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my relief was only a momentary, fleeting feeling that was quickly replaced with a searing pain as something very hard and very heavy smashed into the back of my head, taking the air from my lungs and my feet from beneath me.
Boy Wonder Captivates the Coaching Staff at the Academy—Young Johnny Kavanagh, 17, a native of Blackrock, Dublin, currently residing in Ballylaggin, County Cork, sailed through his medical evaluation to secure his position at the prestigious rugby academy in Cork.
The Tommen College secondary school student is set to win his fifteenth cap for the Academy this weekend, having been named as starting 13 for the esteemed youth team.
Leave my stomach waiting longer than four hours, and I was a moody, pissy bitch.
in the middle of bumfuck nowhere,
me with the gobshite himself.
“Overrated much?” the younger guy taunted. “Keep fucking running,” I warned him while I debated how much trouble I would get in if I broke his legs. I really didn’t like that guy.
I was so struck down by the sight of this tiny mud-covered girl that I just nodded like a fucking eejit. Jesus Christ, who was this girl?
My eyes widened of their own accord, an unfortunate reaction of seeing a female’s underwear.
Panic surged through me. I broke the fucking girl. I was going to get a suspension for losing my temper and a warrant put out for my arrest. I was a cunt.
“Why’d you do that?” she whimpered, so frail and small and covered in shite. “I’m an asshole,” I informed her, shifting her pink schoolbag back onto my back as I tucked her in closer. “I fuck up a lot.” “Did you do it on purpose?” “What?” Her words threw me enough to cause me to halt. “No.” Twisting my body so I could look down at her face, I frowned and said, “I would never do that to you.” “You promise?” “Yeah,” I grunted, hitching her up with my arm and melding her body to my side. “I promise.” It was January. It was wet. It was cold. And for some strange, disconcerting reason, I was
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“Hold up,” I snapped, registering his earlier words. “What do you mean she was attacked?” I looked down at the tiny little female under my arm. Who could attack her? She was so small. And frail. “What happened to her?” I heard myself ask, attention back to the principal. “I think I’m going to fall,” she croaked out, distracting me from my thoughts. Reaching up, she clutched my forearm with her small hand and sighed. “Everything’s spinning.” “I won’t let you fall,” I automatically replied in a soothing tone. “It’s okay.” I felt her slip and pulled her upright, holding onto the tiny thing for
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“Hey, hey!” I said louder now. “Look at me.” I shook her head. “Look at my face.” This time she did. She opened her eyes, and fuck me, I unintentionally sucked in a sharp breath. Jesus, this girl was beautiful. I’d noticed it earlier of course. She had a striking look about her. But now, seeing her up close like this and being able to count the freckles on her face—eleven by the way—it was hitting home just how striking she was.
Hands down, she possessed the most gorgeous pair of eyes I’d seen in my life. She had long, elbow-length dark-brown hair that was thick and curled at the ends.
“That’s really your face?” she asked, eyes drooping, as she studied me with a vacant expression. “It’s so pretty.” “Uh, thanks?” I offered uncomfortably, still cupping her cheeks in my hands. “It’s the only one I have.” “I like it,” she whispered. “It’s a good face,” she added just before closing her eyes again, sagging forward. “No, no, no,” I coaxed, jolting her roughly. “Stay with me!” Moaning, she blinked awake again. “Good job,” I praised with a heavy exhale. “Now stay awake.” “Who are you?” she croaked out, depending entirely on my hands to keep her head upright. “I’m Johnny,” I told
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It was going well—right up until she face-planted on my dick. Jerking at the insanely intimate contact, not to mention the sudden jolt of awareness in my dick and the scorching pain in my groin, I attempted to move her face from my crotch, but she groaned loudly in resistance. And then she pulled her legs up on the bench and settled herself down for a nice old kip on my cock. Fuck my life. Holding my hands up in the air and far away from her body, because I needed a sexual harassment accusation like I needed a hole in the head, I looked around for someone to help me, but no one came.
erection. Other than the obvious reason of horrendous timing, my cock was broken.
“Jimmy?” “It’s Johnny.” “Oh. Johnny?” “Yeah?” “Are you mad at me?” “What?” The question, spoken so quietly, threw me and I stared down at her, feeling a pang of protectiveness in my gut. “No. I’m not mad at you,” I told her, pausing for a long moment, fingers stalling, before asking, “Are you mad at me?” “I think so,” she whispered, nuzzling resuming. My eyes rolled back and I bit back a moan. Ah fuck! “You can’t do that,” I bit out, holding her head still. “Do what?” She sighed contently, then rubbed her cheek against my thigh. “Be mad?” “No,” I choked out, holding her head still once again.
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We were too close. Suddenly, I felt very exposed. My hands moved from her waist to her thighs, an automatic reaction to having a female lean her face toward mine. I quickly checked myself, pulling my hands away to rest on the bench instead. Clearing my throat, I forced a small smile. “You’re alive.” “Barely,” she whispered with a wince, blue eyes burning holes in mine, studying me with more clarity now. “You have terrible aim.” I laughed at her words. They were so far from the truth that I couldn’t help it. “Well, that’s a first,” I mused. “I’m not used to being criticized about my ability to
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Don’t touch her, dickhead. Keep your hands off.
“I believe you.” Her small voice broke through my thoughts. “You could never be posh.” “And why’s that?” “Because you curse like a sailor.” I laughed at her reasoning. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”
“It won’t happen again.” “You promise?” There she went with the promises again. “Yeah,” I said, tone thick now. “I promise.” “God,” she groaned, grimacing now. “Everyone’s going to be laughing at me.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” she continued to mumble, eyes cast downward. “I’ll be the talk of the school.” “Look at me.” She didn’t. “Hey—” I paused and tipped her chin up with my thumb and forefinger. Once I was satisfied I had her attention again, I carried on. “No one is going to say a word about you.” “But they all saw me—” “Nobody is going to open their mouth about it.” Realizing my tone was bordering on angry, I brought it down a notch and tried again. “Not the team, Coach, or anyone else. I won’t let them.” She blinked her confusion. “You won’t let them?” “That’s right,” I confirmed with a
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Thank fuck for that, because you’re ruining all of me right now, I thought to myself. Jesus, where the hell did that come from?
She was just so fucking pretty. I hated that word. Pretty was a pussy word used by women and the elderly, but that’s what she was. Fuck, I had a feeling that her pretty face would be cemented in the fore point of my mind for a very long time. But it was those wild eyes that really struck me, and I had this crazy urge to google eye color charts just so I could figure out the fucking color blue in her eyes. I would do that later, I decided. Creepy or not, I needed to know.
She grew quiet again, withdrawing from me, and I found myself racking my brain for something to say. I had no explanation for why I wanted to keep her talking to me. I guess I could scratch it down to needing to keep her conscious. But deep down I knew that wasn’t the reason.
“I’m actually hot.” “Completely fucking accurate assessment.” The highly inappropriate response was out of my mouth before I had a chance to filter myself. I quickly followed it up by touching her forehead, my pathetic attempt at checking her temperature, and then nodding solemnly. “You’re definitely warm.” “I told you.” Her big eyes were wide and locked on mine. “I’m really, really hot.” God. Fuck.
“What year are you in?” Please say fifth year. Please. Please. Please, God, make her say fifth year. “Third year.” Yeah, and that was that. She was in third year. And just like that, I watched my five-minute dream float out the window. Fuck. My. Life. “What about you?” she asked then, voice soft and sweet. “I’m in fifth year,” I told her, distracted by the sudden and prominent pang of disappointment churning around inside of me. “I’m seventeen—and two thirds.” “And two thirds.” She giggled. “Are the thirds important to you or something?” “They are now,” I muttered under my breath. Sighing in
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Pregnant women made me nervous, but not nearly as much as Shannon like the river did.
“Let me get this straight,” her mother demanded, her gaze flickering between Shannon and me. Recognition flashed in her pale-blue eyes, of what I had no fucking idea because I was feeling clueless right about now. “He knocked you over, tore your clothes off, and then he put his jersey on you?” I muttered a string of curses and ran a hand through my hair. It sounded so fucking bad when she said it like that. “I didn’t—” “He helped me, Mam,” Shannon snapped. She moved to stand up, and like the asshole I was, I moved to help her, catching a narrowing glare from her mother. I went to her anyway.
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Girls were a fucking complication I didn’t need, even little ones with wild blue eyes. Dammit, now I was thinking about her eyes again. She still has your jersey, I mentally noted, which made me sad for a whole different reason. It was new and I’d only worn it this one fucking time. It looked better on her though, I begrudgingly acknowledged. She could keep it. I just hoped she didn’t throw it out. I would have to pay eighty quid to replace the bleeding thing.
I had to know more. I needed more. I wasn’t thick enough to think this didn’t matter. Or that my reaction to McGarry in the changing rooms earlier didn’t matter. It mattered that she was able to do this to me. It mattered that, hours later, I was still thinking about her, wondering about her, and inevitably worrying about her. It mattered that she mattered when no one ever mattered to me before. Fuck, now I was confused about all the matters
“It’s yer one Shannon’s file,” he corrected, rolling down the sleeves of his jumper. “No doubt your obsessive ass was looking for it.” Well, shite. An unsettling surge of excitement coursed through me as I stared down at the folder in my hands. My best friend knew me too well. “When you didn’t come back to class after training, I figured you were out here sulking over her—or pining.” He shrugged before adding, “Or whatever the fuck you’d call what you did in the locker room earlier.” “I don’t sulk.” He snorted. “I don’t fucking sulk, asshole,” I bit back. “Or pine. I wasn’t doing any of that
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sucked dick like a Dyson.
I was just thankful we had a Henry hoover at home and not a fancy-pants Dyson, so I didn’t gag every time I cleaned my room to that particular image.
“Go fuck yourself!” “I do!” Gibsie hissed, eyes wide. “Three times a day. Can you
“Why me?” I groaned. “Because we’re your babies,” Hughie announced, leaning his weight on me. “My babies?” I slurred. “How the fuck are you three anyone’s babies?” “You’re our captain,” Hughie slurred. “We’re kind of your responsibility.” “On the pitch, ya gobshite.”
“Your future wife saved me from a bad fucking pussy today,” he slurred. “Buy a ring, lad.” Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he added, “Pussy whisperer’s a keeper.”
“Did you ever talk to Shannon Lynch after that day on the pitch?” I turned my bleary gaze on him, too drunk to mask my curiosity. “My Shannon?” Hughie laughed. “She’s your Shannon now?” I shrugged, too drunk to defend or deny.
He was too busy looking at me. My heart slammed against my rib cage as he stared unabashedly and unashamedly right at me—eyes burning with heat, expression palpably intense. Breathing hard, he lifted the hem of his jersey and used the fabric to wipe the blood from his brow, dismantling the poor woman’s attempts at patching him up and revealing a stomach of hard abs. The move was so primal, so decidedly male, that it hit me straight in the chest. My face began to flame and I felt my shoulders sag as I buckled under the weight of his intense gaze.
“Johnny Kavanagh is staring at you, Shan. Like seriously, girl, that boy is staring at you!” “Crap.” Unsure of what to do, but knowing that I needed to do something, I turned my face into Claire’s neck and hissed, “Hide me.”
“Well, that look he just gave you didn’t seem like nothing to me.” “It was nothing,” I assured her—and myself. “Seriously, Claire, I don’t even know the guy—”
Speedy Gonzalez—a.k.a. Johnny Kavanagh—who
“Explaining?” I called back. “About what?” “About why that boy down there is looking at you like he wants to eat you up,”
Claire spun around and I swear her entire face lit up when she noticed Gibsie jogging toward us.
Unlike the last time I was up close to him—when I was seeing stars—or in the hallways when he was a blur of movement or too far away to get a good look, I had a clear, concussion-free, unobstructed view of his face. And boy was that view a breathtaking one. Like, for real, he was strikingly, achingly, distractingly attractive.
“You remember who I am, right?” he asked, still smiling, although he looked a little nervous now, probably because I was staring at him like a creeper. “Shannon like the river.” Oh god. “Yeah,” I choked out, feeling every ounce of blood in my body rush to my cheeks as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I remember you.” Unsure of what else to say or do, I stupidly raised a hand and waved. “Hi, Johnny.” What was wrong with me? Seriously? Did I just wave at him? While I was talking to him? God… The smile he was sporting grew into a full, perfectly straight pearly-white smile. “Hi,
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Johnny smirked down at me. “Good.” Mortified, I looked up at his face and then quickly away again as I strived to never utter the word good again. “I watched your match,” I blurted out instead. “Congratulations.” Oh yeah, Shannon, because that’s much better. You should have stuck with good, idiot!
That boy’s smile is something else…
Oh, thank god because my parents would never give me the money back.
