by Chloe Walsh
"Arthritis," he explained in an embarrassed tone when he caught me staring. "Old age." He set her down carefully when he reached the ground floor and watched her waddle off down the hall before adding, "But she's young at heart."
The minute my bare feet touched the cold tiles, I yelped and jumped back onto the carpeted step.
"God," I squeaked, shivering. "The floor's so cold."
"Hang on," Johnny said and then bounded back up the staircase only to return a few minutes later holding a pair of socks.
He handed me the socks and I sat down on the step to slip them on.
"Thanks," I whispered, pulling the huge black socks on my feet.
Low and behold, they were Nike brand socks.
And not the fake ones either.
"No problem," Johnny replied, watching me. Scratching his jaw, he added, "I don’t know why I didn’t think of socks."
"It's okay," I assured him, pulling them up to my calves before standing up. "I, uh…" I shrugged helplessly and gestured to my bare legs, covered only at the thighs by his boxer shorts. "I couldn’t keep your pants up."
His lips twitched in amusement. "No?"
I shook my head, cheeks burning. "I'm too small."
"That's okay," he replied gruffly. "I like it."
"You like it?"
"I mean I –" He shook his head and exhaled a sigh. "I mean I don’t mind."
"Will your parents mind?" I tucked my hair behind my ear nervously. "I mean, they won't think…"
"No," Johnny replied but he sounded distracted.
"Are you sure?"
His gaze roamed over me then, making my skin flood with heat. "No, it's, uh, good."
My brows shot up. "Good?"
He blushed, causing me to blush a much deeper shade of red.
Oh god…
"It's just us," he added with a cough. "Ma won't be back until the morning."
"Oh, okay."
"So, what are you in the mood for?" Johnny asked, thankfully veering the subject back to food.
"I'm not fussy," I mumbled, following him down a long hallway to the door at the end.
I hovered in the doorway, admiring the beautiful, modernly designed kitchen in front of me.
It looked nothing like the rest of the house that was traditional and majestic.
"Thank god," Johnny replied, drawing my attention to where he was standing at a huge, black, marble island, checking his phone. "Because my kitchen skills are pretty fucking basic, and Gibsie cleared out the fridge earlier."
"I can cook?" I offered shyly.
"What–no," he quickly dismissed, giving me a rueful smile. "You're my guest. You're not cooking for me."
"I don’t mind," I replied.
"Well, I do," he told me as he tossed his phone on the counter and gave me his full attention. "Toasted sandwich good for you?"
I smiled brightly. "Sounds great."
"Good choice," he chuckled. "Because it was sandwiches or cereal."
"We can just have cereal," I offered. "I don’t mind."
Johnny winked and said, "We'll go hard and have both."
I didn’t protest.
I was more than happy to hoof down whatever was put in front of me.
"Do you drink tea?"
"Only by the bucketful," I replied with a smile. "Barry's Teabags with two sugars and a small drop of milk."
He chuckled. "So you're a tea girl, not coffee."
I gagged. "Ugh. I hate coffee."
Johnny grinned and pointed to the large, marble island in the middle of the kitchen.
"Sit down," he instructed as he moved to the cupboards and began to dig around. "I'll throw the sandwiches in the toaster and we can have the cereal while we're waiting."
"Thanks for this," I said quietly.
"For what?" he asked as he prepared the sandwiches in record time.
"Cooking for me," I replied, watching Johnny's back as he worked.
He was wearing a grey t-shirt and the fabric of his shirt stretched gloriously over the span of his broad back.
"I'd hardly call a ham and cheese toastie cooking for you," Johnny shot back with a wolfish grin.
"Well, no one ever cooks for me, so I appreciate it," I told him, still hovering in the doorway. "I do most of the cooking at home."
"Yeah?" He sounded surprised. "Why's that?"
"Because I'm the only girl," I mumbled. "And most of the housework falls on my shoulders."
"So?" Johnny replied, still with his back to me. "Having a vagina doesn’t automatically tie you to a cooker – or a fucking hoover." He shook his head. "Christ, if I even thought about pulling that sexist shite on my Ma, she'd cut my balls off."
"That's a healthy way to approach life," I told him, thrilled by his words.
"That's the only way to approach life," he corrected. "We're in the twenty-first century," he added. "Not the eighteen-hundreds."
He placed the sandwiches in the toaster and swung around to face me.
"You can sit down, Shannon," he said gently. "It's okay."
"Uh, okay?" Padding over to the island, I moved for one of the stools only to flame in embarrassment when I couldn’t hoist myself up.
I tried again and failed miserably.
"Is there a spring to lower this?"
I knew I was small, but this was just ridiculous.
The leather seat of the stool was grazing my ribcage.
"Huh?" Johnny called over his shoulder as he rummaged around in the fridge with a box of cereal tucked under his arm.
"The stool," I replied, red-faced. "I can't reach."
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and smirked when he noticed my predicament.
"There was," he explained, walking over to me. He placed a box of Cheerios and a pint of milk on the island. "But Gibsie has a habit of breaking everything he touches."
Without a hint of warning, Johnny grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the stool.
"He likes to pretend he's a rocket taking off," he added, unaware of how affected I was by his touch.
Strolling over to another cupboard, he retrieved two bowls and then pulled open a drawer and grabbed two spoons.
"Fucker broke all six stools within a week of my Ma buying them." He set the spoons and bowls down on the island and smirked at me. "They're all stuck on full height."
I arched a brow. "Are you mocking me?"
Johnny grinned. "I would never." Pushing a bowl and spoon towards me, he added, "Cheerios work for a starter? I have Rice Krispies if you prefer?"
"Cheerios work."
Johnny settled down on the stool next to mine and reached for the box of cereal.
His arm brushed against mine as he poured cereals into both of our bowls and I shivered again.
"Are you cold?" he asked, turning to look at me.
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.
"I'm going to be there one day," Johnny stated, tilting his head in the direction of the telly. "One of these days that's going to be me, Shannon."
"I know," I replied, believing every word. Biting down on my lip, I turned to face him and said, "Don’t forget about me when you're a rich and famous rugby player."
"You never know," he said with a smirk. "I might take you with me so you can cheer me on in the stands."
Please do.
Please take me away with you.
"You're very sure of yourself," I said instead.
"You can wear my number and shout 'Johnny, Johnny' from the stands," he chuckled before settling back down to watch the game.
Don’t tempt me…
Sitting on the couch in his parents' living room with a roaring fire crackling and the rain pelting down outside the huge bay window, I felt my body slowly relaxing as I tried to follow the match.
I wasn’t forcing conversation to break uncomfortable silences because there wasn’t any.
In this moment, being here with him was as easy as breathing.
It was an odd reaction to being in such close proximity to Johnny, but there it was.
I was enjoying being with him.
He didn’t push me to talk and I liked that.
He just sat beside me, with a huge cushion between us and Sookie at our feet, as he barked orders at the television set.
When Johnny stretched his legs out on top of the coffee table, I waited for a good ten minutes before attempting to do the same, only to fail epically when my toes barely touched the corner before clattering to the floor.
Chuckling softly, Johnny reached forward and dragged the table closer to the couch.
Embarrassed, I kept my feet firmly on the ground.
Less than a minute later, Johnny reached over, lifted my legs, and placed them on the table.
I turned to look at him, but his attention was back on the screen.
Every once and a while, Johnny would pause the match to put some coal or blocks in the fire before settling back down on the couch.
After the third time he did it, I pulled the cushion out of his way when he sat back down and held it to my chest.
By the end of the match, our shoulders were touching.
I didn’t move away.
He was big and solid and warm and I liked the feel of him beside me.
A little while later, when my eyes began to droop, he lifted his arm, and I didn’t even flinch when it came down around my shoulder.
Instead, I nestled my cheek against his side and closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift off to sleep without an ounce of fear in my heart because it couldn’t exist inside of me, not when this boy had his arm around me.
38
Johnny
It was her birthday.
Today was Shannon's sixteenth birthday.
And she was spending it with me.
I was glad.
How crazy was that?