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 said 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."
"No, no," I hurried to say, wielding the PlayStation controller in front of me like it could somehow ward off her kindness. "I'm fine as I am…thank you."
"Nonsense, love," Mrs. Kavanagh said with a dismissive wave. "You can't be sitting around in wet clothes. You'll catch your death."
"Ma," Johnny said with a pained sigh. He climbed to his feet and exhaled a frustrated breath. "Leave her alone, will ya?"
"Don’t be so rude, Johnny," Mrs. Kavanagh warned. "Show the poor girl to the bathroom and bring me down her clothes to dry."
"I really am fine," I choked out, eyeing Johnny pleadingly. "I'm drying off."
I wasn’t.
I was damp and cold, but I had been having so much fun that I completely forgot about my drenched uniform.
I had quite literally forgot about my problems; my wet clothes, my parents, my everything, for the past hour.
The moment my brain registered the damp seeping into my bones, I inwardly shivered.
Dammit.
"She just told you she's fine, Ma," Johnny groaned, staring at his mother in horror. "Leave it alone. Please."
Ignoring her son's protests, she turned to face me, smiling. "A nice hot shower will warm you up, love."
"W-what?" I croaked out. "I can't shower in your house." Again.
Why were people always telling me to shower in this boy's house?
God!
"Of course, you can," she replied with the warmest smile I'd ever seen.
"Ma, can you just go?" Johnny bit out. "Now? We were in the middle of something here."
She gave him a hard stare. "In the middle of what?"
I waved the controller at her. "I beat him at PlayStation."
"No," Johnny corrected. "She didn’t beat me at anything –" Johnny paused to glare at me, "You haven't won yet –" and then turned back to his mother and added, "She just pushed the bar out."
"To space," I mumbled under my breath.
"I heard that," he shot back, smirking.
Mrs. Kavanagh looked between us and then beamed. "He's a terrible loser, isn’t he?"
"I am fucking not!"
"I know," I giggled.
"His father's the same," Mrs. Kavanagh added. "You should see him if he loses in court. No speaking for hours."
"Ma," Johnny snapped. "Can you just leave us be? Please?"
"I will," she replied. "Once that poor girl has a warm shower and some dry clothes on her."
"She doesn't want a –"
"Do you know what, Shannon, love?" she added, once again ignoring her son. "I might have something in my office to fit you." She eyed me up and down and tapped her lip before saying, "You're a UK size six?"
Startled, I just stood there while Mrs. Kavanagh circled me, brows set in concentration.
"Ma!" Johnny bit out. "Back off."
"No, no," Mrs. Kavanagh mused, ignoring her son.
Frowning, she stepped closer and pulled at the hem of my skirt and pursed her lips.
"You're a small four." Her eyes trailed over me. "With the most amazing bone structure. Shannon, love, it's a pity you're not taller. You'd make the most beautiful mod–"
"Jesus Christ, Ma," Johnny barked, running an exasperated hand through his hair. "She's not a bleeding doll."
His mother's eyes widened in excitement when she said, "Would you like to come see if we can find something for you to wear in my –"
"No, she fucking wouldn’t," Johnny interrupted as he intercepted his mother and walked her to the door. "She's not a project, Ma, or a bleeding clothes hanger."
"Fine," Mrs. Kavanagh huffed.
"Thank you," Johnny growled.
Turning to her son, she whispered, "Door open, Johnathon," and gave him a hard look before walking out of his room, humming softly to herself.
Johnny watched her walk down the hall and out of sight before flinging the door shut and twisting the lock.
Exhaling heavily, he turned to look at me.
"Again, I am so fucking sorry about her." Johnny shrugged helplessly. "I don’t know what's wrong with that woman today."
"It's okay," I hurried to soothe him. "She's, uh, she's very friendly."
"Yeah," he muttered. "Just be glad she didn’t drag you into that clothes room." Shuddering he added, "You'd never get out of there."
"Really?"
"Oh yeah," he muttered.
"Oh."
"Sorry again about the whole her sizing you up thing," he said, looking mortified. "She wanted a girl – they were told they were having a daughter, actually." Grinning sheepishly, he added, "She got me instead."
"A 6'3 rugby playing son," I mused, smiling back at him. "I can see why you might have thrown her."
"Yeah," he chuckled and then pinched his nose in an act of embarrassment. "She and my Da wanted a bunch of kids, but it didn’t work out that way for them." He scrunched his nose up then, obviously thinking about something personal. "Took them a bunch of attempts at IVF or some shite like that." He shrugged and gestured to himself. "This is what their money got them."
"You," I offered with a smile.
He grinned wolfishly. "Lucky them, huh?"
Yes.
Lucky them.
"She's away for work most of the time," he continued to say. "She actually flies back out to London in the morning for a few weeks. But when she's home she likes to be involved in my life."