I shook my head. "I'm okay."
"You sure?" he asked, pouring milk once again into both of our bowls.
I nodded. "Are you sure your parents won't mind that I'm here?"
He frowned. "Why would they mind?"
"I don’t know," I hurried to say.
"It's okay," he reassured me. "They won't mind."
"Yeah, okay." Unable to take the heat of his stare, I dropped my gaze to my bowl. "I suppose they're used to you having girls over."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, tone a little sharp.
"Nothing." Flushing, I snatched up my spoon and shoveled a spoonful of Cheerios into my mouth.
"Shannon?" Johnny asked, eyes still trained on my face.
I shrugged helplessly.
"I don’t bring girls here."
"You don’t?"
"No," he confirmed. "I don’t."
"What about Bella?" the words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to take them back.
"What about Bella?" he asked with a frown.
"Don’t you have, like, a thing with her?"
Johnny's frown deepened. "That's in the past."
"I'm sorry." I scooped up a spoon of cereal, chewed, and then swallowed before adding, "You two were going out for a long time so I just presumed she would have been at your house."
Johnny turned and gave me a blank expression. "Were we?"
I frowned. "Were you not?"
He shrugged and turned his attention back to his bowl. "No."
"Oh, okay," I mumbled, thoroughly confused.
"We weren't together like that, Shannon," Johnny explained before shoveling a huge spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
"Then how was it?" I asked. "You and her?"
I knew I should stop rooting for information, but I couldn’t help myself.
I had to know.
Johnny shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, chewed on it for a moment, and then swallowed before turning to look at me. "Honestly?"
I nodded.
"It was physical," he admitted, looking uncomfortable. "It was just sex, Shannon."
"Just sex," I repeated, my words were barely more than a whisper.
"Yeah," he replied. "And before you say it, I know how that sounds. But it's the truth, and it was the same for her. So, don’t go thinking I'm the bad guy and that she wanted anything more from me either, because she absolutely didn’t."
"And you know that for sure?"
"Yeah, I do," he shot back a little defensively now. "She wasn’t interested in me as a person. She was happy with what I could do on a pitch and under her skirt. It was purely physical. And when I couldn’t give her what she wanted, she moved on to my teammate."
"That's pretty terrible," I whispered, cheeks burning.
"Yeah, well, sometimes things aren’t all rose tinted," he grumbled. "Sometimes fucking is just fucking."
"You can stop talking about it now," I whispered, pushing my bowl away.
"You're right," he groaned, dropping his spoon back into his bowl. "You don’t need to be listening to this. You're only fifteen, for Christ's sake." He shook his head. "The fuck am I thinking talking about this kind of shite with you?"
"I'm sixteen," I informed him. "And I'm not a child."
Johnny's head snapped towards me, expression wary. "You're fifteen."
"No, I'm not," I corrected. "I'm sixteen."
Johnny frowned. "Since when?"
"Since today," I replied.
Johnny gaped at me. "It's your birthday?"
I shrugged.
"Why didn’t you say anything?"
"I don't know." I shrugged again. "Slipped my mind?"
"Shannon, come on."
"Because it isn’t a big deal," I hurried to dismiss. "It’s just another day."
A bad day.
A terrible day.
Brightened only because I'm with you…
"No, Shannon," Johnny argued, looking like he was at a complete loss. "It is a big deal."
"Johnny, today's my birthday," I reeled off, embarrassed. "There you go."
"I wish I'd known earlier," he grumbled. "I would have bought you a present."
"I don’t need a present," I strangled out, heart fluttering. "Don’t be silly."
Johnny shook his head and muttered, "Yeah, well, if you told me, I could have given you something better than a bowl of bleeding Cheerios."
"And a toasted sandwich," I offered weakly.
Johnny sighed heavily. "And a toasted sandwich."
"Shouldn’t they be ready by now?" I asked.
"Shite!"
Shoving his stool back, Johnny hurried over to the sandwich maker and pulled them out.
"Not quite cremated," he announced with a frown. "But they're well on the way."
"It's fine," I assured him as I jumped down from the stool. "I like them crispy."
Lifting both of our bowls, I moved to the sink to clean up.
"Don’t even think about it," Johnny warned as he plated our sandwiches.
"Think about what?" I asked, confused.
"You're not cleaning a bleeding thing on your birthday," he stated, holding a plate in each hand.
"I don’t mind –"
"And your face." He shook his head. "And your Ma. Christ, it's your birthday –"
"You said we could forget it," I strangled out, feeling my voice tremble, as panic set in.
I did not want to think about it.
I knew what was coming when I left this house.
And I wanted to forget.
For a couple of more hours, I wanted to pretend that hell wasn’t waiting for me on the other side of his front door.
Johnny looked like he wanted to fight with me but he shook his head and exhaled a low growl. "You're right. I'm sorry," he finally said. "Drop the bowls in the sink and come with me. I'll sort it out later."
It went against my nature to leave a mess behind me, but I complied with Johnny's instructions and followed him back down the hallway and into a large sitting room with a roaring fire already burning in the fireplace.
Without thinking about it, I moved straight for it, groaning in relief when the heat wafted against my bare legs and hands.
Johnny set the plates down on the glass table in front of the fire and then dragged the couch over from the wall, setting it right in front of the fireplace.
"You don’t have to do that for my benefit," I hurried to say.
"It's freezing out," he explained. "And this house is so big it takes forever to heat." Waving a hand in front of the couch, he said, "Make yourself at home. I'll be back in a sec."
Without another word, Johnny walked out, leaving me alone in his enormous living room.
Too stunned to do anything but stare, I remained by the fire, warming my back and wrangling my emotions into touch.
When Johnny returned a few minutes later, he was carrying two mugs of tea.
"Two sugars and a small drop of milk," he announced with a wink, setting the mugs down next to our plates.
"Thank you," I whispered, overwhelmed by his kindness.
Johnny sat down on one end of the couch then and arched a brow at me.
After a couple of minutes of internal debate, I gingerly followed him, taking the other end of the couch, leaving a space between us.
Grabbing the remote, Johnny flicked on the television that was mounted to the wall above the fireplace.
It was huge.
At least 80 inches.
"Any preferences?" he asked me, scrolling through the channel guide on the screen.
I shook my head. "Whatever you want."
"Birthday girl's choice."
I blushed. "Surprise me."
Johnny glanced at the television and then grinned sheepishly. "Ireland are playing in the Six Nations Championship in a bit." Shrugging, he added, "I was planning on watching it."
"Then put it on," I encouraged.
His brows shot up. "You don’t mind?"
"It's your television," I replied. "Why would I mind?"
"If you get bored, just tell me," he muttered as he flicked on the match, attention immediately glued to the screen, "and we can put on something else."
When the Irish senior team marched onto the pitch for the national anthem, Johnny's entire face lit up.
His eyes danced with excitement as he tapped his hand against the couch.
He looked very young.
And adorable.
I waited for Johnny to pick up his sandwich before reaching for mine and taking a small bite.
The taste of ham and melted cheese dripped on my tongue and I moaned before hurrying to devour it.