"I'm sorry," I muttered. "Don’t get mad at me over it."
"I'm not getting mad at you. I'm trying to–" Johnny stopped short and inhaled a deep breath before trying again. "Aside from the 9 and 10 who tend to control the play, speed, and direction of the game, the centers are the playmakers," he explained, tone gentler now. "We protect the fly-half, watch out for the scrum-half, take a battering from the opposition's forwards who are a lot fucking bigger than us. We're smaller, faster, and nimbler than the forwards. We have to be in order to play fast ball and link with and assist other members of our team."
"But –" I held my hand up and waited for him to give me the go-ahead before continuing, "I've seen you play. You're the biggest guy on the team."
Johnny shook his head, lips twitching. "That's school rugby. Most of the guys in the school leagues play for fun. In professional, competitive rugby, I'm not the biggest guy."
"But you're huge!" I exclaimed.
"I'm tall," he corrected before quickly continuing. "Speed is vital to a center. I need to be agile on my feet and accelerate the fuck out of it when opportunity arrives."
I thought Johnny was massive, but what did I know?
Apparently, not much.
"Hold and defend – that's my job as 13," he said. "Hold the line and defend it. Competing on the ground or overturning a ruck. That's on me, too," he added. "12 and 13 play close to each other."
"Who's your 12 on the school team?"
Johnny inclined his head towards the group of boys. "Patrick Feely."
"Oh." I nodded. "And you guys are good friends, right?"
He nodded. "Yeah, he's a good buddy. I'm constantly watching Feely and vice versa. If he has the ball, I need to be on his ass, ready to take the pass off and capitalize by linking up with one of the wings."
"The wings?"
"11 and 14," he explained.
I nodded. "Okay. 11 and 14 are the wings."
"Exactly. Now, there's a trust needed between your two centers – 12 and 13," he explained. "You need to have complete fucking faith in each other, know your partner like the back of your hand, read his plays, his body languages – hell, you need to read his thoughts at times."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm taking the opposition out wide, I'm depending on 12 to control the inside and vise-versa. If one of us fucks up, the other suffers, resulting in the entire team suffering." He exhaled a heavy breath and said, "It's a tight partnership that needs transparent communication."
"You couldn’t have made life a little easier for yourself, could you?" I breathed, feeling intimidated. "You had to pick the most challenging position on the team."
"Every position is challenging," he said. "Like the spokes of a wheel, if one goes down we all go down."
"Do you kick?"
Johnny shrugged. "I can, and I do when I need to, like line kicks or the odd grubber, but it's not a huge part of my game."
"Grubber?"
"A kick down field to chase after."
"But you don’t do that often?"
"Not that often."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm usually busy competing for the ball and defending the line. I need to be able to take on the opposition in both attack and defense. My body needs to be ready for the hits I take, and I take a lot of fucking hits, Shannon."
"Why do you do it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Rugby," I explained. "Why do you do it?"
"I love it," he replied simply. "Everything about it. The shape of the ball. The physicality of the game. The adrenalin rush. The pressure. The rewards. Pushing myself. I fucking love the game."
I love you, I almost blurted out, holding the three terrifying words back just in time.
Oh my god!
Where did that come from?
I didn’t love Johnny.
I didn't even know him.
Not well, at least.
And sure, the parts I knew about him were good parts, decent parts, beautiful parts, but that in no way meant that I felt anything deeper for Johnny than obvious physical attraction and a teenage crush.
It was ridiculous.
I was ridiculous.
Stop lying to yourself, my brain hissed, you love him with every piece of your fractured heart…
Startled and disorientated from the troubling thought, it took me a few moments to realize that he was still talking to me.
"… you're assigned a ton of extra bullshit that I'm not going to go into detail and bore you with," I managed to catch him say.
He was shifting around again, legs stretched out at an awkward angle.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yeah." He dropped his hand to his thigh but quickly snatched it back again, casting me a wary look. "I seriously hate these long-ass bus rides," he said by way of explanation. "I'm too cramped."
"So, that's why you prefer sitting on your own?" I offered, giving him an out. "For the leg room?"
"Yeah." Johnny nodded, eyes flashing with relief. "With being the size I am, it's just easier."
"Do you sit on your own in your classes, too?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I prefer it that way."
"Why?"
"Because I'm broad," he replied. "And those desks are narrow as fuck."
He was broad.
He was huge.
And beautiful.
Johnny glanced sideways at me, smirking, and said, "I'd sit with you, though."
My heart leapt in my chest. "You would?"
He grinned. "You're so tiny you don’t count."
I huffed out a breath. "I still count."
"You know what I mean," he laughed quietly. "There's no fighting for leg room." He looked down at my feet, smile still firmly attached, and teased, "Are your feet even touching the floor?"
"Of course," I confirmed, then quickly felt for the ground with my toes to see if I was right. "See?" I tossed back, happy to discover that I was, in fact, right. Granted, my toes barely touched the floor, but there was definite tip-toe contact happening. "Ha-ha."
"Ha-ha?" Johnny threw his head back and laughed. "Are you four years old?"
"Says the guy ribbing me over my height," I replied, giving him my best indignant glare.
"I'm only stating facts," he replied innocently. An impish grin spread across his face before he added, "I was half-expecting you to bring a booster seat on the bus."
Against my better judgement, I cracked a smile at his remark.
There was something about his tone that assured me this wasn’t vindictive behavior.
Johnny was being playful.
It was strange, unexpected, and surprisingly welcome.
"I decided to leave it at home," I impressed myself by retorting. "Thank god I did, because there's barely enough room in here with your ego."
"Shannon Lynch has banter. " Johnny leaned back, both sounding and looking reluctantly impressed. "Who'd have guessed?"
"Well, obviously not you." I smiled sweetly at him, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach when he said my name, as my body slowly relaxed, and my sense of humor peeked over my sky-high protective walls, intrigued by this boy's persuasive coaxing.
"Well, shite." Johnny was smiling now. "You're a sarcastic little thing when you want to be, aren't you?"
Feeling a sudden burst of playfulness, I shrugged and said, "I know you are but what am I?"
"Now you're being a messer."
"I know you are but what am I?" I repeated, smirking.
"Sticks and stones will break my bones," he quipped, playing along now. "But girls will never hurt me."
"It's words will never hurt me," I corrected, finding myself mirroring his smile. "Not girls."
"Not in my world," he replied with a low chuckle.
"Liar, liar," I spurted, "Your pants are on fire."
A loud snort tore out of him.
"I suppose you're going to give me the whole 'bitch means dog, dog means nature, and nature means beauty' spiel next?" he snickered.
"That depends," I challenged, feeling both at ease and on edge around him.
I was beginning to realize that I rode a turbulent wave of emotions whenever I was with him.
A wave of emotions that left me feeling both sick with nerves and giddy with excitement all at once.
It didn’t make sense to me.
But his smiles were addictive.
The more he offered, the more I craved.
Johnny leaned closer, eyes twinkling with excitement. "On what?"