He was very close to the danger zone.
While he held back my hair.
Claire cringed in sympathy. "In his car?"
"No," I replied weakly. "In school. At my locker."
She smiled sadly. "And he dropped you home afterwards?"
"And then I…"
"You what, Shan?"
"I went to the pub with him."
"The pub?" she screeched. "What pub?"
I thought about it for a moment before I remembered the name. "Biddies, I think?"
"Oh my god," she gasped. "That's his pub."
"What?" My eyes widened. "His family own it?"
It wouldn’t surprise me.
"No, no," Claire hurried to say. "They don’t own it, but it's like his pub. His spot. His…his…HQ."
"What does that even mean?"
"That's where they all go," Claire said. "All the boys from the team. Biddies is their hangout."
"Oh," I breathed, flustered. "Okay."
"So," she mused. "What did you do at the pub?"
"He bought me dinner," I confessed.
"Wait – why did he take you to Biddies if you were sick?"
I shrugged. "He drove me home, but when we got to my house, he asked me to go for a drive with him." Frowning, I added, "And he took me to the cinema after Biddies."
"Shut the front door," she squeaked.
"And on my birthday, I ended up going to his house."
"What?" Claire actually screamed. "His house?"
"It was Joey's fault. But I was there…and I had a shower…and then he cooked for me…and I fell asleep on his – " I quickly snapped my mouth shut when the door flew open and Shelley and Helen came bursting into the room.
Claire raised her brows at me but didn’t say anything else.
One look at her face, though, and it was clear that this conversation was far from over for her.
I took that as my opportunity to scoop up my uniform off the bench and slip into one of the shower stalls to get changed.
I wasn’t a prude or anything like that, but I was seriously lacking in comparison to these girls.
Saving myself some unnecessary humiliation, I always changed in one of the stalls with a curtain drawn around my A cups.
When I had my uniform back on, and my frazzled nerves under control, I returned to the girls just in time to hear Shelly and Helen's latest drama.
Shelly was a tall brunette with the kind of curves I could only hope to grow into one day. Helen was the shorter, slightly less curvy, redhaired version of Shelly.
They were massive gossipers and spent their days welded to each other's sides, whispering and snickering, but I'd met far worse than them.
I actually sort of liked them both in a 'they're completely harmless if you don’t tell them your business' kind of way.
"God, he's such a ride!" Shelly continued to squeal.
She was standing in her bra and knickers, completely at ease with her body, and making animated hand gestures to her BFF.
"I swear to god, Hells, I would climb that boy like a drainpipe." She flicked her long ponytail over her shoulder and feign-swooned. "He'd be amazing at it, too."
"Don’t lie, Shell," Helen shot back with a snicker. "If he looked at you long enough you'd pass out from shock."
"I might," Shelly agreed with a laugh. "But then he could revive me." Waggling her finely-shaped brows, she added, "with his tongue."
"Who are we talking about, girls?" Claire interjected with a friendly smile. She was sitting on the bench, buttoning her school shirt back up. "Anyone interesting?"
"Who do you think?" Shelly teased with a huge smile. "Mister sex-on-legs himself."
"Did you see him watching us?" Helen added excitedly, biting down on her bottom lip. "He was. I saw him. He was totally watching us when we were on the court."
"I wish." Shelly sigh/swooned. "God, why can't the lads in our year look like him?"
"I know," Helen agreed dreamily. "That boy is one hundred percent homegrown, Cork sexiness."
"He's not homegrown," I heard myself interject. "He's from Dublin."
"No…" Helen challenged with a confused expression etched on her face. "He's from Ballylaggin."
"If it's Johnny Kavanagh you guys are talking about, then Shannon's right," Claire interjected. "Honestly, girls, if you went and spoke to the boy, you'd know straight away that he's a Dub."
"He is not a Dub," Shelly piped up, looking mildly horrified. "He's from Cork."
"Sorry to disappoint you, but Johnny is a big, blue Dub," Claire countered, grinning. "God, girls, the minute he opens his mouth, it's so obvious."
"Well, his father is from Cork, so he's half Corkonian," Shelly grumbled. "And he lives in Cork."
"And he was born and raised in Dublin – which makes him a Dub," Claire snickered. "Ask him what colors he'll be wearing on All Ireland Final day," she added. "I can promise you it won't be red."
Shelly clearly took the Cork and Dublin sporting rivalry to heart because she looked terribly distraught at the news.
"You don’t know that," she challenged. "He moved down here when he was little. He probably supports Cork and Munster now."
"Actually, I do know that," Claire countered, grinning. "Back in September, Hughie had all the lads from the team over to watch the hurling final, and guess who was the only one wearing blue in a sea of red jerseys?"
"Well, I don’t care," Helen sighed. "The accent only makes him sexier."
"Exactly," Shelly sniffed. "I'd still climb him like a drainpipe."
"Then you better get a hurry on that climbing, Shell." Laughing, Claire continued to rub salt in Shelly's rebel wounds by adding, "Because he'll be out of here after he leaves school. Once he's through with The Academy and Irish Heads offer him a contract, mark my words when I tell you that he won't stay in Cork. He'll go straight back to Dublin and they'll welcome him with open arms. Because he's their 'homegrown' not ours."
"How do you even know all this?" Helen asked, staring at Claire like she had grown two heads.
"Because I spend my time surrounded by boys who play rugby with him," Claire replied. "I heard Hughie and Gerard talking about how Johnny will only stay in Ireland for a couple of years. The boys reckon he will more than likely play abroad for a few years while their team's current center fazes out and Johnny gets senior level game experience. My brother's bet is France – the clubs over there have some serious cash to throw away. Then they'll bring him home as a world class player with the world of experience under his belt and youth still on his side."
"God," I muttered, feeling a little queasy from this conversation. "You make him sound like a piece of meat."
"Because that's what he is in their world, Shan," Claire replied, turning her attention to me. "A big, fat, juicy piece of premium steak."
"I can't begin to imagine what it feels like to be under so much pressure," I whispered, my thoughts immediately rushing back to that night in his car.
No wonder he reacted so badly.
I'd seen the attention people gave him when we were out.
Johnny's entire life was being played out in front of the country.
Everybody talked about him.
All the time.
I think if I were him, I would crawl under my bed and hide.
A huge swell of sympathy filled my chest, all directed at him.
"Poor guy," I mumbled, thinking about how desperate he must be feeling to have to hide his injury.
"Poor guy?" Helen scoffed and made a pffft noise. "There's nothing poor about Johnny Kavanagh, Shannon. The beautiful, beautiful, ride of a boy is going straight to the pros. He's already being featured on popular rugby blogs and magazines. Does that sound like someone poor to you?"
"You should see the crowds and media at his local games," Helen added with a dreamlike sigh. "It's insane."
I know.
I saw.
Maybe he was off to the pros or maybe he wasn’t.
I didn’t think that it was any of our business to be talking about him like this.
This was his life that was being openly discussed and I wasn’t comfortable.
"You're awfully quiet there, Shannon," Shelly stated as her eyes assessed me with keen interest. "Don’t even pretend that he isn’t the most beautiful boy you've ever laid eyes on."