Johnny Kavanagh was holding my hand.
He was holding my hand and taking me upstairs.
Again.
To his bedroom.
Again.
Where he slept.
On his bed.
Probably with very little clothes on.
Oh, god…
Unlike the last time I took this trip with Johnny, he walked at my pace, giving me a chance to take in the absolute wonder that was his home. I mean it was hard to put into words how stunning it was.
Unlike the huge, modern kitchen he’d taken me into last week, this wing of the house was traditional and almost, regal?
The entire upstairs landing was made up of stained hardwood flooring and gorgeous patterned wallpaper that was so clean and shiny that it looked like silk.
For all I knew about fabric and designs, it could have been.
This entire house and the boy holding my hand, reeked of money.
Lots and lots of money.
It was terrifying.
The floor creaked a little beneath our feet as we walked down the right wing of the house, passing no less than five other doors, until we reached the door I knew was his.
Johnny pushed the door inwards and walked us into his room, still holding my hand, still making my heart leap around violently.
Depressingly, he released my hand a few moments later, and the lack of contact made me feel oddly bereft.
“So, this is my room,” he said with a smirk, waving a hand around the still-messy room. “Again.”
“And it’s still a nice room,” I offered with a shy smile.
He grinned. “I’m not the best housekeeper.”
I can tell.
Feeling achingly uncomfortable at just standing in the middle of his room, I walked over to the pile of DVDs next to his television, hoping I knew one of the titles so I could spark up some conversation instead of just standing here like a dummy.
My face burned with heat when I read the title on the DVD box on top of the pile – Pussy Pleasure XX
“Fuck,” Johnny muttered when he noticed where I was looking. He hurried over and tossed the porno behind the TV. “That’s ah…” Breaking off, he exhaled a heavy sigh and scrubbed his face with his hand. “Sorry about that. I don’t bring girls up here.” He frowned for a moment before adding, “Except you.”
Squirming uncomfortably, I replied, “Don’t worry about it.”
“So,” he mused.
“So,” I whispered.
“This is pretty fucking strange,” Johnny muttered.
“Yep,” I agreed as a small smile crept across my face.
Johnny noticed my smile and grinned back at me. “Bet you didn’t plan on spending your evening stuck here, huh?”
“I really don’t mind,” I told him, and surprisingly, I meant it.
Being here delayed going home to another night of drama.
And being here with Johnny was a good kind of terrifying.
I wanted to be here with him.
I wanted him, period.
“So,” Johnny said again, shifting restlessly as he smoothed a hand down his thigh. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t mind,” I replied. “I’ll do whatever you want to do?”
“Fuck.” Johnny clenched his eyes shut and groaned.
“Oh god, are you okay?” I hurried to ask, well aware he was in pain.
“All good,” he assured me in a tight tone.
“Are you sure?” I asked, uncertain again.
His blue eyes were wild and full of uncertainty when he said, “I’m kind of out of my comfort zone here, Shannon.”
“Do you want me to go?”
He shook his head.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded slowly. “I want you to stay.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I wrapped my arms around my middle and walked over to his enormous desk where mountains of school books lay unopen.
“You’re a good student?” I asked, casting a glance over my shoulder.
“I’m decent,” Johnny replied, trailing after me.
“No copy of Chicken Licken?”
Johnny laughed loudly. “No.” Coming to stand behind me, he chuckled, “Definitely no Chicken Licken.”
With my face on fire, I kept my attention on his desk, skimming my finger over the test papers and books as my gaze wandered to the cork board above the desk.
“Whoa, you’ve met a lot of famous people,” I whispered, gaze flicking from photo to photo of Johnny with a range of different celebrities and athletes. “Which one of these guys is your hero?”
I presumed one was.
He was a teenage boy.
They all had heroes.
Johnny reached around me and pulled one of the photos off the board.
The tack holding it dropped onto his desk.
“See this one?” he asked as he stood behind me with his arm stretched around my body so I could see.
Breathe, Shannon, just breathe…
Forcing myself to concentrate on his question, and not the way my body was reacting to his close proximity, I stared down at the picture in his hands.
“I see,” I whispered, gazing down at the one photograph that didn’t seem to have a celebrity in it.
I immediately recognized the stunning blonde laying on the picnic blanket on the grass as a younger version of Mrs. Kavanagh.
She had huge sunglasses covering her eyes and a big, white, floppy hat perched on her head as she beamed up at a man.
The man in question – a beautiful man who looked just like an older version of Johnny – was standing over her and on his shoulders sat a small, dark haired boy of no more than five or six.
The little boy was dressed in a light blue and white striped jersey and white shorts.
His hair was cocking up in forty different directions, and he was holding a rugby ball proudly above his head and grinning this huge, double dimpled, toothless smile.
“This is my favorite picture,” Johnny said, stirring me from my thoughts. He tapped the photo. “And he’s my hero.”
“Your Dad?” I whispered, eyes glued to the photo. “That’s you with your Mam and Dad?”
“Yeah,” Johnny replied. “In all our glory.”
“And it’s your favorite photo because it’s of you and your parents?”
Johnny shrugged and the movement caused his hard chest to brush against my back. “That’s partly why it’s my favorite.”
I shivered involuntarily.
“What’s the other part?” I whispered.
“Because it’s real.”
“Real?”
“Innocent. Good. Pure. Before the limelight,” he explained. “When all that mattered to me was a ball and my folks.”
“Oh,” I breathed, staring down at what looked like the happiest little boy in the world. “Well, you were a gorgeous child.”
“Was?” Johnny quipped. “As in, I’m not anymore?”
“Uh, no – I mean yes, of course –I didn’t – um, you have all your teeth now,” I spluttered, feeling flustered and foolish for voicing my thoughts aloud.
Johnny chuckled at my response. “I’m only messing with you, Shannon.”
Embarrassed, I set the picture down on the desk and stepped around him, needing to put some space between us.
I couldn’t think when I was this close to him.
“You play GTA?” I asked then, eyeing the PlayStation box on the floor with excitement.
“Yeah.” Johnny eyed me curiously, “Do you?”
I nodded. “I’m awesome.”
He cocked a brow. “Is that so?”
“Uh-huh.” I was terrible at most things in life, but I kicked ass at GTA. “Joey has Vice City and San Andreas and I’ve cleared both games.”
His brows shot up.
“In a week.”
His mouth fell open. “No.”
“Oh yeah.” I nodded, smiling proudly. “I’m the best.”
Johnny tilted his head to one-side, giving me a curious smile. “Do you want to play a game?”
I smirked. “If you want?”
He grinned. “You think you’re that good?”
“I know I am,” I replied, and for once in my life, I had the confidence to say that.
It didn’t say much about me as a person when all I excelled at in life was kicking ass on GTA, but it was better than nothing.
“Well, little girl, you better put your money where your mouth is,” Johnny shot back with a smirk. “Because I’m the best.”
I snorted. “It’s on, little boy.”
Johnny shook his head, clearly amused with my smack talk, and then hurried over to set up the game.
“No memory cards,” he called over his shoulder. “Start from scratch, and the person who completes the most missions before dying is the winner – and girls first.”
“That’ll be me,” I replied, accepting the controller he held out to me.
“Because you’re a girl?”
“Because I’m the best.”
“Do you, uh–” Johnny scratched his head and gestured to his bed. “Want to do this here?”
“On your bed?” I squeaked.
He shrugged, looking as uncertain as I felt. “Or the bean bags, if you prefer?”
“Uh, yeah, okay,” I replied. I walked over to the leather bean bags laying side by side, only to hesitate and swing back to look at him. “If you want me to –”
“Sit your ass down, little Lynch, so I can beat you,” Johnny interrupted me, tone laced with amusement.
I sank onto one of the bags and gave him my best you’re going down expression.
“You should get comfy,” I noted when he sprawled into the beanbag next to mine. “You’re going to be watching for a while.” Clicking into the game, I thumbed on my controller, attention riveted to his massive television screen, and muttered, “A long while.”
“No cheats!” Johnny barked an hour later. “That’s fucking cheating.”
“No, it’s not,” I laughed as I keyed in another cheat code to load my guy up on life. “You never said anything about cheat codes.”
“Yeah, I fucking did,” Johnny huffed from beside me.
“No memory cards. Start from scratch, and the person who completes the most missions before dying is the winner,” I mimicked his voice. “You never s
“You’re dangerous,” Johnny grumbled. “And sneaky.”
“I’m the best,” I cackled as I cleared another mission. “I did try to warn you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to be the Bill fucking Gates of Grand Theft Auto, did I?”
I laughed loudly, feeling completely at ease with him in this moment.
“Because I’m a girl?”
“Because I thought you were sweet,” Johnny shot back, and I didn’t have to look to know he was pouting.
He’d been pouting for almost an hour.
I snickered to myself.
“Now I know better,” Johnny huffed. “You’re a little demon.”
Biting down on my lip to stop myself from laughing at his tantrum, I concentrated even harder on evading the cops hunting me down.
“How are you doing this?” Johnny demanded then, clearly outraged. Springing forward, he waved his hand at the screen. “You have five fucking stars. Five. And you’re still not dead.”
Pausing the game, I turned and gave him my full attention.
“Are you a sore loser, Mister I’m A Big Rugby Star?”
Johnny’s face turned a hilarious shade of red.
“Don’t you like it when a girl beats you?” I continued to tease, using the same smack talk taunts that drove Joey berserk when we played together. “Can’t you take your beating like a man?”
“You are so lucky you’re a girl right now,” Johnny told me, lips twitching.
“Why?” I snickered. “Do you prefer losing to boys?”
“Give me that fucking controller,” Johnny growled and then pounced on me. “The power’s going to your head.”
“No!” I scream/laughed, twisting onto my side to protect the controller. “I’m not finished–Ahhhh!”
“Give it to me,” Johnny laughed as he tried to slip his hand under my arm.
“Never,” I declared through fits of laughter. “It’s mine – stop, please – Ahhhh, I’m ticklish–”
“Now, Shannon, love, I’m so sorry about that. My work call took longer than expected.” Mrs. Kavanagh announced as she pottered into Johnny’s room without knocking, causing me to spring out of the beanbag and Johnny to groan in despair.
“Go on into the bathroom and change out of those wet clothes,” Mrs. Kavanagh instructed as she placed a pile of folded clothes on the foot of his bed. “I’ll put your uniform in the dryer and it will be ready before you go.”
“No, no,” I hurried to say, wielding the PlayStation controller in front of me like it could somehow ward off her kindness. “I’m fine as I am…thank you.”
“Nonsense, love,” Mrs. Kavanagh said with a dismissive wave. “You can’t be sitting around in wet clothes. You’ll catch your death.”
“Ma,” Johnny said with a pained sigh. He climbed to his feet and exhaled a frustrated breath. “Leave her alone, will ya?”
“Don’t be so rude, Johnny,” Mrs. Kavanagh warned. “Show the poor girl to the bathroom and bring me down her clothes to dry.”
“I really am fine,” I choked out, eyeing Johnny pleadingly. “I’m drying off.”
I wasn’t.
I was damp and cold, but I had been having so much fun that I completely forgot about my drenched uniform.
I had quite literally forgot about my problems; my wet clothes, my parents, my everything, for the past hour.
The moment my brain registered the damp seeping into my bones, I inwardly shivered.
Dammit.
“She just told you she’s fine, Ma,” Johnny groaned, staring at his mother in horror. “Leave it alone. Please.”
Ignoring her son’s protests, she turned to face me, smiling. “A nice hot shower will warm you up, love.”
“W-what?” I croaked out. “I can’t shower in your house.” Again.
Why were people always telling me to shower in this boy’s house?
God!
“Of course, you can,” she replied with the warmest smile I’d ever seen.
“Ma, can you just go?” Johnny bit out. “Now? We were in the middle of something here.”
She gave him a hard stare. “In the middle of what?”
I waved the controller at her. “I beat him at PlayStation.”
“No,” Johnny corrected. “She didn’t beat me at anything –” Johnny paused to glare at me, “You haven’t won yet –” and then turned back to his mother and added, “She just pushed the bar out.”
“To space,” I mumbled under my breath.
“I heard that,” he shot back, smirking.
Mrs. Kavanagh looked between us and then beamed. “He’s a terrible loser, isn’t he?”
“I am fucking not!”
“I know,” I giggled.
“His father’s the same,” Mrs. Kavanagh added. “You should see him if he loses in court. No speaking for hours.”
“Ma,” Johnny snapped. “Can you just leave us be? Please?”
“I will,” she replied. “Once that poor girl has a warm shower and some dry clothes on her.”
“She doesn’t want a –”
“Do you know what, Shannon, love?” she added, once again ignoring her son. “I might have something in my office to fit you.” She eyed me up and down and tapped her lip before saying, “You’re a UK size six?”
Startled, I just stood there while Mrs. Kavanagh circled me, brows set in concentration.
“Ma!” Johnny bit out. “Back off.”
“No, no,” Mrs. Kavanagh mused, ignoring her son.
Frowning, she stepped closer and pulled at the hem of my skirt and pursed her lips.
“You’re a small four.” Her eyes trailed over me. “With the most amazing bone structure. Shannon, love, it’s a pity you’re not taller. You’d make the most beautiful mod–”
“Jesus Christ, Ma,” Johnny barked, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “She’s not a bleeding doll.”
His mother’s eyes widened in excitement when she said, “Would you like to come see if we can find something for you to wear in my –”
“No, she fucking wouldn’t,” Johnny interrupted as he intercepted his mother and walked her to the door. “She’s not a project, Ma, or a bleeding clothes hanger.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Kavanagh huffed.
“Thank you,” Johnny growled.
Turning to her son, she whispered, “Door open, Johnathon,” and gave him a hard look before walking out of his room, humming softly to herself.
Johnny watched her walk down the hall and out of sight before flinging the door shut and twisting the lock.
Exhaling heavily, he turned to look at me.
“Again, I am so fucking sorry about her.” Johnny shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with that woman today.”
“It’s okay,” I hurried to soothe him. “She’s, uh, she’s very friendly.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just be glad she didn’t drag you into that clothes room.” Shuddering he added, “You’d never get out of there.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah,” he muttered.
“Oh.”
“Sorry again about the whole her sizing you up thing,” he said, looking mortified. “She wanted a girl – they were told they were having a daughter, actually.” Grinning sheepishly, he added, “She got me instead.”
“A 6’3 rugby playing son,” I mused, smiling back at him. “I can see why you might have thrown her.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled and then pinched his nose in an act of embarrassment. “She and my Da wanted a bunch of kids, but it didn’t work out that way for them.” He scrunched his nose up then, obviously thinking about something personal. “Took them a bunch of attempts at IVF or some shite like that.” He shrugged and gestured to himself. “This is what their money got them.”
“You,” I offered with a smile.
He grinned wolfishly. “Lucky them, huh?”
Yes.
Lucky them.
“She’s away for work most of the time,” he continued to say. “She actually flies back out to London in the morning for a few weeks. But when she’s home she likes to be involved in my life.”
“It’s nice,” I told him. “You’re lucky to have a mother like her.”
“Yeah,” he shot back sarcastically. “Sure I am.”
He was.
Johnny didn’t realize it, but in the space of an hour or two, his mother had taken more of an interest in me than my own mother had in months.
Maybe even years.
“Listen, you better just take a shower and give me your clothes,” Johnny said with a sigh. “Otherwise, she’s just going to come back and keep nagging on about pneumonia and all that shite.”
Was he serious?
Was I actually supposed to take a shower in his house again?
“I am serious,” Johnny muttered, reading my thoughts. “And I am sorry.”
“Oh.” Blushing, I knotted my hands in front of myself and shrugged uncertainly. “Um, okay?”
He stared at me for the longest moment before shaking his head. “Come here.”
“Come where?”
“Here,” he instructed, gesturing for me to follow him into his ensuite bathroom.
Like a baby foal, I hurried after him, all shaky legged and clumsy.
Hovering in the doorway of his luxurious bathroom, I watched as he reached over the tub and turned on the shower.
“You, uh, said you had a problem with it last time,” he mumbled with a shrug.
“Did I?”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, shifting uncomfortably. “You were mumbling in your sleep about my shower scalding you.”
I turned beetroot red.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” I choked out, feeling nervous again.
“Stop,” he warned with a smile. “It was cute.”
“Cute?” I squeezed out, practically hyperventilating.
“Uh, yeah, I’ll put some clothes out for you again.” Johnny’s cheeks turned a flushed shade of pink as he stepped around me and hurried back into his room, “Same as last time.”
“Where will I put my clothes?”
“Just throw them out to me when you’re naked– ah, when you’re ready,” he muttered gruffly. “I’ll put them in the dryer,” he added before closing the door and leaving me alone in his bathroom.
Trembling, I sank down on the closed toilet lid and exhaled a ragged breath.
Oh, god.
