Ignoring the snickering and banter, I swung around and stared up at Johnny. "I'm so sorry about this."
His attention flickered from the boys to me and stayed there. "It's okay, Shannon." His voice was impassive, but his eyes were burning with something I was afraid to decipher because I had the distinct feeling that in this moment, my eyes mirrored his. "You can wash up in my bathroom."
"No, honestly, it's okay." My face was burning with embarrassment. "I don’t have to shower in your house."
"Ah, yeah you fucking do," Joey called out. "I meant it when I said you're not getting into Aoife's car like that. I could run a drag off ya with the state you're in."
"For fuck's sake," Johnny snapped.
Yanking the kitchen door open, he caught ahold of my hand and practically dragged me down the hallway.
"Come on," he ordered. "I'll look after you."
"Uh, okay," I strangled out, because in all honesty what hope did I have of saying no when a gigantic rugby player was dragging me through his house?
"For the record," Johnny called over his shoulder as he tugged me up the staircase, turning right when we reached the upstairs landing. "I don’t think you smell that bad."
"Um, thank you?" I strangled out, unsure of the appropriate response to a boy telling you that you don’t smell that bad, and too out of breath to come up with anything better.
He was moving fast, my hand still wrapped in his, and I had to run to keep up with his long strides.
He didn’t stop moving until we were at the end of the landing and standing outside a closed door.
I noted that we had passed at least half a dozen other doors on this section of the landing, but I was too lightheaded from trying to keep up with him to really take stock of my surroundings.
Releasing my hand, Johnny pushed the door inwards and stepped inside, gesturing for me to follow him.
I did – and it was like stepping into a bedroom version of the hall of fame.
The room was huge, the walls were blue, and the enormous, four-poster bed took center stage.
There was an entertainment center opposite the bed that resembled a miniature cinema, but none of those details were what stuck out in my mind.
It was the rows upon rows of trophies and medals ordaining the walls that had my immediate attention.
Framed jerseys littered the walls, along with several peculiar looking caps and posters of the Irish rugby team.
There was a huge oak desk settled in the space at the far wall between two windows.
On top of the desk was an expensive looking laptop and heaps of school books and exam papers.
Above it hung a huge corkboard, mounted to the wall.
Stuck to the board were countless photographs – of different celebrity athletes.
All of whom Johnny was standing beside in the pictures.
"So," Johnny said with a shrug. "This is my room."
He walked over to his bed and kicked several items of clothes under it.
"It's a nice room," I replied, chewing on my lip as I glanced around.
In typical teenage boy fashion, it was a complete mess with the mandatory posters of semi-naked girls with humongous breasts ordaining the walls.
Clothes were strewn everywhere, and PlayStation controllers and games littered the floor by the TV beside a couple of leather beanbags.
"You can shower in here," Johnny said then. Shaking his head, he burst into action, moving for a door in the left corner of his room, near his bed.
"If you're sure?" I squeezed out, feeling incredibly intimidated to be standing in his personal space and potentially removing all my clothes.
We were virtual strangers.
It seemed wrong to be in his space.
Seemed wrong, but felt so right…
"Yeah, it's no problem," he quickly replied, opening the door for me. He poked his head inside for a brief moment before popping back out. "There's fresh towels on the rack. Use whatever you like."
Holy crap.
This was crazy.
It was too surreal.
I left my house this morning to buy some hash browns and a can of coke, and now I was standing in Johnny Kavanagh's bedroom, about to take a shower in his ensuite bathroom.
How was this even happening?
"Do you want me to throw your clothes in the dryer while you're in the shower?" he asked, startling me back to the present.
"My clothes?" My hands moved to my middle and I quickly shook my head. "Uh, no, that's okay."
He nodded stiffly and I watched him kick several more items of clothes under his bed. "I'd give you something of my mother's but she locks her clothes room when she travels."
"Her clothes room?"
"Yeah, she, uh, my Ma works with clothes." Johnny shifted uncomfortably. "It's more of a giant fucking wardrobe of a room if you ask me, but she calls it her office." He smirked then, clearly thinking about something funny. "Gibs broke in there one time and wrecked some important piece for a new line she was working on, so she keeps it locked when she's in London now."
"Your Mam designs clothes?"
"Yeah."
My eyes widened. "Like a fashion designer?"
Johnny nodded.
"In London?"
Another nod.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Whoa…
"What's your father?" I muttered. "A doctor?"
"No, he's a barrister," he replied without batting an eyelid.
Jesus.
His mother was a fashion designer and his father was a bloody high-class lawyer.
Well, at least that explains the mansion I'm standing inside.
Johnny's gaze darted to his bedside locker then and he hurried over and yanked open the top drawer before sweeping the contents on top into the drawer.
"I'll go find you something of mine you can change into," he mumbled, cheeks turning slightly pink, as he shoved the drawer closed and kicked a bunch of papers that had toppled off his locker under the bed. "I'll leave some clothes on the bed just in case you want to... Just pick whatever you want."
I hesitated, taking one step forward and three steps back, before taking a deep breath and walking over to the bathroom door.
Johnny stepped aside for me to pass, but he was so big that I still managed to brush against him.
"Thanks, Johnny," I whispered before hurrying into his bathroom with a raging case of hormones and a hammering heart.
"You're welcome, Shannon," I heard him say just before I clicked the door shut.
Oh Jesus.
What the hell was happening?
35
Answers
Johnny
"I've a question, Joey the hurler," I snarled when I stalked back into the kitchen, having deposited his naked sister in my shower.
"Go for it, Mr. Rugby," Joey shot back, unfazed.
I swung my gaze to Gibsie and gestured to the door. "I need a minute, Gibs."
My best friend must have seen the fury in my eyes because for once in his life, he didn’t make a smart comment or crack a joke.
He just stood up and walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
"Now," I said when we were alone, eyes locked on Joey. "Who the fuck is putting their hands on your sister?"
Joey's brows shot up.
"Yeah, you heard me," I growled. "I found her on her hands and knees at school on Friday, throwing her guts up." I ran a hand through my hair, furious and beyond agitated. "Something's happening to her and I want to know what it is."
"Why?"
"Because I want to fix it."
"Why?"
"Because no one should be putting their goddamn anything on her," I barked.
"What did she tell you?" he asked calmly.
"That she fell over Legos," I bit out.
Fell over Legos my ass.
Fell into a fist was more like it.
Joey studied me with sharp, green eyes for the longest moment before nodding. "If Shannon says that's what happened, then that's what happened."
"No –no! Don’t give me that shit," I hissed, frustrated. "This isn’t the first time I've seen her with marks." I distinctly remembered a red mark on her face a couple of weeks ago, and that mark on the back of her neck on Friday. "What's happening to her?"
Joey leaned back on his stool, eyeing me with a superior fucking expression I hated.
He knew something I didn’t, and it was driving me insane.
Yeah, I wasn’t sure I liked Joey the hurler that much anymore.