess.”

  “I disagree.”

  What?

  I stared at him, incredulous. “Why on earth do you want to hire me?”

  “You’ll tell me the truth even if it won’t benefit you to do so.” His gaze was steady. “That’s what I need.”

  Mouth agape, I blinked. Well. . . wow.

  Did you hear that? I’m what he needs!

  And I’d told him the truth, so maybe I was right for this job after all. I felt like doing a little fist pump of joy but managed to keep it at bay.

  I lifted my tea and took a sip, and then glanced at William. Play it cool. “So. . . the apartment, it’s in the city?”

  He nodded. “Two-bedroom apartment, you’ll get your, a large balcony. There’s a communal garden area where your dog can play. Eilish said, uh, you’re a student?”

  “Yes,” I answered distractedly, not sure I believed what was happening. “I’m training to become a vet. Animals are my passion. I have classes every day, late on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  His eyes did that smiling thing again, where his face didn’t move otherwise. “A vet? You must study a lot.”

  “It’s going to take a couple of years, but I’m determined to have my own veterinary surgery one day.” I was still focused on my jumble of thoughts, which was probably why I was actually answering questions and carrying on a conversation like a normal human.

  “That’s your dream?” He asked softly, his voice quiet.

  “Pretty much.” I shrugged, mentally calculating how soon I could move into his place. Also—maybe distraction is the key! I’m actually doing good with the casual chat. Good job me!

  A pause in conversation ensued, quiet falling between us, but I barely noticed. It was highly out of character.

  William broke it, leaning his elbows on the table. “My dad and grandpa taught me all about anima
l husbandry. If you ever have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  “I think I’ll be sticking with cats and dogs. I don’t have the stomach to be an agricultural vet.” I eyeballed his forearms. They were—in a word—luscious. Am I really going to be living with this guy? This hot, seemingly unflappable voyeur of epic attractiveness? The idea of someone like him watching other people have sex was…interesting to say the least.

  “It’s not for the faint of heart.” William made a small—and I mean very small—sound of amusement, and I realized something about him: William Moore was exceptionally stoic. He didn’t talk much. And when he did, he said very little.

  And me, being the curious sort, couldn’t let him get away with being vague. “I feel like there’s a story there.”

  “The procedure for insemination . . .” He rubbed his jaw, leaning back in his chair, and lifted his cup with a whisper of a smirk, “. . . is one lesson I could never unlearn.”

  I let out a loud snort-laugh, then slapped my hand over my mouth. I knew my run of ladylike behavior was too good to be true, but then I looked at William and he was laughing, too.

  Like, actually laughing.

  It made me feel less embarrassed about the snort.

  “Some people might consider exposure like that a form of child abuse,” I said.

  “I was never the same after.” William grinned.

  Whoa. Nice teeth.

  I stared for a few seconds at his teeth, wondering if I’d ever see them again. But then I managed to shake myself before it got weird and glanced at the time on my phone. Inwardly, I sighed. I had to get moving if I was going to make my next class.

  “Well, it was great to meet you. And I’d love to accept the job if you still want me. I won’t be offended if you change your mind.” I hitched my bag up on my shoulder and stood, reaching out to shake William’s hand.

  Once again, I noted the size of it as it dwarfed mine, and it’s not like I had small hands. Nevertheless, his was big and solid and warm.

  William looked me in the eye, his steady gaze somehow calming. “The job is yours, Josey. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Well, how about that?

  I’d actually managed to make an okay first impression for once. Eat your heart out, Mam and Dad. I’d just secured a job and a place to live.

  For the first time in a long time, everything was coming up Josey.

  Four

  @SeanCassinova: Today is @RonanFitz’s birthday? What do you get for a man his age?

  @WillthebrickhouseMoore to @SeanCassinova and @RonanFitz: I don’t know, but I guess you’ll be able to tell us in two months.

  @SeanCassinova to @WillthebrickhouseMoore and @RonanFitz: You, sir, are a wanker.

  WILL

  I watched Josey Kavanagh go as she navigated the close-set tables. Twisting to the side to avoid hitting a chair, she hit the chair anyway, and then turned and apologized to the chair’s occupant.

  The man paid her no attention at first, giving her a short glance over his shoulder. But then Josey kept talking and laughed at something she said. I heard her little snort. Eventually, the man gave her his attention, but he looked irritated by her interruption.

  She kept talking.

  I took a swallow of my coffee as I watched this exchange. She continued speaking, apparently ignorant to the fact that she was being impolite by inserting herself into the strangers’ conversation.

  Josey Kavanagh was weird.

  My cell vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. Seeing who it was, I swiped to the right and brought it to my ear.

  “Bryan.”

  “Will. How did it go?” My teammate sounded worried. “Should I apologize?”

  My attention moved back to Josey where she stood at the table of strangers. Her sharp cheekbones were flushed pink, she’d rolled her wide lips between her teeth, and she was waving goodbye to them, all the while talking. The couple at the table shared a look of confusion.

  I turned the handle of my coffee cup toward me. “I hired her.”

  Bryan made a choking noise. “You- you what?”

  “I hired her.”

  Bryan was quiet while I followed the progress of Josey’s departure. She kept tucking non-existent hairs behind her ears like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

  My decision had been uncharacteristically hasty, but I wasn’t at all worried. She was what I needed, even though I hadn’t realized it until moments ago. She was perfect.

  After speaking with Ronan, Coach, and Bryan, I’d resigned myself to a roommate who was something like the prototypical strict Catholic nun. Someone who would hold me accountable with check-ins and a schedule, who was focused on discipline of character rather than distraction.

  Josey Kavanagh was not that person, and yet I was certain she would be infinitely better—more effective—than the alternative. She was charming, disarming, distracting. I had no doubt she would be honest and direct, but it wouldn’t be brutal. I also didn’t doubt that she would hold me accountable, but being accountable to Josey wouldn’t be something to dread.

  It would be like being accountable to a puppy. I wouldn’t want to let her down, I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.

  “Well . . . that’s amazing.” Bryan breathed out, as though he’d been holding the breath for a while. “Wait, you’re not doing this as a favor to me, are you? Because, as much as I appreciate it—and believe me, I really do—don’t throw yourself on the Josey sword unless you actually want to hire her. I mean, I can’t wait for her to move out, but I also can’t ask you to make a pity hire on my account.”

  “It’s not a pity hire.” My shoulders tensed, not liking the way he spoke about her. “I . . .”

  “What?”

  She was strange. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but her features were also unusual. Striking. Her brow, cheekbones, and square jaw were pronounced; her eyes huge; and her mouth was impossibly wide. She had no single defining feature, with every part of her face too big, exaggerated, except her nose. Her nose was perfectly normal, and therefore too small in comparison.

  I didn’t think she looked like a bug, but—reluctantly—I understood the origin of the comparison.

  “She’s honest.” I feel comfortable around her.

  This was miraculous. The more I thought about it, the more I decided it was likely because she reminded me of my oldest brother, Thomas. He was always making jokes, always trying to make people laugh, see them smile. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed spectacularly, but despite his flops, he always tried.

  Like a puppy.

  Bryan made a sound of amusement. “Yes. She is. Too honest. But”—he rushed to add, maybe sensing I was going to argue with him—“if you’re happy with her for the job, then I’m happy for you. I’m also happy to give Ronan a heads-up. He’s right here.”

  “Sure.” I narrowed my eyes as Josey walked out of the door, turning to the right. A half second later, she walked back in front of the door, heading left.

  I smiled.

  “This is incredible,” Bryan muttered, giving me the impression he was speaking mostly to himself.

  His incredulity was amusing. “Why are you having such a hard time with this, Bry?”

  He hesitated, then made a sound like he was clearing his throat or coughing. “I have to point this out—and don’t take this the wrong way—you avoid women.”

  I made a face at that. “No.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I grunted.

  “I understand, I do. After what you told me about your ex—”

  I grunted again. He knew I didn’t like to talk about Eve.

  Bryan continued, “Stop making that noise and listen. I understand why—after what happened with your ex—and I was proud of you when you tried dating that tennis player a few years ago. What ever happened there?”

  I didn’t respond immediately, considering my words. I’d thought dating another athlete would work. Neither of u
s would be at a disadvantage, we would both understand the demands of each other’s job, there was no danger of an imbalance in the power dynamic. I was right about my assumptions, except it didn’t work.

  Finally, I responded to Bryan’s question with the truth. “You can’t be a celebrity if no one can see you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I told Ronan at the meeting with Coach, I can’t date celebrities—athletes included.” I hated media attention, parties, movie premieres, award shows, and large gatherings, and those events were the lifeblood of supermodels, musicians, famous athletes, and actors.

  “Well, ever since the tennis player, with the exception of a very few, you do avoid women. So, you have to give me a minute here to deal with my astonishment that you want to move Josey in.”

  “I don’t avoid women.”

  “Will, come on! Every party, social event, meetup of any kind, you’re hiding behind me, or Sean, or Ronan. Or you’re lurking against the wall, hiding in the shadows. If the ladies approach, you disappear.”

  “That’s different,” I grumbled. “Those aren’t ladies, those are packs of ladies.”

  Bryan burst out laughing and I ground my teeth.

  Let him laugh.

  I knew firsthand, people acted differently when in packs, surrounded by a group with like-characteristics. They were more aggressive, bolder but not braver, thoughtless, behaved in ways they wouldn’t normally on their own. I didn’t subscribe to this group mentality, this diffusion of responsibility, always doing my utmost to be considerate of each individual, even when surrounded by others similar to me.

  I followed rules, not peer pressure.

  “Besides”—I added, cutting into Bryan’s laughter—“I don’t think of Josey as a woman.” I’d never been as comfortable with a new person as I had been with Josey just moments ago—none of my teammates, not at first—and especially not a female.

  His laugh tapered off. After a brief pause, he said thoughtfully, “I guess I see what you mean. An annoying little sister maybe, but definitely not a woman.”

  A little sister. Yeah.