“Jesus Christ,” Johnny groaned, dropping his head in his hands. “Of course, I like you.” He tugged on his hair and sighed. “I think it’s pretty fucking clear that I’m mad about you.” Exhaling a pained groan, he added, “But I’ll be eighteen in May, Shannon.” “I’m sixteen,” I whispered. “I know, Shannon, fuck I know,” he groaned, voice torn. “But I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
