Apparently not, because Holy Mary Mother of God, up close, he was something else.
His chest was bare and his pectorals were toned, his stomach was ripped.
I mean, he was seriously ripped.
Not like the six-pack my brother sported or any of the lads I'd seen swapping jerseys after Joey's matches.
His entire body was a solid mass of hardcore, chiseled muscle.
I held my breath as I allowed my eyes to wander over him, absorbing the sight of rippled abs, sun-kissed, golden skin, the dark trail of hair under his navel, and that amazing way he smelled.
Like soap and grass and Johnny.
It wasn’t fair to give this much beauty to one person.
They could have spread it out across the entire school and he'd still be perfect.
"What happened here?" Johnny asked then, distracting me from my ogling, as he stalked over to where I was standing and stroked his thumb across my cheek.
Confused and frazzled, I let out a shaky breath and looked up at him. "Huh?"
"You have a red mark," Johnny mumbled, frowning down at me. "I didn’t notice it earlier."
My brows rose up. "I do?"
He nodded, blue eyes locked on mine. "Yes, Shannon, you do."
Slipping around him, I padded into the bathroom to check in the mirror.
Sure enough, my right cheek was red and blotchy where the rest of me was milk bottle pale.
That would be my father's backhand, I thought to myself.
"Well?" Johnny asked, leaning in the doorway.
I leaned forward, stretching over the sink to get a better look in the mirror.
Johnny walked over to where I was standing.
And then he proceeded to hover behind me, his bare chest rubbing against my back, as he stared at my reflection in the mirror, face set in a deep frown.
I didn’t think he realized he was doing it – brushing his body against mine.
His focus had moved from my cheek to my neck.
His expression was dark, face turning a dark shade of purple.
"What the fuck is this?" he hissed.
I followed his gaze to the faint purplish finger prints lining my neck.
Awareness dawned on me.
My Dad.
Last night.
Oh, god.
"I don’t know," I replied, feigning confusion, deciding it was safer to stick to the original story.
If I backpedaled now, Johnny would smell a rat.
"You don’t know?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on mine in the mirror.
Shaking my head, I let my shoulders fall. "No idea."
"Is someone hurting you, Shannon?" he asked in a deathly quiet voice.
"No one is hurting me, Johnny," I whispered, eyes glued to his in the mirror.
My heart was racing so hard I feared it might burst.
It was a terrible concoction of fear, uncertainty, and lust all rolled into one complicated ball of emotions in the pit of my stomach.
Reaching up with one hand, Johnny cupped my chin and used his free hand to gently sweep my hair off my neck.
He didn’t ask permission if he could touch me.
He just did it.
Then his fingers were tracing the fingerprints left by my father, his featherlight touch making my entire body tremble.
"Someone touched you," Johnny whispered in my ear, placing his fingers on the marks. "I want to know who."
The air escaped my lungs in an audible gasp.
Unable to stop myself, I sagged against his chest, eyes glued to our reflection in the mirror as he stared right back at me, blue eyes scorching holes in my soul, waiting for an explanation I could never give him.
"Tell me who put their hands on you," he coaxed, as he stood behind me, my face in his hand and his fingers on my throat. "And I'll make it better."
Think, Shannon, think…
"Well?"
Hurry the hell up…
"Shannon?"
"I got smashed up in P.E," was all I came up with.
Johnny didn’t respond.
He just continued to stare at my neck with a dark expression.
Panicking, I hurried to add to my lies, "It was my fault. I got in the way of the boys during soccer and four of them ended up crashing into me."
Slipping around Johnny, I walked back into his bedroom, putting some space between us.
"I ended up on the bottom of a pile-up. Happened just before you came in." Shaking my head, I forced a small laugh. "It was total carnage."
Johnny hovered in the bathroom doorway, expression tight, eyes sharp and intelligent.
"So, one of the lads in your class's hand just so happened to land on your neck?" he asked, tone laced with disbelief. "His fingers just so happened to squeeze your throat?"
This one's nobody's fool, I thought to myself. Lie better, Shannon.
"It didn’t feel like that at the time." I gave him a weak shrug and sat down on the edge of his bed. "But I guess that's what happened."
"You guess?" he repeated, folding his arms across his chest.
The movement caused his huge biceps to bulge.
He was seriously huge.
It was incredibly intimidating.
But I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
It was one of the few things in my life that I was absolutely certain of.
This boy would never put his hands on me in anger.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I added, "Maybe he caught me when he was trying to stand up."
"Maybe," Johnny mused, nodding in agreement.
I sagged in relief.
"Or maybe it was those Legos again."
My heart sank.
"Was it?" Johnny demanded. "Did you fall over the same Legos getting those fingerprints on your throat that you did when you busted up your face on your birthday?"
"Johnny–"
"And how about the bruise on the back of your neck the time before that? Or the red mark on your face the time before that again? Or the bruises on your thighs? And your arms? And the rest of you?" He glared at me. "Was that those pesky Legos, too?"
"Do you think my uniform's ready yet?" I changed the subject by asking. "I should probably get home."
Yeah, I needed to get out of here.
And fast.
"No. No! Don’t do that," Johnny called me right out on my diversion. "Don’t try and brush me off," he growled. "I want to know what happened to you, Shannon."
"I want to go home." Sniffling, I quickly wiped my face with the back of my hand. "Now, please."
He ran a hand through his damp hair and sighed. "Christ, Shannon, don’t cry!"
He unfolded his arms and moved towards me but I shook my head and held a hand up to warn him off.
Johnny stopped short and ran a hand through his hair.
"I can help you," he pleaded. "Let me help you."
"Then help me by getting my clothes," I sniffled. "That's the only help I need from you.
Exhaling a pained groan, Johnny closed the space between us and crouched in front of me.
"I want to help you." He placed his hands on my outer thighs and looked up at me, blue eyes wide and sincere. He squeezed my thighs gently. "All you have to do is tell me what's happening, okay?" Reaching up, he tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear, "Just tell me who's hurting you and I'll make it go away."
You can't help me.
No one can.
I took that beating for talking to you.
For taking a fucking picture with you.
You are the last person who can help me.
"I'm okay, Johnny," I croaked out, feeling the tears pooling my eyes. "You don’t need to help me."
"You're lying to me," he growled, looking furious. "You're fucking lying to me and I can't stand it."
"Please take me home," I strangled out, jerking away from him. "Just take me home and you won't have to stand me."
Johnny groaned. "Shannon, come on. Don’t twist my words. You know that's not what I meant –"
"I want to go home, Johnny," I choked out. "If you don’t want to take me, then I'll call Joey to come pick me up."
"Okay," Johnny sighed in resignation. "Fine." Releasing me, he stood up and held his hands up. "I'll get your clothes and take you home."
Exhaling a shaky breath, I nodded. "Thank you."
He watched me for a long moment before shaking his head in resignation. "I'll be right back, okay?"
Nodding, I watched him walk out of room, waiting until he was gone before slumping down on his bed.
"God," I cried, furiously batting the traitorous tears away. "Get it together, Shannon."
Don’t even think about telling him anything.
His father's a barrister.
You know what those guys are like.
They'll get involved and you'll all be split up and put into care.