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Johnny’s attention wasn’t on the medic or the referee shouting commands in his ear. He was too busy looking at me.
“What the hell is that?” Claire hissed excitedly, gripping my hand. “Johnny Kavanagh is staring at you, Shan. Like seriously, girl, that boy is staring at you!”
I watched them for several minutes, swinging each other around, completely caught up in their own bubble as they talked animatedly about different points in the game. Either Claire was clueless, Gibsie was clueless, or they were both as blind as each other because I could feel, see, and taste the chemistry wafting off them.
“I don’t think there’s any point in denying it,” I whispered, feeling my face burn at the thought. “I like him, Claire. I think I really like him.”
“Claire, you can’t tell anyone that I like him,” I blurted out, feeling panicky that I had let the cat out of the bag. “Please. Not even Lizzie and especially not Gibsie.”
I wanted her, I realized, and it was entirely inappropriate and horrendous bad luck on my account, but I did. I wanted Shannon Lynch. And worse than wanting her, I really fucking liked 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.
But I wasn’t in the position to put time into a girl, and spending time with that particular one could get me in a world of trouble.
Thirty minutes later and I had sent at least twenty more freebie call me messages to my brother, but to no avail. He obviously either didn’t have his phone with him, or it was switched to silent. My bet was it was on silent mode since Joey rarely left the house without it. He probably forgot to take it off silent mode when he left school.
Because I had totally checked that out, too. It was hard not to. It was round and firm and…
He was so unexpected, and I was so distracted by him, that I didn’t feel any hesitation. I just climbed in and fastened my seat belt, watching as he closed my door and jogged around the front of the car to his side. It wasn’t until he was sitting in the driver’s seat beside me with the doors closed that I felt my heartbeat increase and my usual swell of anxiety churn.
I had no idea why I was asking these questions. I couldn’t remember ever talking to a random person for this long before. But this was nice and Johnny was interesting. He was different. I was stunned at how easy it was to actually talk to him.
I loved my mother, I truly did, but that didn’t mean I didn’t resent her weakness, which I did. A lot.
“Stop defending him,”
“You are so concerned with fighting the bullies at school, Mam,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks, “when the biggest bully of them all lives under this roof.”
“You need to leave Johnny alone!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, voice shrill and furious. “He has done nothing wrong here! Absolutely nothing.” I didn’t care anymore. If I woke my father, then I woke him. If he kicked the shit out me, then I would heal. I was beyond containing myself, and all of my concern was directed at the boy who had done nothing to deserve being dragged into the middle of my madness.
“What happened?” he demanded, glaring down at me. “Who the fuck made you cry?” “What?” I breathed, shaking my head. “I’m not crying.” “Your eyes are red and swollen,” he deadpanned. “You’ve been crying.” His eyes moved to my cheek. “The fuck happened to your face?”
“Give me a name,” Johnny growled, dropping his hands to his hips. “And I’ll take care of it.” “What—no! I’m grand,” I quickly replied. “I have allergies.” “Me too. To assholes and bullshit,” Johnny snarled. “Now, tell me who made you cry and I’ll fix it.”
I was slow and distracted, screwing up left, right, and center all morning until Coach hauled my ass off the pitch and into the office. He demanded to know what was wrong with me. My problem was simple. I couldn’t move right. My body was falling apart. And my head was stuck on a girl.
Gibsie referred to my house as the manor—had done so since our fucked friendship had been formed in sixth class of primary school and I brought the eejit home to play PlayStation. He knew it annoyed the shite out of me, so he kept it going.
I couldn’t figure any of this out, and my poor heart was working in overdrive to keep up with the feelings bombarding my body because of his close proximity. Fear, uncertainty, lust, and panic were all kicking my ass.
“Now,” I sneered, glaring down at their faces. “Who wants to call my girlfriend a whore to my face?”
Her eyes burned holes in me so deep that I had to look away before completely losing myself in the girl. It was too much. She was too fucking much.
You could love this girl your whole life, the crazy thought persisted inside my brain over and over, if you just let yourself.
Don’t tempt me…
“I drove her home the other week, lad. She missed her bus over that stunt McGarry pulled outside the bathrooms, and I couldn’t leave her there—”
She is so goddamn easy to talk to, Gibs. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I didn’t want to let her go, lad.”
“More of her,” I replied glumly. “It’s all more when it comes to her.” I shook my head and sighed heavily. “Jesus, I want her so fucking bad I can’t think straight, Gibs.”
“I didn’t want her to leave, Gibs, and he just took her away from me.
“Thing is, Shannon’s not just some random girl, Gibs,” I strangled out. “She’s different. She’s not a hookup, or a fuck and chuck, or a clinger looking for a leg up. I can’t fuck her out of my system. She doesn’t even know who I am, lad. She had no fucking clue. And it was genuine. She wasn’t putting it on. I’ve met enough of those clingers to last me a lifetime and I could tell she was clueless.”
“I don’t trust myself around her.”
“So, you’re happy to just step back and watch McGarry or some other clown at school make a move?” Gibsie asked then. “You’re completely fine with that?” The way my body automatically coiled tight with tension was enough of an answer.
“It wouldn’t work,” I groaned. “Aside from the fact that I’m too old for her, and she probably doesn’t feel the same, I’m too busy and too unavailable to commit to anything even remotely resembling a relationship.”
“Exactly,” I gritted out. “She’s too…more…too…better…important—” Breaking off, I rubbed a hand over my face. “It would never work,” I finally said, tone weary. “I would end up leaving, they would write a ton of shit in the papers and online like they always do while I’m gone, she would get paranoid, I would get pissed, she would end up getting hurt, and we would both end up completely fucking miserable.”
I spent the following week home from school, taking care of my brothers and my mother, who, as I suspected, wasn’t speaking to me. She wasn’t speaking to any of us. Except him. He was back. Just like I knew he would be.
I knew Mam shouldn’t be working in her condition—she clearly wasn’t in the right frame of mind—but when I tried to tell her, all she did was give me a watery smile, kiss my cheek, and walk right out the door.
I was the whore. I made him lose his temper. I was to blame for him putting his hands on me. And I was the reason he shoved Mam when she tried to drag him off me that night. I was the reason he slapped her around. It was all on me. Because I was such a slut. That’s right, I was a sixteen-year-old girl
Seeing Claire and Lizzie again, and knowing they loved me, being told they loved me, helped piece something back together inside of my body. When they presented me with a belated birthday cupcake and gifts at lunch, I almost cried. When I gave them the PG version of what happened to Mam, they knew me well enough to drop it.
To be fair, my teammates had tried that with me earlier on in the game, but after tripping myself up and costing our side a goal, they avoided me. I thought that might be for the best.
She was wearing the same black jersey, white shorts, and yellow bib that I was, but unlike me, her training clothes actually fit her body. Her long blond curly ponytail swished from side to side as she moved. Her cheeks were red, her eyes alight with excitement. She was disgustingly stunning.
I ran over to the wall and flattened my back against it. Narrowly avoiding another trampling, I decided that I had quite enough of P.E. for one day. I’d had a horrible, niggling pain in my stomach all day, and running around wasn’t helping matters.
I was hit with a gaze so heated and full of intensity that I couldn’t figure out what I was seeing. Was it anger? Was it frustration? Was it something else? I couldn’t tell.
I wasn’t a prude or anything like that, but I was seriously lacking in comparison to these girls. Saving myself some unnecessary humiliation, I always changed in one of the stalls with a curtain drawn around my A cups.
They were massive gossipers and spent their days welded to each other’s sides, whispering and snickering, but I’d met far worse than them. I actually sort of liked them both in a “they’re completely harmless
“Who do you think?” Shelly teased with a huge smile. “Mr. Sex on Legs himself.”
“If it’s Johnny Kavanagh you guys are talking about, then Shannon’s right,” Claire interjected. “Honestly, girls, if you went and spoke to the boy, you’d know straight away that he’s a Dub.” “He is not a Dub,” Shelly piped up, looking mildly horrified. “He’s from Cork.” “Sorry to disappoint you, but Johnny is a big blue Dub,” Claire countered, grinning. “God, girls, the minute he opens his mouth, it’s so obvious.” “Well, his father is from Cork, so he’s half-Corkonian,” Shelly grumbled. “And he lives in Cork.” “And he was born and raised in Dublin—which makes him a Dub,” Claire snickered. “Ask
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“Because I spend my time surrounded by boys who play rugby with him,” Claire replied. “I heard Hughie and Gerard talking about how Johnny will only stay in Ireland for a couple of years. The boys reckon he will more than likely play abroad for a few years while their team’s current center phases out and Johnny gets senior-level game experience. My brother’s bet is France. The clubs over there have some serious cash to throw away. Then they’ll bring him home as a world-class player with the world of experience under his belt and youth still on his side.”
“You should see the crowds and media at his local games,” Helen added with a dreamlike sigh. “It’s insane.” I know. I saw.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t care less about what shaped ball he kicked around a field. Rugby was a sport. It was a game. It wasn’t all he was. It was just one part of him. The only part that mattered to these girls, apparently.
