by Chloe Walsh
When we stepped into the house, Johnny released my elbow and closed the door behind us.
Meanwhile, I stood in the enormous entrance hall and tried my best not to stare at the antique hall table lining the wall or the expensive looking coat rack just inside the door, and I definitely tried not to gape at the huge grandfather clock, ticking loudly, or the countless paintings lining the immaculate ivory walls.
When Johnny kicked off his shoes, I automatically copied him, not wanting to traipse mud on the perfectly polished black and white patterned tiles.
I'd stood in this very hall a little over a week ago, but I had been too nervous to take in my surroundings.
I was still nervous.
Maybe even more nervous.
But it was different today.
There was no Joey or Gibsie to distract me.
It was just me and Johnny.
And his mother.
Oh, god…
43
Meddling Mothers
Johnny
There was something very wrong with me.
Running around in the rain for twenty minutes in the pouring rain for a shoe was a good indication that this girl was making me lose my mind.
The minute I saw Shannon darting around the P.E hall, a monstrous swell of protectiveness surged up inside of my body at the sight of her trying to protect herself from being trampled on, and I knew that my problem was bigger than I had realized.
I'd had the craziest urge to stalk onto the court and tell her classmates to back the fuck off from her.
All last week, I had been behaving like deranged stalker, watching out for her in the halls, and growing increasingly agitated when she didn’t show.
I put out feelers in the hopes of squashing any shite that might be going down without my knowledge, making it clear that anyone who fucked with her, fucked with me.
Thank Christ she came back to school today, because I had plans on driving over there this evening if she hadn't.
Every minute of every day since the day her brother took her away from me had been plagued with concern.
I didn’t know why I was behaving this way.
I only knew that something inside of me demanded I protect her.
I had no goddamn clue what that something was or why I was feeling it, but it was so strong I could practically taste it.
I had no idea how to handle her mother's miscarriage.
No goddamn clue of how to comfort her without coming on too strong.
I seemed to have habit of doing that when it came to this girl.
I knew I needed to step the fuck back.
But I couldn’t.
My reaction to her only intensified when I watched her walking away in the rain, all small and uncertain, and I jumped right in and bulldozed.
She clearly didn’t want me to drop her home and I insisted anyway.
I did more than insist; I physically put her into the back of my mother's Range Rover, too aggravated and flustered by my feelings to take a step back and listen.
Yeah, that was a stupid move.
I shouldn’t have put my hands on her.
Helpful or not, it wasn’t the right way to go with this girl.
The worst part was knowing that if my mother hadn't shown up when she had, there was a very big chance I would've kissed her.
I wanted to.
Badly.
And that was beyond terrifying.
Worse again was the fact my meddling mother had fucked me over and brought Shannon to the house.
Left her purse at home, my arse.
The woman had a credit card in her back pocket at all times.
She did this on purpose.
I knew it.
Mam knew it.
The only one that didn’t know it – thank god – was Shannon.
Now she was here, standing in my house, looking up at me with those big, lonesome eyes, waiting for me to do something, and I was completely fucking thrown off kilter.
"Do you want to come up to my room?" I asked, because, quite frankly, what the fuck else was I supposed to do with her?
Take her into the kitchen and let Mam fire fifty questions at her?
Hell no.
If she was here, then she was here with me.
She was mine and I didn’t want to share.
"Uh, okay?" she replied nervously, though it sounded more like a question. "If you want me to?"
Jesus, she needed to stop asking me what I wanted her to do.
If she kept it up, I might be stupid enough to tell her the truth.
And then we were both screwed.
Deciding it was safer to not answer that, I simply gestured to the staircase and began to walk, only making it to the third step when I realized she wasn’t following me.
When I turned back, I found Shannon standing exactly where I left her, watching me with a nervous expression.
She had her arms wrapped protectively around herself, with her long, brown hair drenched from the rain and sticking in wet clumps to her face, and in my whole life, I'd never seen anything so beautiful.
Jesus.
How was I supposed to handle this?
How was I supposed to handle her?
"Johnny!" I heard Mam call from down the hall. "Did you get Shannon something to change into? The poor girl's like a drowned rat from the rain."
"I'm okay, Johnny," Shannon hurried to tell me. "Honestly, I am."
I eyed her with unease.
She was shivering like crazy and there was a small puddle forming around her from the water dripping from her clothes.
Christ…
"Come on, it's okay," I coaxed, retracing my steps. "I'll look after you."
And then I took her hand in mine and led her up the staircase, knowing this was a terrible fucking idea, but resigned to doing it anyway.
I was so completely fucked.
44
So, this is my room – again
Shannon
Johnny Kavanagh was holding my hand.
He was holding my hand and taking me upstairs.
Again.
To his bedroom.
Again.
Where he slept.
On his bed.
Probably with very little clothes on.
Oh, god...
Unlike the last time I took this trip with Johnny, he walked at my pace, giving me a chance to take in the absolute wonder that was his home. I mean it was hard to put into words how stunning it was.
Unlike the huge, modern kitchen he'd taken me into last week, this wing of the house was traditional and almost, regal?
The entire upstairs landing was made up of stained hardwood flooring and gorgeous patterned wallpaper that was so clean and shiny that it looked like silk.
For all I knew about fabric and designs, it could have been.
This entire house and the boy holding my hand, reeked of money.
Lots and lots of money.
It was terrifying.
The floor creaked a little beneath our feet as we walked down the right wing of the house, passing no less than five other doors, until we reached the door I knew was his.
Johnny pushed the door inwards and walked us into his room, still holding my hand, still making my heart leap around violently.
Depressingly, he released my hand a few moments later, and the lack of contact made me feel oddly bereft.
"So, this is my room," he said with a smirk, waving a hand around the still-messy room. "Again."
"And it's still a nice room," I offered with a shy smile.
He grinned. "I'm not the best housekeeper."
I can tell.
Feeling achingly uncomfortable at just standing in the middle of his room, I walked over to the pile of DVDs next to his television, hoping I knew one of the titles so I could spark up some conversation instead of just standing here like a dummy.
My face burned with heat when I read the title on the DVD box on top of the pile – Pussy Pleasure XX
X.
"Fuck," Johnny muttered when he noticed where I was looking. He hurried over and tossed the porno behind the TV. "That's ah…" Breaking off, he exhaled a heavy sigh and scrubbed his face with his hand. "Sorry about that. I don’t bring girls up here." He frowned for a moment before adding, "Except you."
Squirming uncomfortably, I replied, "Don’t worry about it."
"So," he mused.
"So," I whispered.
"This is pretty fucking strange," Johnny muttered.
"Yep," I agreed as a small smile crept across my face.
Johnny noticed my smile and grinned back at me. "Bet you didn’t plan on spending your evening stuck here, huh?"
"I really don’t mind," I told him, and surprisingly, I meant it.
Being here delayed going home to another night of drama.
And being here with Johnny was a good kind of terrifying.
I wanted to be here with him.
I wanted him, period.
"So," Johnny said again, shifting restlessly as he smoothed a hand down his thigh. "What do you want to do?"
"I don’t mind," I replied. "I'll do whatever you want to do?"
"Fuck." Johnny clenched his eyes shut and groaned.
"Oh god, are you okay?" I hurried to ask, well aware he was in pain.
"All good," he assured me in a tight tone.
"Are you sure?" I asked, uncertain again.
His blue eyes were wild and full of uncertainty when he said, "I'm kind of out of my comfort zone here, Shannon."
"Do you want me to go?"
He shook his head.
"Are you sure?"
He nodded slowly. "I want you to stay."
"Okay," I breathed.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I wrapped my arms around my middle and walked over to his enormous desk where mountains of school books lay unopen.
"You're a good student?" I asked, casting a glance over my shoulder.
"I'm decent," Johnny replied, trailing after me.
"No copy of Chicken Licken?"
Johnny laughed loudly. "No." Coming to stand behind me, he chuckled, "Definitely no Chicken Licken."
With my face on fire, I kept my attention on his desk, skimming my finger over the test papers and books as my gaze wandered to the cork board above the desk.
"Whoa, you've met a lot of famous people," I whispered, gaze flicking from photo to photo of Johnny with a range of different celebrities and athletes. "Which one of these guys is your hero?"
I presumed one was.
He was a teenage boy.
They all had heroes.
Johnny reached around me and pulled one of the photos off the board.
The tack holding it dropped onto his desk.
"See this one?" he asked as he stood behind me with his arm stretched around my body so I could see.
Breathe, Shannon, just breathe…
Forcing myself to concentrate on his question, and not the way my body was reacting to his close proximity, I stared down at the picture in his hands.
"I see," I whispered, gazing down at the one photograph that didn’t seem to have a celebrity in it.
I immediately recognized the stunning blonde laying on the picnic blanket on the grass as a younger version of Mrs. Kavanagh.
She had huge sunglasses covering her eyes and a big, white, floppy hat perched on her head as she beamed up at a man.
The man in question – a beautiful man who looked just like an older version of Johnny – was standing over her and on his shoulders sat a small, dark haired boy of no more than five or six.
The little boy was dressed in a light blue and white striped jersey and white shorts.
His hair was cocking up in forty different directions, and he was holding a rugby ball proudly above his head and grinning this huge, double dimpled, toothless smile.
"This is my favorite picture," Johnny said, stirring me from my thoughts. He tapped the photo. "And he's my hero."
"Your Dad?" I whispered, eyes glued to the photo. "That's you with your Mam and Dad?"
"Yeah," Johnny replied. "In all our glory."
"And it's your favorite photo because it's of you and your parents?"
Johnny shrugged and the movement caused his hard chest to brush against my back. "That's partly why it's my favorite."
I shivered involuntarily.
"What's the other part?" I whispered.
"Because it's real."
"Real?"
"Innocent. Good. Pure. Before the limelight," he explained. "When all that mattered to me was a ball and my folks."
"Oh," I breathed, staring down at what looked like the happiest little boy in the world. "Well, you were a gorgeous child."
"Was?" Johnny quipped. "As in, I'm not anymore?"
"Uh, no – I mean yes, of course –I didn’t – um, you have all your teeth now," I spluttered, feeling flustered and foolish for voicing my thoughts aloud.
Johnny chuckled at my response. "I'm only messing with you, Shannon."
Embarrassed, I set the picture down on the desk and stepped around him, needing to put some space between us.
I couldn’t think when I was this close to him.
"You play GTA?" I asked then, eyeing the PlayStation box on the floor with excitement.
"Yeah." Johnny eyed me curiously, "Do you?"
I nodded. "I'm awesome."
He cocked a brow. "Is that so?"
"Uh-huh." I was terrible at most things in life, but I kicked ass at GTA. "Joey has Vice City and San Andreas and I've cleared both games."
His brows shot up.
"In a week."
His mouth fell open. "No."
"Oh yeah." I nodded, smiling proudly. "I'm the best."
Johnny tilted his head to one-side, giving me a curious smile. "Do you want to play a game?"
I smirked. "If you want?"
He grinned. "You think you're that good?"
"I know I am," I replied, and for once in my life, I had the confidence to say that.
It didn’t say much about me as a person when all I excelled at in life was kicking ass on GTA, but it was better than nothing.
"Well, little girl, you better put your money where your mouth is," Johnny shot back with a smirk. "Because I'm the best."
I snorted. "It's on, little boy."
Johnny shook his head, clearly amused with my smack talk, and then hurried over to set up the game.
"No memory cards," he called over his shoulder. "Start from scratch, and the person who completes the most missions before dying is the winner – and girls first."
"That'll be me," I replied, accepting the controller he held out to me.
"Because you're a girl?"
"Because I'm the best."
"Do you, uh–" Johnny scratched his head and gestured to his bed. "Want to do this here?"
"On your bed?" I squeaked.
He shrugged, looking as uncertain as I felt. "Or the bean bags, if you prefer?"
"Uh, yeah, okay," I replied. I walked over to the leather bean bags laying side by side, only to hesitate and swing back to look at him. "If you want me to –"
"Sit your ass down, little Lynch, so I can beat you," Johnny interrupted me, tone laced with amusement.
I sank onto one of the bags and gave him my best you're going down expression.
"You should get comfy," I noted when he sprawled into the beanbag next to mine. "You're going to be watching for a while." Clicking into the game, I thumbed on my controller, attention riveted to his massive television screen, and muttered, "A long while."
"No cheats!" Johnny barked an hour later. "That's fucking cheating."
"No, it's not," I laughed as I keyed in another cheat code to load my guy up on life. "You never said anything about cheat codes."
"Yeah, I fucking did," Johnny huffed from beside me.
"No memory cards. Start from scratch, and the person who completes the most missions before dying is the winner," I mimicked his voice. "You never s
aid anything about cheat codes."
"You're dangerous," Johnny grumbled. "And sneaky."
"I'm the best," I cackled as I cleared another mission. "I did try to warn you."
"Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to be the Bill fucking Gates of Grand Theft Auto, did I?"
I laughed loudly, feeling completely at ease with him in this moment.
"Because I'm a girl?"
"Because I thought you were sweet," Johnny shot back, and I didn’t have to look to know he was pouting.
He'd been pouting for almost an hour.
I snickered to myself.
"Now I know better," Johnny huffed. "You're a little demon."
Biting down on my lip to stop myself from laughing at his tantrum, I concentrated even harder on evading the cops hunting me down.
"How are you doing this?" Johnny demanded then, clearly outraged. Springing forward, he waved his hand at the screen. "You have five fucking stars. Five. And you're still not dead."
Pausing the game, I turned and gave him my full attention.
"Are you a sore loser, Mister I'm A Big Rugby Star?"
Johnny's face turned a hilarious shade of red.
"Don’t you like it when a girl beats you?" I continued to tease, using the same smack talk taunts that drove Joey berserk when we played together. "Can't you take your beating like a man?"
"You are so lucky you're a girl right now," Johnny told me, lips twitching.
"Why?" I snickered. "Do you prefer losing to boys?"
"Give me that fucking controller," Johnny growled and then pounced on me. "The power's going to your head."
"No!" I scream/laughed, twisting onto my side to protect the controller. "I'm not finished–Ahhhh!"
"Give it to me," Johnny laughed as he tried to slip his hand under my arm.
"Never," I declared through fits of laughter. "It's mine – stop, please – Ahhhh, I'm ticklish–"
"Now, Shannon, love, I'm so sorry about that. My work call took longer than expected." Mrs. Kavanagh announced as she pottered into Johnny's room without knocking, causing me to spring out of the beanbag and Johnny to groan in despair.
"Go on into the bathroom and change out of those wet clothes," Mrs. Kavanagh instructed as she placed a pile of folded clothes on the foot of his bed. "I'll put your uniform in the dryer and it will be ready before you go."
