Binding 13: Boys of Tommen #1

by Chloe Walsh

  "Royce College won their last three games," Lizzie told me, tone laced with sympathy.

  Apparently, I looked as stumped as I did petrified because Lizzie didn’t dish out the sympathy gazes for nothing.

  "Winning their last game put Royce College second on the table with Tommen," she hurried to explain. "Royce and Tommen are having a playoff today to see who gets to play Levitt in the final."

  I pinched my nose, struggling to comprehend what I was being told. "But we're supposed to be going to Donegal after Easter!"

  "There won't be a Donegal trip if the boys don’t win today," Claire explained.

  "Why didn’t you guys tell me about this?"

  "We didn’t know for sure when the game would be held."

  "Why?"

  "Because Royce were playing games," Lizzie offered. "Making life awkward for Tommen in the hopes that Johnny wouldn’t be available."

  "What?"

  "He has a schedule," Claire explained. "Everything he does rugby related has to run through The Academy." Shrugging, she added, "I guess they were hoping to catch Tommen on a loop."

  "Which they didn’t," Lizzie scoffed. "Unlucky for them."

  "Oh, god," I croaked out, flustered. "Where's this happening?"

  "Dublin," Claire grimaced.

  "I'm not allowed to go to Dublin." My eyes widened. "If my father finds out –"

  "It's only a day trip," she interrupted me to say. "Straight up and down. We'll be home by ten."

  "Ten?" I whimpered. "Tonight?"

  Oh, god.

  I was so dead.

  "Guys, I can't go," I croaked out, panicking at thought of what my father would say if I came home at 10pm. "I don’t have any money and my parents don’t know –"

  "Miss Lynch!" Mr. Mulcahy roared, cutting Claire off and drawing everyone on the bus's attention to us. "Sit down!"

  "I'll move," Lizzie interjected, rising up. "Shannon, you can sit here–"

  "Sit down, Miss Young," Mr. Mulcahy snapped. "Miss Lynch is the one throwing us off schedule with her poor time-keeping skills. She can find herself a seat."

  "It's okay," I choked out, mortified. "I'll find a seat."

  "Today would be great," he grumbled.

  With my head down, and Mr. Mulcahy's impatient voice in my ear, I had to do the dreaded walk of shame, shuffling down the center aisle with my schoolbag on my back, peeking from side to side to see if there was a free spot.

  There wasn’t.

  I ended up having to walk all the way down to the back of the bus to where the team were harboring.

  The further back on the bus I walked, the louder the bustle grew.

  I wanted to turn around.

  I wanted climb off this bus and leg it home.

  No, I mentally steeled my resolve. No. You don’t run anymore.

  You're okay.

  You're fine.

  Who cares if they're staring at you.

  They don’t know you.

  Just breathe.

  Finally, when I reached the back of the bus and saw the back row, my cheeks were so hot I was sure I was radiating fire.

  Honestly, if someone pressed a rasher to my face, it would have sizzled.

  The entire back row was filled with members of the rugby team.

  Oh, Jesus.

  I was in the danger zone.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the window seat on my right, just in front of the back row was vacant.

  Sagging in relief, I tightened my hold on the shoulder straps of my bag and turned my body to slip into the row, only to immediately halt in my tracks when I noticed who was sprawled out in the aisle seat.

  My heart jackknifed in my chest.

  Johnny had headphones on, and the music blasting from them was so loud I could clearly make out the sound of Jay-Z singing about having ninety-nine problems.

  I hear you, Jay-Z…

  He wasn’t looking at me.

  He wasn’t looking at anyone.

  His entire focus was on the iPod in his hands.

  Strewn on top of the seat beside him – the only remaining seat in the entire bus – was a pile of gear bags, obviously belonging to the team.

  Oh god.

  Clearing my throat, I gestured to the seat.

  He didn’t look up.

  His perfectly styled hair was the only part of his head I could see as he stared down at the iPod in his hands.

  The engine of the bus roared to life, vibrating beneath my feet, and a huge dollop of panic set in.

  I reached out and tapped his shoulder before quickly pulling my hand back.

  Johnny's head snapped up and the flash of annoyance on his features quickly turned to a look of surprise as he did a double take of me. "Shannon?"

  "I need to sit down," I strangled out the words, mortified by the sounds of catcalling and insinuating comments coming from the rest of the lads.

  For the last two nights, I had wrestled with my emotions over him, barely sleeping, and drowning in panic and self-doubt.

  Now that I was faced with the unexpected prospect of spending several hours next to Johnny, I could feel myself losing it on the inside.

  Seriously, my stomach was rolling and I was fairly certain that if I didn’t sit down soon, I was going to spew.

  God…

  With furrowed brows, Johnny continued to stare up at me, while I continued to babble.

  "There's no other seat left on the bus and the driver's taking off now, so I need you to let me in –" I looked from him to the horde of people watching us, and then to the spare seat, "Can you just push in a seat, or move the bags so I can get in please?"

  "Sorry," Johnny said in an apologetic tone. He reached up and yanked off his headphones. "I didn’t catch any of that."

  A barrage of laughter erupted from the boys in the back row.

  Turning scarlet, I pointed to the stack of bags on the seat beside him and whispered, "I don’t have anywhere to sit."

  "Shite, yeah, sorry," Johnny replied and quickly began to toss the bags onto the floor by my feet. "Give me a sec to clear these."

  "For Christ's sake, Lynch, sit down back there!" Mr. Mulcahy barked from the front of the bus. "And buckle up!"

  Embarrassed, I glanced back to Claire for help, but locked eyes on an enraged Bella.

  Oh, fuck.

  She's going to kill you, Shannon.

  Bella Wilkinson is going to kill you.

  If your father doesn’t get there first…

  Mortified, I made a dive for the seat, trying to squeeze past Johnny's overly-long legs, at the same time he stretched over to deposit another bag.

  The end result was not pretty.

  It involved a lot of flailing, tangled up limbs, and one of my knees connecting full-force with his nose and a chorus of oooohhs and oh shits from the lads around us.

  "Jesus fucking Christ," Johnny hissed. Leaning back against the headrest, he cupped his face and growled. "Fucking hell, Shannon!"

  I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide. "I am so sorry!"

  "Go on, Johnny boy!" one of the lads called out from the back row. "Get up on that!"

  "Fuck off, Luke," Johnny snapped.

  He touched his nose twice, checking for blood, and when he was satisfied there wasn’t any, he let out what sounded like an aggravated growl.

  "I really didn’t mean to do that," I choked out, mortified, as I desperately tried and failed to disentangle myself from between his thighs.

  It wasn’t an easy feat with my schoolbag on my back.

  I had a whole day's worth of books in my bag, having been unable to go to my locker before being thrust onto this bus, and the weight strapped to my back was throwing me off balance.

  Holding onto the back of Johnny's headrest, I raised one leg and attempted to climb over his leg, but my foot must have traveled dangerously close to his area because Johnny snaked out a hand and grabbed my ankle, holding my foot in place, causing my skirt to ride up.

  "W
atch it!" he barked as his eyes flashed with worry. "Stop moving."

  I didn’t blame him for looking worried.

  I was a liability.

  Shaking his head, Johnny expelled a heavy breath, released my ankle, and then stood to his feet. It was a terrible move that resulted in our bodies being crushed together without an inch of space to spare.

  "I would have moved, you know," Johnny explained, eyes locked on me. We were in such close quarters that I could smell his cologne. "If you'd given me a half a chance."

  I opened my mouth to respond, but all that came out was a puff of air.

  It was impossible to form words when I was completely wedged between his chest and the seat in front, my stupid schoolbag making it impossible for me to escape.

  "Are they going to ride or what?" someone called out.

  "Sure fucking looks like it," another snickered.

  "What the hell is going on back there?" Mr. Mulcahy roared at the top of his lungs. "Kavanagh! Lynch! Pack the canoodling in and take your seats!"

  Everyone on the bus erupted in whistles and laughter.

  Meanwhile, I died inside.

  "We're fucking trying!" Johnny roared back. "Give us a bleeding minute, will ya?"

  "How difficult is it to sit in a damn seat, Kavanagh?" the teacher demanded.

  "A great deal, apparently," Johnny muttered under his breath before turning his attention back to me.

  "Go left on three," he instructed. "One, two–"

  My eyes widened. "My left or your left?"

  "Jaysus." Muttering a string of curses under his breath, Johnny grumbled, "Never mind, just come here," and then proceeded to grab my waist, pull my body closer to his – however that was even possible – and then turn us sideways.

  He released my waist and I practically flopped into the window seat, face-flaming, body trembling.

  As soon as we were both sitting down, the bus began to move beneath our feet.

  "Thanks," I croaked out, as I pressed into my seat, shoulders slumping.

  "No problem," Johnny muttered as he settled back, touching the bridge of his nose. "Christ, you're a bit of a liability, aren’t you?"

  "Ah, yep," I managed to respond, though my voice was both breathy and pitchy. "I'm really sorry about kneeing your nose."

  Slipping my bag off my shoulders, I pushed it to the floor and sagged backwards.

  Johnny turned to look at me, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Are you sure you weren't being crafty and trying to get me back for the ball?"

  "What – no!" I balked, shaking my head. "Of course not. I truly didn’t mean to–"

  "Relax, Shannon," he chuckled. "I'm only messing with you."

  Yeah, he was certainly messing with me.

  My ability to breathe for one.

  My erratic heartbeat was another.

  Johnny shifted around in his seat then, obviously trying to find the comfortable position he had before I disturbed him.

  "I hate traveling on buses," he explained, when he finally settled into a position.

  He stretched his legs out, angling his left leg in such a way that it rested against my knee.

  When he didn’t move his leg, choosing to leave it there, while I forced myself not to shiver.

  It was clear that he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

  He was 6'3 and far too big for the tiny amount of space he'd been allocated.

  Still, though, it was too close.

  He was too close.

  There was far too much closeness.

  "You're on my side," I whispered, nudging his thigh with my knee, praying for a reprieve.

  It didn’t come.

  He didn’t move his leg.

  Instead, he cocked a brow and tossed back, "You're on my bus."

  My cheeks flushed bright red.

  Dropping my head, I concentrated on pulling at an invisible thread on my school jumper – the only school jumper currently on view in the whole bus.

  The no-uniform memo was another one I didn’t receive.

  God…

  "I was joking," Johnny said, pulling me from my thoughts.

  "I know," I replied, even though I didn’t.

  I couldn’t read him.

  I was confused.

  I felt flustered.

  And I wanted off this bus.

  "So, your class got picked to come to the match?" he asked, offering some conversation.

  I nodded and tried to ignore the feel of his leg on mine. "Apparently."

  His cocked a brow. "Apparently?"

  I released a heavy sigh. "I didn’t even know about this stupid match until I walked into school and got thrown on this bus."

  "Stupid match?" he scoffed. "Thanks for that."

  "Sorry."

  "Don’t worry about it," he replied. "So, you seriously had no idea about the match?"

  I shook my head. "No idea."

  "Shite," he muttered. "So, you've got nothing with you?"

  "I have every book I need for all nine classes today," I offered weakly, shoulders slumped.

  "If it runs late, we might have to stay over," he stated with a frown.

  "What?" I croaked out. "Please don’t say that."

  Johnny shrugged apologetically. "It happens."

  "God," I breathed.

  "Do you want to run home and grab a bag?" he asked. "I can have a word with Coach and ask him to stop off at your house –"

  "No," I strangled out. "God, no, it's okay."

  "You sure?"

  I nodded.

  "Listen, I'll take you home after the match tonight," Johnny said with a deep frown. "If that's what you're worried about?"

  "Worried?" I shook my head. "I'm not worried."

  "You look worried," he said quietly, eyes trained on mine.

  "Uh, I'm just…" Fighting down a wave of anxiety, I asked, "Can I borrow your phone, please?" Squirming uncomfortably, I added, "I need to let my brother know that I'll be home late."

  And then I need to ask Joey to get my funeral arrangements underway because I am a dead girl walking…

  "Yeah, no bother," Johnny replied. He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his fancy looking phone before handing me the shiny, black device.

  "Um." I stared down at the screen, clueless. "Can you unlock it for me?"

  "Shite, yeah, sorry," he muttered as he reached over and unlocked the screen.

  When I continued to fumble with his phone, he swiped it out of my hand and instructed me to call out the number.

  "Thanks," I whispered, taking the phone back from him.

  Pressing the green call button, I held it to my ear and prayed Joey would pick up.

  Several rings later and I was connected to his answering machine.

  "Hey, this is Joey. You know what to do –"

  "Joe," I strangled out, ducking my face. "It's me – Shannon. I'm on the way to Dublin with the school. I won't be back until late tonight. Can you tell Mam? He has my phone so don’t call it, okay? You won't be able to get ahold of me, but I'm okay, Joe. Don’t worry about –"

  The phone beeped, letting me know that I was out of time.

  Ending the call, I handed Johnny back his phone and exhaled shakily. "Thank you."

  "Who has your phone?" Johnny asked, pocketing his phone.

  "Oh, uh, my father," I mumbled.

  "Why?"

  I shrugged but didn’t respond.

  "That's different," he said then.

  I stared blankly at him. "Huh?"

  He reached over and touched my cheek. "The makeup."

  "Oh." I ducked my face, feeling incredibly grateful for the zippy bag of makeup Claire had given me Wednesday morning. It was one hundred percent necessary. "I know."

  Johnny shifted around in his seat then, obviously trying to get comfortable.

  Dropping my head, I concentrated on pulling at that same invisible thread on my school jumper.

  "Are you mad at me?"

  His question threw me and I looked up i
nto piercing blue eyes. "Mad at you?"

  Johnny nodded slowly. "For what I did in the lunch hall?"

  My heart hammered violently, while I assessed his question.

  I was embarrassed.

  I was uncertain.

  I was fearful.

  But I wasn’t mad at him.

  "No," I finally replied. "I'm not mad at you."

  "You didn’t come back," he said, voice low.

  I shrugged and dropped my gaze. "I was sick."

  "You're better now?"

  "I guess," I replied, voice small.

  "Was it your period?" Johnny blew my mind by straight out asking.

  God.

  "Uh…yeah." Red-faced, I shifted uncomfortably. "But I'm okay now."

  "Don’t do that," Johnny said with a frown.

  "Don't do what?"

  "Be embarrassed." He nudged my shoulder with his. "It's natural, Shannon."

  Oh, god.

  I was beyond embarrassed.

  At this stage, I was teetering towards life-altering humiliation.

  "Okay?" I squeezed out.

  He shook his head and smirked. "Did you listen to track nine?"

  Now I was embarrassed again.

  "I did," I whispered.

  "Did you like it?"

  "Um." I shrugged, unsure what to say.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I don’t know what to make of it, really?"

  He frowned, waiting for an explanation.

  I shifted uncomfortably before saying, "Fuck her Gently?"

  Johnny gaped at me. "What?"

  "Track nine on the CD?" I shrugged. "It was Fuck Her Gently by Tenacious D."

  "Dammit."

  "No, that's Blink 182 and that was track four," I replied.

  "Fuck."

  "No," I corrected. "FACK by Eminem was track ten."

  "What – no!" Johnny shook his head and groaned. "Jesus, what else was on it?"

  I thought about it for a moment before saying, "Pretty Fly for a White Guy, The Ballad of Chasey Laine, um, Stacey's Mom, The Bad Touch, Pony, and a few others that I can't remember."

  Johnny groaned again. "I gave you the wrong CD."

  "You did?"

  He nodded slowly. "That was Gibsie's."

  "What one did you mean to give me?"

  Johnny had a pinched expression when he said, "A Maroon 5 song."

  "Oh?" I looked up at him. "Which one?"

  He shifted in discomfort. "She Will Be Loved."

  Oh.

  Oh wow.

  When I didn’t respond, because quite frankly I couldn’t, Johnny asked me a few more random questions, clearly trying to spark up conversation.