"About why that boy down there is looking at you like he wants to eat you up," she replied, and then pointed a blatantly obvious finger right at Johnny – who was staring right at me again.
"I don’t know," I choked out. "I have no idea what's happening here."
All of his teammates were running around like lunatics, leaping and jumping around in celebration, and Johnny looked distracted.
He was quite literally swamped by people, ranging from teachers to students to local journalists and cameramen with microphones thrust in his face.
The thing that stood out was his immaculate composure.
None of this was fazing him.
Not one bit.
He looked the epitome of cool, calm, and collected as he answered reporters and thanked the supporters clapping his shoulders, but every few moments, his gaze flickered back to me.
I didn’t understand it.
Worse, having his attention thrilled me.
"Why are they flocking him?" I asked in confusion, feeling bad for the other guys on the team.
Claire rolled her eyes. "Ah, because he's Johnny Kavanagh."
"So?"
I didn’t get it.
"Come on," she squealed, and then grabbed my hand, quite literally dragging me down through the stands and onto the pitch.
We might not have looked out of place, what with half the school out on the pitch, but I certainly felt it as I shuffled along awkwardly behind her.
"Hughie!" Claire cried out, running over to throw her arms around her big brother. "You were amazing."
"Cheers, sis," he replied, patting her back, as he searched through the crowds.
Obviously finding what he was looking for in the form of a tiny redhead, Hughie quickly set his sister aside and hurried off in the direction of her.
"I want that," Claire sighed, watching her brother pick his girlfriend up and swing her around. "Obviously not with my brother," she grimaced. "But what they have." She sighed again. "I want that someday."
"Claire-bear!" a familiar voice called out.
Claire spun around and I swear her entire face lit up when she noticed Gibsie jogging towards us.
"You did it!" she screamed and then flung herself at him.
He seemed as excited as she did and caught her.
I watched them for several minutes, swinging each other around, completely caught up in their own bubble as they talked animatedly about different points in the game.
Either Claire was clueless, Gibsie was clueless, or they were both as blind as each other because I could feel, see, and taste the chemistry wafting off them.
Feeling awkward and out of place, I shoved my hands in my coat pockets, and quickly turned around, slipping through a mass of Tommen supporters.
I was familiar with match day.
I'd been to enough of Joey's games.
This was different though.
And I felt like an implant.
"Hey –" I heard an achingly familiar voice call out, distracting me from my thoughts. "Wait up!"
Basic human nature had me swinging around to see who was calling out and if it was directed at me.
When my eyes landed on Johnny jogging towards me, my heart thundered against my ribcage, hammering violently.
Oh my god.
What was he doing?
Why was he coming over to me?
What the hell was happening?
"How's it going?" Johnny asked, closing the space between us, voice understandably breathless from the exertion on the pitch.
"Uh, it's, ah, it's going good," I stumbled over my words, completely thrown off kilter being this close to Johnny again. "Is it good for you?" I added lamely, and then immediately flamed in embarrassment. "You must feel good." Sighing, I repressed the urge to groan and finished with a mumbled, "I mean: how's it going for you…"
"It's going good," Johnny replied with a smile that deepened the two tiny dimples in his cheeks.
It was my first time seeing those dimples and my memory soaked them in like a sponge.
"That's good," I breathed, struggling to focus.
Unlike the last time I was up close to him – when I was seeing stars – or in the hallways when he was a blur of movement or too far away to get a good look, I had a clear, concussion-free, unobstructed view of his face.
And boy was that view a breathtaking one.
Like, for real, he was strikingly, achingly, distractingly attractive.
He had remarkable bone structure with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, swollen lips, and a messy mop of dark brown hair that was shaved stylishly at the sides, with that extra bit of length on top.
His face bore the markings of a boy that had been in many of a fight.
Over his left eye brow was a freshly clotting scar, his nose had clearly been broken a time or two, and his right cheekbone was purpling at a rapid pace.
"You remember who I am, right?" he asked, still smiling, although he looked a little nervous now, probably because I was staring at him like a creeper. "Shannon like the river."
Oh god.
"Yeah," I choked out, feeling every ounce of blood in my body rush to my cheeks as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I remember you." Unsure of what else to say or do, I stupidly raised and hand and waved. "Hi, Johnny."
What was wrong with me?
Seriously?
Did I just wave at him?
While I was talking to him?
God…
The smile he was sporting grew into a full, perfectly straight, pearly-white smile. "Hi, Shannon."
Oh crackers…
"Well, I'm good," I said, tone a little strained. "And you're good. So, it's all…good."
"That's good," he replied, lips twitching.
"Yeah, it's all good," I answered, cringing at my awkwardness.
Johnny smirked down at me. "Good."
Mortified, I looked up at his face and then quickly away again as I strived to never utter the word good again.
"I watched your match," I blurted out instead. "Congratulations."
Oh yeah, Shannon, because that's much better.
You should have stuck with good, idiot!
"I know," Johnny replied with a small smile. "I saw you."
I opened my mouth to say something, anything to save myself, but I came up empty and shrugged helplessly instead.
"Did you get my note?" Johnny asked, thankfully saving me from trying to form a coherent sentence.
"Yeah, and I wanted to thank you for the money," I told him, voice small. "I just didn’t know if I should –"
"Don’t worry about it," he interrupted with a smile. "I didn’t expect a thank you."
"It's too much, by the way," I quickly added, tucking my hair behind my ear. "My mother got a new skirt for thirty euro."
"I hope she got you those tights you wanted," he countered with a knowing grin.
Oh, dear god.
That boy's smile was something else...
"Uh, yeah." I blushed scarlet. "Those were only a fiver." Sliding my hands into my coat pockets, I looked down at my shoes, inhaled a shaky breath, and then faced him once again. "I can pay you back the rest of it –"
"No way," Johnny quickly dismissed, wiping a speck of mud off his cheek. "Keep it."
"Keep it?" I stared blankly. "You don’t want sixty-five euro back?"
"I hurt you," he replied, his intense blue eyes locked on mine. "I fucked up. You're not paying me back anything."
Oh, thank god because my parents would never give me the money back.
"Are you sure?" I croaked out.
Johnny nodded and said, "Yeah, 'course," before following it up with, "How's the head?"
I smiled up at him. "All better."
"You sure?" he asked, smirking now. "No residual damage that might land me in trouble? I don’t need to call in the lawyers, do I?"
"W-what?" I gaped. "No, no. I'm fine. I would never sue you –"
"I'm messing with you, Shannon," Johnny chuckled. Shaking his head, he added, "I'm really glad you're okay."
"Oh, okay." I flushed. "Thanks."
"Johnny!" a booming male voice called out, distracting us both.
I turned my head to see a burly man sauntering towards us with an impressive looking camera strapped to his neck.
"Give us a picture for the paper, will ya, son?"
I was fairly sure I heard Johnny mutter the words fuck off under his breath but he turned to the photographer and gave him a polite nod. "No problem."
"Good man yourself," the photographer praised and pointed the camera at Johnny, only to halt and turn to me. "Move out the way, will ya, love?"