"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. "Be mad all you want, just stop grinding your head on my lap."
"I like your lap," she breathed, eyes closed. "It's like a pillow."
"Yeah, uh, well, that's nice and all –" I paused to still her face with my hands once more, "But I'm sore, so I need you to not do that."
"Do what?"
"Rub me," I croaked out. "There."
"Why are you sore?" She sighed heavily and asked, "Are you broken, too?"
"Probably," I admitted, shifting her face onto my good thigh – well, good being the one that hurt less. "Stay there, okay?" It was more of a plea than an order. "Don’t move."
Complying, she didn’t move her head again.
Using my free hand to press against the tension forming at my temple, I thought about how much shite I was going to be in.
I was missing class.
I was hungry.
I had club training tonight.
I had a gym session arranged straight after school with Gibsie.
Physiotherapy with Janice after school tomorrow.
I had a school match on Friday.
I had another training session with the youths at the weekend.
I had a busy fucking schedule and I didn’t need this drama.
Several minutes passed in pained silence before she moved again, and in that time, I debated all the ways Mr. Twomey was an incompetent principal.
I had a list as long as my arm when she tried to sit up again.
"Be careful," I warned, hovering over her like a mother hen.
I helped her into an upright position and managed to slide off the bench in the process.
Every muscle south of my navel screamed out in protest, but I didn’t move away.
Instead I continued to crouch in front of her, keeping my hands on either side of her waist, waiting to catch her. "Are you okay, Shannon?"
Her long brown hair fell forwards, cloaking her face like a blanket.
She nodded slowly, brows furrowed deeply. "I…I think so."
I sagged, my relief palpable. "Good."
She leaned forward then, resting her elbows on her thighs, eyes open and staring into mine, and all at once she was far too close for comfort – and that was saying something considering no less than two minutes ago she'd had her face in my lap.
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 towards 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 a 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 kick a ball."
I wasn’t a natural ten, but I had a decent aim and the ability to kick from long range when necessary.
"Yeah," she croaked out. "Well, your ability to kick a ball almost killed me."
"Fair point," I acknowledged, cringing.
Without thinking twice about what I was doing, I reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears.
I felt her tremble from the contact and quickly scolded myself for the move.
Don’t touch her, dickhead.
Keep your hands off.
"Your voice is strange," she announced then, blue eyes locked on mine.
I frowned. "My voice?"
She nodded slowly, then groaned and cupped her face once more. "Your accent," she clarified, breathing hard. "It's not a Cork accent." She was still clutching her head but she was more alert now.
"That's because I'm not from Cork," I replied, unable to stop myself from reaching up and smoothing back a piece of her hair. "I was born and raised in Dublin," I heard myself explain, tucking the rogue tendril behind her ear. "I moved down to Cork with my parents when I was eleven."
"So, you're a Dub," she stated, clearly amused at the information. "A Jackeen."
I scoffed at the term and tossed back one of my own. "And you're a Culchie."
"My cousins live in Dublin," she told me.
"Oh yeah? Where about?"
"Clondalkin, I think," she replied. "What about you?"
"Blackrock."
"The southside?" Her smile widened, eyes more alert now. "You're a posh boy."
I cocked a brow. "Do I look posh to you?"
She shrugged. "I don’t know you enough to say."
No, she didn’t.
"Well, I'm not," I added, uncomfortable at the thought of her making a preemptive judgement of me.
I shouldn’t care.
Hell, I never normally cared.
So why was I sulking over it now?
"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."
She laughed right along with me, but quickly stopped and groaned, clutching her temples.
Regret soared inside of me.
"I am sorry," I told her, tone gruff now and thick.
"For what?" she whispered, seeming to lean closer as she chewed on her bottom lip.
"Hurting you," I replied honestly.
Christ, my voice didn’t even sound like it belonged to me. It was strained…raw.
I cleared my throat and added, "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."
Those words, that small fucking sentence, brought to life some weird fucking emotion I hadn't experienced before.
"I'm so embarrassed," she continued to mumble, eyes cast downwards. "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 nod. "I won't let them."
"You promise?" she whispered, a tiny smile pulling at her swollen lips.
"Yeah," I replied gruffly, feeling like I would promise all the fucking promises in the world just to make this girl feel better. "I've got your back."
"No, you got my head," she croaked out. She glanced down at her body and sighed. "Actually, I think you ruined all of me."
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?
Blinking away the thought, I settled on a safer, "I'll have my people call your people to work out the bill," comment instead.
That drew a smile out of her, a proper smile, not a shy one or a small one.
It was an honest to god megawatt smile.
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.
"So," I pressed my luck by asking, "It's your first day?"
She nodded again, smile faltering ever so little.
"How's it going for you?"