Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

“I don’t want you to go,” she moaned. She actually fucking moaned in my ear. Groaning, I sat forward and pulled her roughly against me, hugging on her and rocking on her, and losing my mind in her. You’re playing with fire. This girl is going to ruin you. Fuck.

“I should go,” I continued to tell her as I buried my face in her gorgeous neck and prayed for divine intervention to stop me before I took something from her that I couldn’t give back.

Keeping my back to Shannon, I walked over to her window and pretended to stare out, while I discreetly rearranged the huge fucking problem in my pants.

“Relax.” I chuckled. “I know what you meant.” I stepped forward then, because I was a masochistic bastard with a penchant for torturing myself, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Bye, Shannon.” “Bye, Johnny,” she whispered, shivering on the doorstep.

Masochistic or not, if I turned back and looked at those midnight blue eyes again, I was going to drown in them.

“I’m not, Dad,” I cried out, buckling under the force of his touch. “Please—” My words broke off when my father’s fist connected with my cheek, hitting me so hard that my head snapped back from the force. Fight back, Shannon. Grab something. Anything. Do something.

One of these days, I was going to get out of this house. And when I did, I was never going to come back. It was with that thought, that tiny slither of hope, and Johnny’s mix CD playing in my ears, that I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

I needed to be really fucking careful with my next move, because once I decided that she was the girl for me, that would be that. Once I committed myself, once my heart laid claim on her, I might as well slap a label on my forehead stating, I’m yours. Please be gentle with me because I’m here to stay.

“Bella called Shannon a slut?” Gibsie scoffed, fluffing a pillow. “She’s one to talk.” “I know,” I grumbled. “That’s what I said.”

“The pharmacist told me it’s ‘sensitive touch.’” I stared at him. “It’s half-empty.” He shrugged. “I had to test it before I could recommend it to you.” I immediately dropped the bottle on my bedroom floor.

Lmaoooooo

“And my eyes.” I shook my head and gaped at myself, fluttering my eyelashes admiringly. “Whoa, those are—” “Gorgeous?” Claire offered, coming to stand beside me. “Because you are sickeningly gorgeous.” “It’s the makeup,” I assured her, embarrassed. “It’s the girl,” Claire corrected as she slung an arm around my shoulder.

I had bumped into him no less than three times between classes today, and each time he’d given me that beautiful double-dimpled smile, asked me how my day was going, and then told me he’d catch me later. I could feel his eyes on me right now from across the room. And it terrified me.

Swinging around, I pushed past the tables and chairs blocking my way and bolted for the exit. However, I did not anticipate the hand that snaked out from the rugby table at the doorway and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to an abrupt stop. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s going to apologize to you publicly,” he told me. “She’s going to set everyone straight, publicly!” He glanced around the room before adding, “And I’m going to straighten out every other piece of shit that went along with her lies, publicly!”

“Nothing!” I spluttered, still clutching his sleeve. “Absolutely nothing.” “I can’t do nothing.” He ran his free hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “They’re talking about you.” “It doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, ignoring the stares I knew I was receiving, and tugged on his sleeve. “I don’t care.” Johnny stared hard at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “Yeah, well I do,” he finally said. “I fucking care!”

“What do you think, little Shannon?” He gave me a meaningful look. “Fancy getting out of here before Kav turns the lunch hall into a scene from The Game of Thrones?” I shuddered at the thought, having read all of those books.

He snapped his furious gaze on me. “Walk away,” I commanded, staring up at him with my heart in my mouth. “Please.” A vein ticked in Johnny’s temple as he stared down at me, looking more enraged than I’d ever seen him. I didn’t dare breathe while I watched him make his choice. Finally, he released a furious growl and nodded stiffly. I exhaled a ragged breath.

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” he snarled, chest heaving, as he allowed me to push him backwards away from the table.

“Why? What are you going to do if I don’t, Johnny?” Bella hissed, jumping out of her chair and slapping his chest. “Hit me?” “No…” Johnny paused to drag Cormac Ryan out of his chair, “I’m going to hit him.” And then he smashed his fist into Cormac Ryan’s face.

“Fuck the Academy,” I snarled, shaking their hands off. “I was trying to defend her.” “Well, all you ended up doing was embarrassing the girl,” Hughie barked.

She should have been furious. Instead she just took it. That might have been the way it worked for her at BCS, but that was not how it was going to go down at Tommen. She was no one’s fucking target, and I was going to make damn sure of that.

Gibsie laughed as we walked out of the changing room. “Restraining your dick.” “It’s not funny,” I barked. “I haven’t had sex with her since Halloween. It’s March now, Gibs. Fucking March. You’d think she’d let it go by now.”

“Binding thirteen,” Gibsie snickered as he tore off way too fucking fast for comfort. “Little Shannon blew that shit clean out of the water.”

“They call me ‘binding thirteen’?” I shook my head. “Why? I don’t get it.” “It’s not what they call you,” he corrected. “It’s what they want to do with you.” “What?” “You’re number thirteen.” He laughed. “And they want to bind with you.” He turned to waggle his brows at me. “Scrum style.”

“I am losing my bleeding mind, Gibs.” “Nah, your mind’s still there,” Gibsie chuckled, patting my shoulder. “It’s your heart you’re losing, lad.”

“Ha. I’ll give you a month with the frigit before you get bored and stray.” “I was bored of you after one night,” I sneered. “Then why did you keep coming back for more?” she demanded. “Because I was lazy and you were as easy as they come.” I lost my temper and hissed, “You were a phone call away, Bella—one quick text to wet my dick. That’s all you ever were to me.”

No girl deserved to be called easy, regardless of how true it was.

“Don’t talk shit about her,” I warned. “Say whatever the fuck you want about me but keep her name off your tongue.” “It’s the truth,” she spat out. “She’s a glorified needle.” Shrugging, she added, “She looks anorexic.” “And you look and sound like a coldhearted bitch.”

“If you fuck with her one more time, I will ruin you.” She glared at me. “I’d like to see you try.” “I will ruin you,” I repeated, voice deathly cold. “Your reputation. Your status. Your friends. Your future relationships. Everything. If you fuck with Shannon Lynch again, I will take everything from you.”

“No, I’m not pregnant.” “I know,” I sneered. “It was a hypothetical question,” she shot back defensively. “No,” I corrected. “It was failed manipulation.” “I love you,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry for wanting to make it work.” “Well, don’t love me,” I barked, agitated. “Because I don’t and won’t ever love you back!”

Apparently, I couldn’t cook spaghetti Bolognese for shit. And apparently, that was crime enough to earn another infamous choking.

“What one did you mean to give me?” Johnny had a pinched expression when he said, “A Maroon 5 song.” “Oh?” I looked up at him. “Which one?” He shifted in discomfort. “‘She Will Be Loved.’”

Love that song

I just asked her about her period. What the actual fuck was wrong with me? Were you even supposed to ask a girl about her period?

Lololol

She was gorgeous without putting a thing on her face, but knowing she was wearing it around all my teammates made me uneasy. I knew they were looking at her. In the last half hour alone, I’d had to give Luke the death glare so he would stop fucking staring at her from his perch across the row. It was so out of order that I found myself shifting around in my seat just so I could block her from his—and everyone else’s—view.

“Do you mind?” I asked then. He smirked. “No, baby, I don’t mind.” My heart stopped in my chest. Johnny’s face flushed and he shook his head. “I mean—” “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s fine.”

“Like, what position do you play on the team?” “I play center,” he explained, still looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Outside center is where I’m most comfortable.”

Johnny opened my notebook to a blank page and began to sketch out a grid with fifteen small boxes, explaining as he worked. Inside each box, he scribbled down words like flanker, hooker, right wing, left wing, and then explained each position. Alongside each box he ascribed a number. Next to the box labeled outside center, he wrote 13. “Outside center—that’s you, right?” I asked. “You’re thirteen?”

“You have your forwards: numbers one to eight. So, that’s your two props, two flankers, your hooker, your two locks, and your number eight. These guys are usually the biggest, heaviest players,” he explained as he scribbled little notes.

“And then you have your backs,” he announced, drawing my attention back to him. “Numbers nine to fifteen. That’s your scrum half, fly half, your two centers, two wingers, and your full back. They’re the smaller, lighter, and generally faster players on the team.” With a contented sigh, he waved a hand in front of the page. “And there you have it: the fifteen positions that make up a rugby team.”

“So, these guys are the forwards?” I asked, pointing to the numbers 1 to 8. Johnny nodded. “Exactly.”

“In rugby, the backs are positioned behind the forwards at the start of play. That’s the norm. That’s how it’s played.”

“And the scrum half throws the ball into the scrum?” “Exactly.” “And the ball has to be played backwards and behind the players at all times? A forward pass or throw results in a penalty?” “Yes.” His eyes lit up. “That’s really good, Shannon.” I flushed bright pink from the praise. Encouraged, I listened intently to him.

Rugby seemed to be his life and I wanted to learn all about it. Every teeny, tiny, insignificant detail. It was pathetic on all levels, but I consoled myself by telling myself that it was a harmless way of passing the time.

“So, on a team, you have two centers—the inside center and the outside center. Playing center means my job is about breaking down the opposition’s defensive line,” he explained. “We also have to keep our own defensive line, read the opposition’s play, anticipate the direction of the ball, know when to make a defensive attack, and know when to not.”

“Aside from the nine and ten, who tend to control the play, speed, and direction of the game, the centers are the playmakers,” he explained, tone gentler now. “We protect the fly half, watch out for the scrum half, take a battering from the opposition’s forwards, who are a lot fucking bigger than us. We’re smaller, faster, and nimbler than the forwards. We have to be in order to play fast ball and link with and assist other members of our team.”

“The wings?” “Eleven and fourteen,” he explained. I nodded. “Okay, eleven and fourteen are the wings.” “Exactly. Now, there’s a trust needed between your two centers—twelve and thirteen,” he explained. “You need to have complete fucking faith in each other, know your partner like the back of your hand, read his plays, his body language… Hell, you need to read his thoughts at times.”

“Do you kick?” Johnny shrugged. “I can, and I do when I need to, like line kicks or the odd grubber, but it’s not a huge part of my game.” “Grubber?” “A kick down field to chase after.”

“Rugby,” I explained. “Why do you do it?” “I love it,” he replied simply. “Everything about it. The shape of the ball. The physicality of the game. The adrenaline rush. The pressure. The rewards. Pushing myself. I fucking love the game.” I love you, I almost blurted out, holding the three terrifying words back just in time. Oh my god! Where did that come from? I didn’t love Johnny.

Lololol

He was broad. He was huge. And beautiful. Johnny glanced sideways at me, smirking, and said, “I’d sit with you, though.” My heart leaped in my chest. “You would?” He grinned. “You’re so tiny you don’t count.” I huffed out a breath. “I still count.”

“Thank god I did, because there’s barely enough room in here with your ego.” “Shannon Lynch has banter.” Johnny leaned back, both sounding and looking reluctantly impressed. “Who’d have guessed?”