“Anything?” I raise a brow skeptically. “I’m not sure that theory holds up.”
She rolls her eyes and swings the backpack onto her shoulders, pushing out her chest as she does so. I try not to notice. “Well, you won’t know if you don’t try. You sound just like the grumpy footballers in my yoga class. They always thought yoga was a waste of time.” She smiles. “Now the whole team comes every Saturday religiously.”
“The whole football team?” Teagan asks with a hint of interest.
“Yup.” Clodagh nods. “It’s funny how it started out as an activity for a few ladies, but now consists of mostly young Irish footballers.”
“Oh.” Teagan looks even more intrigued.
Clodagh pauses to glance at me before addressing my daughter. “Do you want to come, Teagan?”
“No,” I answer for her. “She’s grounded.”
“Ugh,” Teagan shrieks, slamming her phone on the table. “You’re not letting me work out? That is so wack.”
I narrow my eyes on my daughter. Work out? Bullshit. If the yoga class wasn’t full of football players, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
Clodagh barely hides a smirk.
“Besides,” I say to my scowling daughter. “You’re not imposing on Clodagh’s day. She doesn’t want to see us on the weekends.”
“Not at all,” Clodagh says warmly. “I don’t mind.”
“I’ve always wanted to try yoga.” Teagan pouts. “And I need to get out of the house. I’m going insane.”
“I’m not stupid, Teagan,” I warn her. “It’s got more to do with the fact that football players will be there. I already said I’d take you out to lunch.”
“But I would rather do yoga,” she sniffs, giving me her best doe-eyed look. “Pleaaaase, Daddy? I’ll have the security guys with me.”
I know when I’m being played. “If you think you’re talking to any football players, you have another thing coming.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fat chance with Sam and co. watching.”
Clodagh laughs. “You know this is just a small Gaelic football team in Queens, right? It’s not NFL. And our version of football isn’t the same as yours.”
“I know. I went to a match with Dad and Uncle Connor once.”
I look at Clodagh. It’s not fair to put this on her.
Her eyes meet mine. “You can also come if you want, Killian,” she says softly.
“Great,” Teagan mutters. “Dad will call me princess in front of everyone.”
I’m about to respond, but then, against my better judgment, I find myself nodding. Despite Teagan’s protests.
Harlow would go.
If watching a yoga session is how I get to spend time with my daughter, then so be it. Even if she’s reluctant to spend it with me. And perhaps it would be nice to have a reason to visit Queens other than visiting Harlow’s grave.
“All right,” I reply.
Clodagh looks so shocked I worry she’s going to faint.
“Under one condition,” I say. “I’ll drive.”
Clodagh frowns. “But the subway is faster.”
“You’ve never been in a Ferrari, have you?”
“Okay, I have a condition of my own.”
My brows lift. “Go on.”
“It’s Saturday, so everything is off the record, and nothing I do will get me sacked.”
“I’m going to regret this, but you have a deal.”
***
We park just outside the entrance to the park in Queens.
“That was amazing!” Clodagh laughs as I open the car door for her and Teagan. “I suppose a Ferrari is sometimes better than the subway.”
“I’m starting to think you’ve never been in a car before, from how you were screaming,” I grumble.
The three of us head to the park, where a group of older ladies and a girl Clodagh’s age are milling around. They’re all wearing sportswear.
“Morning, ladies,” Clodagh greets them and runs over to hug the girl in her twenties.
What the fuck am I doing here?
The girl whispers something to Clodagh, and they both look my way.
Teagan fidgets next to me nervously; I place my hand on her lower back in reassurance.
“Hello, Mr. Quinn,” Clodagh’s friend says reverently. “I’m Orla, Clodagh’s best friend.”
The sound of her Irish brogue does nothing for me compared to Clodagh’s; thank fuck. If all Irish women had that effect on me, I’d never set foot in an Irish pub again. I’m convinced Clodagh uses hypnotism on me with hers.
“Killian,” I reply.
“And this is Teagan,” Clodagh says, drawing her into the group of women.
We exchange pleasantries with Orla and the ladies. More women in their sixties come over until a circle of about ten are around me.
“Where are the football players?” Teagan mutters beside me.
I shoot her a stern glance.
“Who is this strapping young man?” one of the women asks, unabashedly undressing me with her eyes. Her American accent holds the slightest trace of an Irish lilt.
I chuckle a little. It’s been a while since anyone called me young.
“This is my boss, Killian, and his daughter Teagan,” Clodagh tells them. Now I have the attention of all the ladies. More join them. Their accents are a mixture of American, Irish, and a few others.
Clodagh grins. “Our new boy, Killian, is a little shy, so make him feel welcome, girls.”
The women swarm around Teagan, asking her questions and telling her how pretty she is.
As for me, I’m being pawed and stroked. A hand on my back drifts dangerously close to my rear end.
“It’s Clodagh’s rich boss from Manhattan,” one of them whispers loudly.
Another hand reaches out to stroke my arm. “He’s very muscly.”
Someone runs their fingers through my hair, and I hear a gentle purr at my back.
“He’s not wearing a ring.”
Another hand nudges me on my lower back.
For fuck’s sake, is this how women feel in a strip club? I didn’t think Yoga with Clodagh would be so depraved.
Clodagh can barely contain her smirk.
“Is he single, Clodagh?” one of them asks her without even looking at me. “If you don’t want him, my Kelly’s getting divorced.”
“Is he in the military?” asks another throaty voice behind me.
“Oh God.” Teagan groans beside me. “This is gross.”