I practically dove into that seat.
Forty-five minutes later, I found myself sitting across from him at this bar in town called Biddies, with a half-eaten bowl of soup in front of me, a bottle of coke, and a racing heart.
The moment we stepped through the door of the bustling pub, everyone inside had turned around and honed in on Johnny.
It was incredibly intimidating just watching him try to deal with the attention thrown at him.
I was overwhelmed, so I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Johnny.
He was only seventeen.
Just like that day on the pitch with the reporters, Johnny was nothing but professional, accepting handshakes and claps on the shoulder while we waited at the bar for one of the waitresses.
I was so distracted by the attention he received, and the hand he kept on my lower back as he spoke, that I just nodded when he leaned into my ear and asked me if I was hungry.
It took a further five minutes of talking to random people before we finally sat down at the only empty table in the bar.
I felt absolutely mortified that he had bought me food, and I would have protested and offered to pay, but I didn’t have any money.
I didn’t have anything to offer this boy.
Nothing at all.
"How are you feeling now?" Johnny asked, stirring me from my thoughts.
My head snapped up from where I had been staring at my hands, and I found him watching me from across the small, round table.
That familiar burn ignited inside of my tummy as I forced myself to meet his gaze. I had his coat wrapped tightly around me, but that didn’t stop me from shivering.
"I'm, uh, I'm feeling a lot better now," I replied, blushing from the weight of his stare. "Thanks."
"Good." Johnny leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on me, and tapped a beer mat on the table absentmindedly. "I'm glad."
"Thanks for dinner," I added, feeling shy and awkward and a million other emotions. "I really appreciate it."
For some reason my words drew a huge smile from Johnny.
"You consider a bowl of soup to be dinner?" he asked, grinning so wide his dimples appeared.
"Well, it was a huge bowl," I offered with a shrug "So, yeah, I would consider it dinner."
"It's soup, Shannon," Johnny chuckled. “It's practically water."
"Why?" I eyed the empty plate and bowl in front of him. "Are you still hungry?"
He couldn’t be.
I'd just watched him inhale a gigantic bowl of soup, before following it up with a mountain of veg and chicken.
It was physically impossible to be hungry after consuming that volume of food.
Johnny snorted. "This was a snack."
"A snack?" I rested my elbows on the table and asked, "You're planning on having another dinner when you get home?"
"I'll probably eat at least four more times before I go to bed," he told me.
My mouth fell open. "But it's five o clock."
"I know." He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You should see what I put away on a daily basis. It would probably shock you."
"Well, you're not fat for a guy who eats so much," I blurted out and immediately regretted my words.
Johnny laughed softly. "No, I'm not."
I turned the color of crimson.
"I'm so sorry," I choked out. "I didn’t mean to call you –"
"Don’t apologize," he told me, still smiling. "I train. Hard. I need the fuel to pump my body."
"Because of the rugby?" I asked, tucking my rain damp hair behind my ears.
Johnny nodded. "I need to consume 4,500 calories daily when I'm in training."
My jaw dropped again. "How is that humanly possible?"
Johnny smirked. "I make it work."
"How?" I asked, thoroughly intrigued now.
"By spacing out my meals," he explained. "Eat the right stuff at the right time." He shrugged before adding, "I usually eat every two or three hours. My nutritionist says that's the best fit for my body."
"So, you're on a feeding schedule?" Snickering, I added, "Like a baby."
Johnny flashed me an indulgent smile and took a deep swig of his diluted orange.
Ignoring the loud group of girls at a nearby table, I concentrated on the boy in front of me. "So, you can't have anything nice?"
"Define nice?"
"Coke. Chocolate. Ice-Cream. Crisps," I reeled off a shortlist of my favorite treats. "Fizzy jellies. Coco pops. Pizza. Cheeseburgers. Chips. Chinese food. Donuts–"
"I'm in the middle of a season," Johnny interrupted, giving me an affronted look. "The only thing that goes into my body is organic, unprocessed, and loaded with protein."
I gaped at him. "Not even a rich-tea biscuit?"
Johnny shook his head.
"Why – oh my god! Is it because you would get into trouble with those rugby academy people?" My eyes widened at the injustice. "My brother Joey told me about how they groom young boys like puppies." Horrified, I asked, "Do they give you a list of banned foods and then punish you if you eat them?"
"No," Johnny drawled slowly, frowning now. "The fuck kind of place do you think The Academy is?"
"If you're not allowed to eat treats, then a terrible place," I answered solemnly.
"Eating clean is my choice," he explained, watching me with a bemused expression. "I'm not forced to do anything. My life is on my terms. And not stuffing my face with processed, sugar-loaded shite is called being healthy and exercising self-control."
"But all the time?" I questioned. "Like 24/7?"
"I have an all or nothing attitude," he replied. "I'm either all in with something or I'm not wasting my time. There's no point doing something half-arsed."
"Well, I'm sad for you," I announced. "You don’t know what you're missing."
Slipping my hand into my skirt pocket, I dragged out the half-eaten chocolate bar – my favorite brand – took a quick peek to check the waitress wasn’t watching me bring food on the premises, before dangling it in front of his face.
"The smell is the best part," I told him. "And you get endorphins from these, too."
His lips twitched. "I train six hours a day, Shannon. I don’t need to supplement endorphins with a chocolate bar."
Ripping off the wrapping, I held it in front of his nose for a few moments.
"Sniff it," I encouraged, feeling oddly at ease with him. "Go on."
"Get out of it," Johnny laughed, gently batting my hand away.
"Your loss," I said with a shrug, then bit off a square of chocolate, moaning when the delicious chocolatey goodness hit my tongue.
"Your gain," he scoffed, as he swirled a clunk of ice around in his glass.
"Wow," I snorted, slipping the chocolate back into my pocket. "If I was a bigger girl, you could have seriously hurt my feelings."
"What?" Panic flashed across his face. "Fuck, no! It was a joke." He leaned forward in his seat. "I didn’t mean…I wasn’t calling you fat…You're the tiniest thing I've ever…Shite, you're so small I could –"
"Relax," I snickered. "I'm not offended."
Johnny stared at me for a long beat and then released a heavy breath.
"Jesus Christ, I almost had a heart attack there." Rubbing his chest, he smiled impishly. "I know how mental most girls can get over their weight."
"Well, I'm not like most girls," I replied with a grimace and gestured to myself. "As you can see."
"No," Johnny confirmed quietly, eyes following my hand movements. "No, you're not."
There was a long, uncomfortable pause where we both stared at each other.
The silence was disconcerting, but not nearly as unnerving as the intensity in his blue eyes.
They were too sharp.
Too all-seeing.
Too much.
"Do you want another coke?" Johnny asked, breaking the tension.
"Uh…" I glanced at my watch and then back to him. "I don’t know."
Johnny frowned. "You don’t know?"
Yes.
No.
Go home before your father finds out you're in a pub and kills you.
No, stay here with him.
God…
I shrugged helplessly.
"Well, are you thirsty?" he asked. "Do you think you would like another drink?"
"I…" I glanced around nervously, only to find dozens of pairs of eyes trained on our table.
My heartbeat skyrocketed.
I did not like this.