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All weekend, Shannon had been in the back of my mind—okay, the fore point. I’d spent days brooding over her reaction to me on the pitch Friday, and how she hurried away from me.
I wanted Shannon Lynch. And worse than wanting her, I really fucking liked her. She had this sweet something about her, and I liked how it felt when I was around her. I liked the way she looked, the way she spoke, the way she carried herself. I liked a whole heap of things about her, and oddly enough, my liking her had nothing to do with what was under her clothes.
“You’re only mentally undressing her in your head.” “I am not,” I growled, glaring at him from across the table. I was. I so fucking was. Christ, was I that obvious? “Yes, you are that obvious,” Gibsie stated, clearly reading my thoughts.
Lmaooooooo
I could feel Johnny’s eyes on my face from across the lunch hall on Monday. Like the stalker I was, I knew exactly where he sat for lunch each day: the last seat at the end of the glorified rugby table, on the inside row, next to the archway exit.
“Now go home and pack your shit.” He waggled his brows before taking a bite from Claire’s apple. “Because you’re checking into Hotel Gibson for the week,” he added midchew. “Fun times.” “Oh really?” Claire leaned back in her chair and smirked. “And does Hotel Gibson come with good reviews?” “It comes with cock, Claire-Bear,” Gibsie announced—and not quietly. “An unlimited supply of five-star cock.”
I LOVE HIM LMAOOOOO
shame. “My cock.” “Fuck your cock,” Claire growled, looking mortified. “Of course, you can,” he nodded with a grin. “But here’s not really the place.”
“When I was eleven, Gerard,” she shot back. “And it was one bloody kiss!” “I’m ready for a repeat performance,” he told her. “Say the word, Claire-Bear, tell me you’re ready for us, and I’m all yours—”
Swallowing it down, I looked up at him, wide-eyed and confused. He smiled down at me. “Hi, Shannon.” “Hi, Johnny,” I whispered, staring back at him, feeling like my heart was two seconds away from bursting out of my chest.
Unable to stop myself, I snickered at the sight of Johnny comforting Gibsie. “You laughing at my misfortune again, little Shannon?” Gibsie shot back with a wolfish smile. “Go ahead and get it out of your system.” I shrugged helplessly, still grinning.
“Bye, Johnny,” I told him in a small voice. His features softened instantly as he looked down at me and smiled. “Bye, Shannon.”
“No one’s going to see us—” Ronan didn’t have the chance to finish that statement before he was carted off—literally dragged away by the scruff of his neck by a much bigger, much older boy. “You’re a suicidal little fucker, aren’t you?”
He was dressed in the same attire: a black-and-white-striped jersey, white shorts, and boots that made clickety sounds against the floor as he walked, sods of muck and grass falling away from the studs. The only contrast was a number 9 on the back of Ronan’s jersey and a number 7 on the big guy. Immediate recognition hit me. Number 7. Gerard “Gibsie” Gibson. Claire’s crush. The cat walker. The strange one. Thank god!
“Gibsie!” Ronan was screaming, red-faced, as he battled with the door handle. “Stop messing around. I was only being friendly to her.” “That didn’t sound friendly, kid,” Gibsie taunted. “That sounded desperate—and a little rapisty.”
“You’ll be thrown off the team for this.” “For the threat, I’m going to fuck your mother, McGarry,” Gibsie shot back. “And then I’m going to cum all over her tits, and she’s going to love every minute of it.” With another chuckle, he said, “Go and tell uncle-coachy all about what I have planned with his sister.”
Omgggggg lmao
His legs were long, his thighs thick and muscular, all of which were caked in grass and mud. I noted the small tear on the sleeve of his jersey where his bicep was bulging. Lord, he was quite literally bursting out of the fabric. He was dressed identically to the other boys, in the same jersey and shorts, but was incomparably different because of the sheer size of his body. He was almost too big. Too muscular. Too scary. Too beautiful. Too much.
Seconds later, Johnny’s body visibly tensed. “What?” Tossing the ice pack on the floor, he balled his hands balled into fists at his sides as he turned to glare out the glass, revealing the number 13 on his back. He took a step forward, stopping just shy of the door when Gibsie clamped a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” Johnny roared, reacting to whatever his friend was whispering in his ear. Johnny’s head turned in Ronan’s direction before quickly snapping toward me. His eyes landed on my face, and holy crap, he looked livid.
I was walking out of the lunch hall with one ice pack strapped to my junk and another pressed to my thigh when Gibsie’s voice boomed through the air followed by the annoying voice of Ronan McGarry.
“What?” I demanded. Gibsie released a sigh. “He was fucking with Shannon outside the jacks.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Trying to get her to go in the bathroom with him.” My entire body tensed as a red hazy fog clouded my vision. I’d been mad as hell with Gibsie over the stunt he pulled at lunch yesterday, but right now, I was grateful for his meddling. Tossing the ice pack on the ground, I glared out the window and snarled, “You’re fucking kidding me!”
“Apparently McGarry has an issue with his hearing because the girl clearly told him no.”
“Think you can put your hands on her?” I hissed when we were in the showers and away from the team. Releasing his neck, I shoved him against the wall. “Well?” “I was only messing around with her,” he growled, pushing off the wall. “It was a joke. Christ, relax.”
“I think you broke my nose, Johnny.” “Your nose will heal after a break.” Grabbing his jersey, I dragged him into a shower stall, slapped my hand against the circular chrome nozzle sticking out from the wall, and watched as freezing cold water poured down on him. “But your spine won’t.” Crouching down in front of him, I held his face under the water. “And that’s exactly what I’ll crush if you so much as look at her again.”
“I was only talking to her,” he strangled out, red-faced. “Christ.” “Well, don’t talk to her!” I spat out, glaring down at his stupid fucking face. “Don’t look at her, and don’t fucking touch her. She’s not for you.”
AHHHHHHHHHH
“You better mean it this time, kid,” I said in a warning tone. “Because if you push me on this, I’ll kill you.” “I’m done,” he grumbled. “Fucking hell.”
I had my bag loaded into the back seat of my car and was rounding the driver’s side when a sudden pang of uncertainty hit me in the gut. Was she okay? Should I go back and check on her?
He was so much taller than me that I had to crane my head back so I could look at his face when I asked, “Were you waiting out here for me?” “Uh, yeah.” Shoving his big hands into the pockets of his sweats, Johnny nodded. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. Gibsie told me what he said to you.”
He arched a dark brow. “You sure?” “Yeah.” “Good.” “Good.”
His dark-blue eyes were on my face, moving from my eyes to my lips and back up again. He was openly taking me in and made no attempt to be discreet about it. It was disconcerting and exciting at the same time.
A gentle tap on my shoulder drew my attention away from my phone call. Spinning around, I looked up and locked eyes with Johnny. “I can take you home,” he said, blue eyes locked on mine. “Huh?” I opened my mouth but nothing but blabbering came out. “My car’s parked outside.” He inclined his head toward the entrance. “I can take you home.”
“Do what?” Joey barked down the line. “Shan? What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” “Oh, ah, just this guy from school,” I explained, face burning with heat. Johnny arched a brow. I flushed bright pink.
“Why do you want to talk to him?” “Because I want to talk to the fucker offering to take my baby sister home in his car, that’s why.” Letting out an impatient sigh, Johnny cleared his throat and held his hand out. I stared at his hand and blinked in confusion. “Give me your phone,” he instructed calmly. “My phone?” “Yes.” Johnny nodded. “Your phone.”
Lololol
Holding a hand out between us to keep me at bay, Johnny continued to talk—to my brother. “Probably,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it’s a risky move. No, tickets don’t go on sale for the summer tour until May… Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. Home games only, though… Cool.”
Nodding, Johnny closed the back door and flashed me a quick smile before opening the front passenger door. “Ah, shite,” he grumbled, staring in dismay. “Sorry about this. I wasn’t planning on having anyone in here.” My eyes took in the absolute carnage that was his front seat.
A gentleman
“Well, if he gives you even a whiff of shite, then let me know,” Johnny growled. “And I’ll fix it.” “You’ll fix it?” I questioned. “You make it sound like you’re in the Mafia or something.” Johnny barked out a laugh and held the door open, gesturing with his hand. “Come on, Shannon like the river. Get in my car.”
Yes sir
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of on the small side.” A huge smile spread across his face, dimples emerging. “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said, chuckling. “I meant that I think you’d enjoy watching rugby. If you enjoy GAA so much, you’d love the physicality of rugby.”
“I mean I play.” I stared blankly back at him. “That’s…good?” He released an impatient laugh. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Nope.” I shook my head. “I honestly don’t.” He considered this for a long moment before nodding. “I like that.” “You like what?” “That you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he replied without hesitation. “It’s a little insulting and a lot refreshing.”
“So, rugby’s your thing, huh?” Johnny smirked. “You could say that.” I felt like I was missing something here. “And you’re good?” I thought he was good. I thought he was the best out there last Friday, but I didn’t have a clue about the sport. His smile widened, eyes crinkling slightly, as he repeated his earlier words, “You could say that.”
Lmao
“If I do an internet search on you, am I going to find out you’re some sort of rugby god?” Johnny threw his head back and laughed. “No,” he mused. “I’m no god.” “Then what?” I pressed. With a rueful smile, Johnny steered the topic back to me once more by saying, “So, GAA’s your thing, huh?”
confirmed. “You’re from Dublin, right? You moved down here when you were eleven?” His eyes brightened. “You remember me telling you that?” I nodded. “Christ, you were so out of it that day, I didn’t think you’d remember any of it,” he replied thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “Even if I hadn’t, your accent is a dead giveaway.” “Yeah?”
“Jaysus, I bench twice what you weigh in the gym.” Johnny looked me over before asking, “Are you seriously only five feet?” “If I stand really straight, I am.” “Christ, I’m six foot three.” He shook his head. “You’re so small.”
“And the first conclusion was that I battered you?” I shrugged uncomfortably but gave nothing away. “It happens.” “Not from me, it doesn’t,” he pointed out, tone a little thicker now, eyes locked on mine. “Never from me.”
“I guess I watch television and listen to music in my free time—oh, and I read a lot.” Shrugging, I added, “As you can tell, I’m not very interesting.” Johnny tilted his head to one side, studying me with intense blue eyes. “What types of books?”
“Autobiographies. Fiction. Crime. Thrillers. Romance.” I sighed, thinking of the pile of books in my room. “I’m not picky about genres. I just have to like the blurb. If the back of the book can suck me in, then I’m sold.” Johnny watched me while I spoke, his gaze intense and searching. “You’re a reader,” he finally said.
Meeeeeee
“Why? Were you in the Brownies?” “Ah, definitely not.” I shook my head, stifling a giggle. “My survival skills are terrible.” Johnny’s voice was a little deeper when he said, “I don’t know about that.” His expression shifted then, growing more intense.
“Tell me something,” Johnny distracted me by saying. He was still smiling, and his eyes were warm, his tone soft when he asked, “Why’d you transfer to Tommen?”
“Hey.” I felt his fingers brush against the back of my hand, his voice closer now, soft and probing. “Where’d you go?”
“Can you show me?” I asked. “I’m good with stitches.” I’ve had enough of them. “Shannon, I had surgery on my adductor,” Johnny bit out, tone thick, eyes laced with confusion. “I know,” I replied. “But I’ve seen a million sports injuries on legs and knees, so maybe I can tell you what the problem is?” Shrugging, I added, “It’s probably just taking longer to heal because you’re on your feet all the time.” “My leg’s not the problem, Shannon.” “Oh, I’m sorry, I just presumed because I saw you limping,” I replied. “Is it your thigh?” “No,” he deadpanned.
“Fine,” I snapped, blinking back the familiar sting of tears as I proceeded to tell him exactly what I was thinking. “I think you’re paranoid about people finding out you’re injured because you know you shouldn’t be playing.”
“I think you’re in denial about your healing process and I know you’re hurt. You limp at school. Did you know that? All the time. Others mightn’t notice it, but I do. I see it and you do it all the time! So, I think you’re playing a dangerous game with your body, Johnny. And I think if your doctors knew how much pain you are actually in, there’s no way they would have signed off and released you to play.”
“I think this was a terrible mistake. I should have never accepted a lift from you. I think you overreacted tonight. I think you handled yourself terribly. And I think it would be best if you and I didn’t talk anymore.”
