Page 5 of Kick Out of It
“Mom! That’s what I was trying to tell you!” Leo tugs on my sweater. “That’s O’Leary! I thought it was him! You’re right, who wouldn’t want a picture oftheRonan O’Leary?” Leo laughs. “Can we?”
“Shh!” I’m thankful Leo hasn’t figured out that Ronan knows me this past year, but I give it three minutes before he does.
“Nora, how the fu-dgeare you?” His correction coming the moment his eyes land on Leo. “I thought you said you weren’t landing until later?”
“I wasn’t born under a rock,” Leo harrumphs. “I’ve heard fuc?—”
I clamp my hand over my son’s mouth and curtly reply, “Ronan. Hi. Good to see you. Our flight got in early.”
It didn’t. I lied to Ronan—my friend—who offered to pick me up when he mentioned his flight would be landing around the same time. Am I an arsehole? Yes, yes I am. I was trying to prevent this exact interaction from happening.
“You know O’Leary?” Leo asks, eyes wide and blushing slightly.
Fuck. My. Life.
Looking between Ronan and Leo, I opt for an answer that avoids any hint that I know Ronan more than professionally. “Yes, I interviewed him when he helped win the World Cup for Ireland last year.”
Good save!
“Ronan O’Leary knows my mom…” Leo whispers in shock to himself.
“And you must be Leo. Great to finally meet you; your mum’s told me all about you.” That’s it, I’m in hell. Except, Leo is beaming so maybe I’m not in the fiery pits yet. “We’ve just landed, would you two like a lift?” Ronan rubs the back of his neck, looking up through his lashes. “Have you eaten yet? I haven’t. Would you two care to grab a bite? Or a pint? Notfor Leo, of course, we could order him… What do kids your age normally drink?” His rambling is endearing, but I shouldn't entertain the idea.
Leo sucks in a breath of excitement and I blink twice, huffing a laugh. “I’m sorry, what?”
“A pint. To catch up. Or an early dinner.”
We have nothing to catch up on, we spoke last night and briefly this morning—technically yesterday with the time difference. Is he asking me on a date? With my son here? No. It has to be as friends. If so, why is he nervous? My mind is running a mile a minute and I can’t stop it.
And he doesn’t know I dated his teammate…
I was with Keith back before Ronan was barely legal. Was he legal? I suppose it depends on where you live.Bloody hell, he was only eighteen, playing for a year before I broke up with Keith.I interviewed him exactly zero times before I left Ireland. He’s only thirty now, and in the best shape of his life. No kids, never married. I didn’t feel old when Elle called me out for being in my late thirties, but with Ronan being at least seven or eight years younger than me, it makes me feel ancient in comparison.
Why haven’t I considered this before?
I’ve taken on a whole new level of discomfort, despite him now being a grown man who I actually have a lot in common with. We’re friends, but standing before me now, I can’t ignore his sparkling green eyes, dark auburn hair that’s shorter in the back than on top. It also appears to be softer than a lambkin.Do not touch it!It doesn’t help that his muscles on top of muscles are attempting to escape his suit jacket.
Not my typical type… Nope, not my type… Except, it’s Ronan, who is absolutely my type.
“Catch up on what, exactly?” I rush out, shaking away the fact that I’m ogling a man who most definitely should not be ogled. At least not by me.
Ronan stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels, and shrugs. “Not sure. It isn’t every day you come across a beautiful lass you want to spend time with.”
Beautiful?
“Why do you strip off your kit at the end of every match?” Leo interrogates, thankfully pulling my attention away from Ronan.
“Leo!” My stern mum voice doesn’t phase my son as he stares down the footballer. “You can’t ask that of strangers.”
“Come on!” he groans. “You do all the time, Mom.” I hate to admit he’s right, even if it’s my job.
Ronan chuckles, “It’s okay, I don’t mind.Off the record,I don’t like how the fabric feels against my skin. I take it off as soon as they let me without getting booked. Sometimes it’s the second the match is over.”
Leo sucks in a breath. I know he’s thinking in that little head of his:This footballer is just like me!And he wouldn’t be wrong. Ronan hasn’t been explicit about his sensory differences in interviews—never outright naming a diagnosis—but there are speculations amongst reporters that he has Sensory Processing Disorder, or perhaps Autism. I don’t put much faith in the gossip, and until Ronan admits that to me, I’ll assume no neurodivergence.
Leo has SPD, and clings to anyone he meets who may or may not have the same needs he does. He was first diagnosed with Autism, until we found doctors who understood him. If the rumours are true, Ronan understands Leo far better than I ever could, making everything exponentially complicated.
“It was so great seeing you, Ronan.” I glance behind him. “Best to get back to your team, yeah?”