Shannon Lynch had eyes the color of midnight blue that wouldn’t stay the fuck out of my head.
At least that’s the closest comparison I could find on the countless internet searches I had performed.
Color chart searches on the internet were confusing, but not nearly as baffling as my fucked-up brain that, like a broken record, seemed to be stuck on repeat.
My brain’s track of choice: Shannon like the river, with the gorgeous blue eyes, face of an angel, and the troubled past.
After reading her file, it took me several days to absorb the contents, and several more before I found the restraint I needed to not drive down to BCS and beat the ever-living shite out of her bullies.
All that first week back after Christmas break, I worried over the girl, waiting to see if tomorrow would be the day she returned to school.
My anxiety levels were through the roof by the time Friday hit and she hadn’t returned.
It had bothered me so much that I stopped by Mr. Twomey’s office to check in.
It was there that I learned I had, in fact, given the girl an unmerciful concussion and that she was at home on bedrest for the remainder of the
week.
When Shannon returned to school the following Monday, I was called straight to the office, where I was greeted by Mr. Twomey, Miss Nyhan, the year-head for third years, Mr. Crowley, my year-head, and the human incubator that was Mrs. Lynch.
There, it was explained to me that while they were aware that my actions on the pitch were accidental, it would be best if I kept my distance from her to avoid any future incidents.
I was also handed a plastic bag from her mother with my jersey inside, along with a mumbled apology for shoving me in the hall that day – obviously trying to cover her arse for putting her hands on a student – and another stern warning to steer clear of her daughter.
Furious over being cornered in a fucked up and unnecessary intervention – not to mention treated like a villain for an honest mistake – I’d responded with a sharp, “No fucking problem,” before taking my jersey and stalking back to class with every intention of doing just that.
I didn’t need that kind of hassle in my life.
I didn’t need the threat of suspension hanging over my head. It messed with my plans, and there was no girl worth putting my future in jeopardy for.
Following the rules, more for my own sake than hers, I stayed away.
I didn’t speak to her, and I didn’t approach when I saw her between classes or in the lunch hall during break.
I kept a wide-ass berth of that girl and the complications that seemed to follow her.
But as pissed as I was, I still kept an eye out for her in the hallways.
Call it being overly protective of a vulnerable girl or call it something else, but I kept my ears open when it came to Shannon Lynch and shut down any shite that may be an issue, making sure she had a smooth transition into Tommen.
However, after a couple of days, it quickly became clear that she didn’t need anyone’s help.
Shannon was liked at Tommen. Teachers liked her.
Students liked her.
IÂ fucking liked her. That was the problem.
Besides, she had her own little bodyguards in the form of the two blondes that always seemed to be flanking her wherever she went.
I recognized the more protective one of the two girls as the sister of Hughie Biggs, our team’s flyhalf, and one of my closest friends.
The other blonde was the on/off girlfriend of Pierce Ó Neill, another teammate of mine.
I couldn’t remember the name of Pierce’s girlfriend, only that I remembered how fucking vicious she could be with her tongue and that any lad in his right mind should keep a wide berth.
Throwing myself into my routine, I attempted to ignore and forget about Shannon, choosing to concentrate on the game and ignore all distractions around me– pussy being the most dangerous kind of distraction.
I really fucking tried.
But then one of the lads would bring her up in conversation, or she’d pass me in the hallway at school, and I was back to square one.
I couldn’t understand it and tried not to think too much into it.
But it didn’t stop her from coming up in every conversation I’d been involved in since her arrival at Tommen.
Lads were pricks and age meant nothing to most of them.
Too fucking many of the eejits in my year were talking about her, thinking about her, and plotting about her, and it drove me batshit crazy.
Last week, for instance, I’d actually voiced my frustrations, telling a shocked table of classmates to cop the fuck on – that she was only fifteen.
It didn’t matter to them that she was only in third year, and it bothered me that it mattered to me when it really shouldn’t.
Plenty of third years scored with people from fourth, fifth, and hell even some sixth years.
Not me.
Never me.
Unlike the rest of the lads who had no problem fucking around with younger girls, I was fully aware of the implications that could arise.
I’d had more than my fair share of lectures from coaches and former pros about the catastrophic repercussions that came from fucking with the wrong girl.
And while I wasn’t particularly proud of my behavior towards girls down through the years, I drew the line at anyone younger than me.
I knew that made me a hypocrite considering I was more than willing to go with girls older than me, but I had to be safe, dammit. I had a dream and a clear vision of what I needed to do in order to achieve it. Messing around with younger girls was dangerous.
Which is why this particular girl was pissing me off so much.
The minute I laid eyes on her, something had hit me hard in the chest. Something unfamiliar and disconcerting.
Over a month had passed and I was still reeling.
We were into February and I was still silently obsessing over Shannon
like the river.
I didn’t like it and I liked her even less for being the sole cause of my uncertainty.
It didn’t make sense.
She was a tiny scrap of a girl – all limbs and bones. There were no curves on her, and I doubted she even wore a bra if I was being honest with myself.
See?
Too young.
Too fucking young.
But that didn’t stop me from searching for her in a crowd. And it didn’t stop me from looking when I found her.
The more I tried to block her out, the more I sought her out. Until I was seeking her out between every fucking class.
Sometimes, I found her watching me right back.
She always gave me this dazzled in the headlights look before ducking her face.
I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it.
I fully acknowledged that I was having an irrational reaction to the girl. It wasn’t normal.
Problem was, I couldn’t seem to get a handle on myself. I couldn’t turn my brain off.
Bella was another problem for me.
She was sick of, what she referred to as, ‘being mugged off’ and had texted me a couple of weeks ago to call time on our non-hookups.
I knew I should have felt something about that – I’d been sleeping with the girl for close to eight months – but all I felt was empty.
There was no connection there and I was tired of feeling used.
It wasn’t like we met up for a chat or went to the cinema or anything like that.
She didn’t want that from me. Not even when I offered.
Sure, there were no feelings involved, and I had never been interested in having a relationship with her, but after spending six out of eight months with my dick inside her, I wasn’t opposed to buying the girl dinner or taking her to a fucking movie.
I had offered on many occasions and she had declined every last one. Because that wasn’t public enough.
Because Bella only wanted me when I was on full-view in the pub or at school, where she could show me off to all her friends like I was some prized fucking bull.
Bella had informed me via text message that she had moved on to Cormac Ryan from sixth year.
I had half suspected something was going on between the two for a while now because he had been acting shady as fuck around me.
Cormac had gotten the call up from The Academy during the summer. He’d been to a few sessions with the youth and competed in several bouts of trials.
So far, Cormac had been unsuccessful in earning a permanent placement contract and I wasn’t holding my breath for the guy.
That wasn’t me being a spiteful prick. It was me stating facts.
He was a decent winger, but he needed to pull some serious magic out of the bag if he was to make it onto the main card with the club.
If he made it, good on him.
If he didn’t, I didn’t give a shite.
Cormac was in the year above me so we had never been friends, per se, but having played on the same team for the last five years, I had expected a little more loyalty.
And if Bella was looking to provoke a reaction out of me by screwing my teammate, she would be sorely disappointed because I would never give her the satisfaction.
Did it hurt?
Yes.
Did I feel betrayed?
Of course.
Did that mean I wanted her back? Hell fucking no.
Because I couldn’t handle liars, and that’s what she was.
I also didn’t cope well with mind games, which was exactly what she was trying to do to me.
Breaking up with me, going off with my teammate, and then turning right around and flooding my inbox and telling me she wanted me back was a prime example of the games this girl liked to play with me.
What she failed to understand was that it didn’t matter how many games she tried to play or how many times she promised to suck me off.
There was no going back there. Not for me.
Maybe I was dead on the inside like Bella had suggested in the million text messages she’d sent me after I turned her offers of working things out down.
I didn’t think so.
I had feelings.
I cared about things. Just not liars.
 |
“I have a confession to make,” Gibsie announced during training on Wednesday.
We were on our twenty-ninth out of thirty ordered laps of the pitch and he was starting to wilt.
Actually, I was on my twenty-ninth lap.
The rest of the team were on their fourteenth.
Gibsie was on his eighth, and the wilting began at lap four.
Now, he resembled a lad falling out of a nightclub at three in the morning with a belly full of Jager bombs.
He, along with the rest of them, needed to get it together because we had the School Boys Shield to play for next week and I had no intention of running myself into the ground if the rest of the team weren’t committed to the cause either.
These gobshites had ten days to get their shite together.
“Are you listening?” Gibsie growled in a breathless tone, grabbing onto my shoulder in the hopes that I would pull his lazy ass around. “Because this is serious.”
“I’m listening,” I told him, dragging in gulp of air and expelling it slowly. “Confess away.”
“I have an insane urge to kick you in the balls –” Gibsie puffed out a ragged breath before he finished with, “And break what’s left down there.”
“The fuck?” Shaking his beefy hand off my shoulder for the hundredth time, I switched positions, jogging backwards so I could glare at the bastard. “Why?”
“Because you are a freak of nature, Kav,” he panted, dragging himself along after me. “There is no goddamn way any fella in your position –” he pointed a finger at me and then sagged forward, pressing his hands to the back of his head, “with a broken dick should be able to run for this long without dropping dead.” Groaning he added, “My cock’s in perfect working order and it’s fucking crying from exertion, Johnny! Crying! And my balls have hibernated back to their pre-puberty position.”
“My dick’s not broken, asshole,” I growled, looking around to see if anyone heard us.
Thankfully, the rest of the team were at the other side of the pitch.
“I want a picture of it,” he wheezed. “So I can show coach and pretend it’s mine. He’ll never make me run again.”
“Keep talking about it and you won’t need a picture to show coach,” I bit out. “I’ll cut your cock off and you can hand it to him instead.”
Gibsie grimaced. “Still too soon to make jokes?”
I nodded stiffly and then spun around, recapturing my earlier pace, as I loomed closer to the finish line.
“Sorry lad,” he panted, falling back into a hobbling run alongside me. “It’s just unnatural to move with that kind of speed when you’re injured.”
“Do you honestly think this is easy for me?” I bit out. If he did, then he was fucking crazy.
I had ‘speed’ because I spent most of my childhood and all of my teenage years working on my body.
While Gibsie and the lads were playing knock and run and spin the fucking bottle, I was on a pitch.
When they were chasing girls, I was chasing gains.
Rugby was my life. This was all I had.
But the laborious pace I was keeping today was so far off my usual standard that it was pathetic.
I was sluggish and the only reason it wasn’t noticeable was because this was school level.
If I dragged my ass like this at The Academy, where I played alongside the best players in the country, then I’d be instantly called out on it.
My body was on fire and I was moving on sheer will.
Everything hurt to the point where I had to breathe through my nose to stop myself from vomiting. I would pay for the exertion with a sleepless night of writhing in agony, half a dozen painkillers, and a scalding hot bath in Epsom salts.
But I couldn’t stop.
I fucking refused to give in.
If I gave Coach Mulcahy a single inkling that I wasn’t up to par, he would call the heads at The Academy.
And if he called The Academy, I was screwed.
I slowed my pace when I reached the end zone, walking it out, keeping my muscles loose and moving.
If I stopped short, I was going to seize up, and I intended on doing just that in the privacy of my own car.
Swiping a bottle of water off the ground, I paced the sideline like a mad-man for several minutes, desperately trying to walk off the pain.
I didn’t dare perform a post run stretch-out. I wasn’t that much of a masochist.
When my heartrate returned to normal, I waited for coach to give me the nod for early dismissal, then headed back to the changing rooms, my job for the day completed.
I hadn’t realized Gibsie had followed me up the path until I heard him let out an earsplitting wolf whistle. “You’re looking well, Claire-Bear!”
Curious, I followed his train of vision only to find two familiar looking blondes huddled under the awning outside the science building.
One of said girls was scowling back at us with her middle finger directed towards my best friend.
“Watching me train again?” Gibsie called across the courtyard. “You know I love when you do that.”
It took me a few seconds to recognize the leggy blonde as Hughie Biggs’s baby sister.
“What was that?” Claire called back, cupping her ear with her hand. “I can’t hear you.”
“Go out with me!” “Get stuffed, Gerard!”
“You know you want to,” Gibsie laughed, twiddling his fingers at her in salute. “My little brown-eyed girl.”
“Don’t do it, Gerard!” Claire’s face turned bright red. “Don’t you dare sing that –”
Gibs cut her off with a verse of Van Morrison.
“I hate you, Gerard Gibson!” Claire hissed when he was done serenading her like a demented crow.
“And I love you, too,” he laughed, before turning his attention to me and stifling a groan. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned so that only I could hear him. “I swear to god, lad, that girl drives me crazy.”
“You’re already crazy,” I reminded him. “You don’t need anyone’s help with that.”
“Look at her, Johnny,” he groaned, ignoring my jab. “Look at how beautiful that girl is. Christ, it might be that sunshine hair, but I swear she glows.”
“Don’t even think about it,” were the words that came out of my mouth. “I won’t –for now,” Gibs replied, eyes alight with mischief. “But I’ve a
feeling that I’m going to marry her.”
His comment stopped me in my tracks. “What?” It was too weird.
Even for him.
“Providing we both make it out of our youth without any accidental babies,” he added thoughtfully. “And her brother doesn’t cut my dick off first, of course.”
“Claire’s in third year,” I deadpanned. “And she’s your teammate’s little
sister. The fuck’s wrong with you, Gibs?”
“Did I say I was going to marry her today?” Gibsie countered. “No, fucker, I did not, so clean your ears out. I meant when I’m old as fuck and I’m done sowing my wild oats.”
“Old as fuck?” I gaped at him. “Sowing your wild oats?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You know, like thirty or something.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well, word to the wise, Gibs: bag those wild oats while you’re sowing them. And keep them far away from girls like that one.”
“Hey – don’t give me those judgy eyes,” Gibsie scoffed. “I always bag my shit. And there’s nothing wrong with liking her. You’re the one with the phobia to girls your own age, lad, not me.”
Aware that we were having this extremely messed up conversation in the middle of the courtyard, I searched around to see if anyone was eavesdropping.
Gibsie wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but I’d feel pretty fucking bereft if Hughie was to hear him talking about his baby sister like this and murder him.
It was at that exact moment my gaze landed on the tiny brunette, laden down with an armful of books, skip down the steps of the science building and hurry over to the blondes.
A sudden swell of something filled my chest when I recognized the brunette as Shannon.
Goddammit, why did she have to look like that?
Why did every single thing about that tiny fucking girl scream out to me?
It wasn’t fair.
Actually, fuck fair, it was downright cruel.
It didn’t make any sense for me to find her attractive.
She was nothing like the girls I usually fucked around with. I liked curves.
I loved tits.
And I was a sucker for a big ass. She had none of the above.
But she had legs.
And hair.
And a smile.
And those fucking midnight blue eyes – which I didn’t think was a good enough word to describe the color.
They should have been called soul blue because they were deep as fuck and sucked a person right in…
And then she went and dropped her books.
They scattered on the ground and Shannon bent over to pick them up, causing her skirt to rise up way too fucking high.
Two smooth, pale thighs filled my vision, sending a surge of red flags shooting up in my brain and wave of heat to flush through my body.
“Ah shite,” I muttered under my breath, caught off-guard by both the sight of her and my body’s explosive reaction to the sight of her.
Dropping my gaze, I inhaled a few steadying breaths, desperately trying to regain control of my problematic dick.
“What’s wrong?” Gibsie asked, looking around us for the source of my obvious discomfort.
“Nothing,” I muttered, running an aggravated hand through my hair. “Let’s go.”
Gibsie, noticing my obvious issue, threw his head back at my reaction and howled laughing.
“Do you have a –holy shit, you do!” he choked out through fits of laughter. “And you’re blushing!” He clapped me on the shoulder and snorted loudly. “Ah, lad, I love it.”
“It’s not my fault,” I snarled as I thundered off in the direction of the changing rooms, walking like the rhinestone fucking cowboy. “I can’t control it these days.”
Ploughing into the changing rooms, I stripped off my clothes and went straight for the showers with the intention of burning the pain and discomfort out of my system.
It didn’t work.
My body was still in excruciating pain and I was still sporting a solid three-quarters.
Dropping my head, I stared down at the lower half of my body and debated my options.
But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t touch my own damn dick. I was too freaked out.
Vivid memories of that horrific trip to the emergency room and the god- awful warnings the doctors had given me at Christmas had officially screwed with my head.
Jesus, I was a goddamn mess.
Leaning my forehead against the tiled wall, I allowed the scalding water to wash over me while I waited for what felt like an eternity for my problem
to resolve itself, biting down on my knuckles to bury my groans of pain.
Well if it wasn’t clear before that I needed to keep my distance, it certainly was now.
I had to stay away from that girl.
Christ…
“Feeling better?” Gibsie snickered when I finally walked back into the changing room, with a towel around waist.
We were still alone in here, thank god, since the rest of the team were catching up on laps.
Ignoring the quip, I turned my back to him and dropped my towel.
Before the surgery, I wouldn’t have thought twice about walking around bollocks naked in front of anyone.
Now, not so much.
Because aside from needing to keep my problem on the down-low, I was self-conscious.
It was yet another new and unwelcome feeling.
I had always been proud of my body. I had been blessed with natural muscle retention and physical strength, and I paid for every ab on my stomach with a grueling training regime.
I worked damn hard to keep myself in peak physical condition, but the purple balls, swollen sac, and oozing scar wasn’t something I wanted anyone to see.
Not even myself.
Which was why I didn’t look down when I pulled on a pair of clean jocks.
In my current state of frantic panic, denial was a river in Egypt and if I just kept plugging on, it would get better, because the alternative was not an option.
Giving in was not an option.
More time off was not an option.
Missing the summer campaign with the U20’s was not an option.
Losing my spot on the starting squad because of weakness was not a fucking option.
Play and slay was my only option because I refused to crash and burn at seventeen.
“Are you alright, Johnny?” Gibsie asked, breaking the built-up silence.
His tone, for once, was serious which was why I responded with a clipped nod.
“Ready to talk about it yet?” “Talk about what?”
“Whatever the hell it is that’s been driving you demented since we came back from Christmas break.”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” I replied, pulling my school trousers up my thighs. I buckled my belt and reached for my shirt.
“Bullshit,” he countered.
“I’m grand,” I added, quickly snapping my buttons back in place.
“You’ve been like a bear with a sore head since coming back to school after Christmas,” he grumbled. “And don’t tell me it’s because of your surgery because I know there’s more to it–”
My phone began to ring then, distracting us both.
Reaching into my bag, I pulled it out, checked the screen, and then resisted the urge to fling it at the wall.
“Fucking Bella,” I grumbled, canceling the call and tossing my phone back in my bag.
Gibsie grimaced. “What’s going on there?” “Nothing,” I replied. “It’s done with.”
“Does Bella know that?”
“She should,” I replied flatly. “She’s the one who ended it.” “Yeah?”
“Yep.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhaled a calming breath before adding, “She’s fucking around with Cormac Ryan now.”
“And you’re okay about it?”
“Don’t give a fuck if I’m being honest, lad,” I replied flatly. “I’m more relieved than anything.”
Gibsie shook his head. “You sure? You were messing around with her for a long time.”
“I was done a long time ago, Gibs,” I admitted. “Trust me, lad, all I want her to do is leave me the hell alone.”
“Well, if that’s true then it’s the best news I’ve heard all year,” Gibsie declared. “Because I honest to god cannot stomach that girl. She’s a dangerous fucking female. I was half afraid you’d end up getting her pregnant and we’d be stuck with her for life.”
“No chance of that happening,” I told him as I repressed a shudder. “I always wrap my shit.”
“She’s a needle-in-a-condom type, lad,” Gibsie shot back. “And you’re a shining beacon of light for those girls –with a huge, neon, euro sign hanging over your head.”
“I pull out,” I shot back. “Always.” “Every time?”
“Why are you asking me about my sexual health?” I deadpanned. Gibsie grimaced. “Because she’s dirty.”
“Gibs, you don’t say shite like that about a girl,” I warned. “It’s not on.” “I’m not saying that about just any girl.” He shrugged and added, “I’m
saying it about that girl.”
“Well, I’m fine,” I bit out. “Had my tests last month and I’m clean as a whistle.”
“Thank god.” He sighed, looking relieved. “Because she–”
“Can we not talk about her anymore?” I interrupted, thoroughly sickened at the thought of her. “I’m tired of hearing about her, Gibs.”
“Okay, but let me ask you one more question,” he replied. “Just one and I’ll drop it.”
I sighed wearily and waited for him to speak, knowing that it didn’t matter whether I agreed or not.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Are you relieved Bella ended whatever the fuck you’d call what you two were doing because you were tired of Bella?” He studied my face for a few moments before adding, “Or because you’re into the girl?”
His question caused me to pause mid-button. “The girl?” “Yeah, the girl.”
“What girl?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“The fucking girl, Johnny,” Gibsie growled, throwing his hands up. “The one you knocked out. The one I took a molesting off Dee for so I could get her file. The one you spend your days swapping gooey eyes with at school.”
“Gooey eyes?” Pulling my jumper down over my stomach, I stepped into my shoes. “What the hell are gooey eyes?”
“Swooning eyes,” Gibsie snapped, exasperated now. “Smoldering gazes. Fuck me looks. I want to eat your pussy signals.” He shook his head and
reached for a can of deodorant out of his gear bag. “Whatever you want to call them.”
“You’re tapped, Gibs,” I announced, deciding on deflection. “Seriously man, sometimes I really worry about what’s going on in that head of yours.” “There’s nothing wrong with my head, Kavs. You’re the one with the fucked-up eye twitch whenever that girl is about the place.” He tossed the deodorant towards me and I caught it mid-air. “Don’t think I haven’t copped
what’s going on there.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, lad.” I reached under my shirt and sprayed my pits. “My eyes are in perfect working order.”
“Your dick’s in perfect working order, too,” he shot back. He pulled his school jumper over his head and continued, “When that girl’s around the place.”
I took my time answering him for two reasons.
The first being I didn’t want to react on gut instinct and make a show of myself.
The second being I had no goddamn clue what to say. Remaining silent, I concentrated on tying my shoelaces instead. “Not going to answer me?” Gibsie probed, grinning.
“There’s nothing to say,” I bit out, focusing way too hard on making the perfect tie knot. “I’m not talking about her.”
“Why not?” he pressed.
“Because I’m bleeding not, Gibs.”
“Because you like her,” Gibsie stated.
“Because she’s not up for debate,” I snapped.
Because you really like her,” he corrected. “Because you want her.” I shot him a dirty look and then returned to staring at my shoes.
“I wish you would just admit it, lad,” Gibsie mumbled.
“And I wish you would mind your own fucking business,” I offered sarcastically. “It’s getting old, lad. You don’t hear me giving you shite about your love life.”
The minute the words were out of my mouth, and I saw his eyes light up, I regretted them.
“Ah, so you are contemplating getting with her?” Gibsie demanded excitedly, eyes dancing with sheer delight. “I fucking knew it.”
“No,” I corrected. “I’m not.” “Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because?” he pushed.
“Because I’m fucking not, okay?” I barked. “Now drop it.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Gibsie announced, tossing all his shit back into his gear bag. “You overthink everything, man. You talk about my head being messed up, but yours must be a fucking horrible place to be – what with all that over-analyzing you do.”
“Leave it out, Gibs.”
“I just don’t understand what the issue is,” he argued. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. You clearly like Sharon.”
“Her name isn’t Sharon.” I shot him a dirty look and then returned to packing up my bag. “It’s Shannon, and I don’t like her.”
“That was a trick question.” He grinned. “And you passed with flying colors.”
I grunted my response.
His grin widened even further when he said, “And yeah, you do.” “No, I fucking don’t.”
“Well, I think you should ask this Shannon girl out,” Gibsie added, hauling his bag onto his shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could get arrested,” I offered sarcastically. “She’s fifteen.”
“No, you could not get arrested,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re seventeen, idiot, not seventy!”
“For three more months.” I pulled my jumper on and stood up. “And besides, this conversation is irrelevant.” Picking up my gear bag, I tossed it over my shoulder before adding, “I don’t ask girls out.” I walked over to the changing room door and yanked it open. “I don’t have time for that shite.”
“Hughie’s girlfriend, Katie, is in the year below him,” Gibsie offered, strolling out of the changing room. “And Pierce O’ Neill is in our year and he’s been knocking around with Claire’s bitchy gal pal for ages – who is in third year, by the way.”
“Hughie doesn’t have The Academy breathing down his neck,” I replied flatly as I followed him outside. “And Pierce O’ Neill can fool around with whoever the fuck he wants.”
“Relax.” Gibsie raised his hands. “All I’m saying is it wouldn’t be a big deal if you liked her.”
“Don’t go there.”
“It’s natural to be attracted to a beautiful girl–”
“Stop it.”
“No one would care if you asked her out.” “Seriously. Give it a rest.”
“She watches you back, you know.” “Shut up, Gibsie.”
“I’ve seen her doing it.” “Shut up, Gibsie.”
“In the halls and the –” “Shut the fuck up, Gibsie!”
“Fine,” he huffed, scowling. “I won’t talk.”
I mentally counted in my head, wondering how long Gibsie could keep his mouth shut, but only got to seven when he started back up with his verbal bullshit.
“How are you managing with ejaculating?”
I snapped my head towards him. “Excuse me?”
“Ejaculating,” Gibsie clarified, straight-faced. “You seem full of pent-up frustration. I’m just wondering if it’s cock related. You’re wanking, right? I know you were out of action for a while when they sawed at your ball sac, but you’re able to get yourself off again, aren’t you?”
“The fuck?” I gaped at him. “Are these words actually coming out of your mouth?”
He stared back at me with an expectant expression. Sweet Jesus, he was serious.
And he was waiting for me to answer him.
When Gibsie realized that I wasn’t going to answer him, he continued to ramble.
“Oh lad, it was before your surgery, wasn’t it?” He gave me a sympathetic look. “You haven’t cum in months. No wonder you’re so pissy all the time,” Gibsie muttered with a worried frown. “That’s why you got hard when yer one Shannon bent over and gave you some bare ass action. Your poor dick must have thought it was Christmas.” Shuddering, he added, “You poor, poor bastard.”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” I told him as I stalked into the main building. “There are some things in life that we don’t share, Gibs.”
“Well, sue me for being worried about my best friend,” he shot back, falling back into step beside me. “Come on, Johnny, I’ve seen it.” It being my mangled reproductive parts. “You can talk to me.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I barked. “And never about this.”
“Do you know how detrimental not releasing can be to your balls?” Gibsie exclaimed, deciding to torture me some more. “It’s really bad, Johnny. I saw this video on the internet. It was beyond disturbing. The guy’s balls just swelled to the point of explos–”
“Stop!” I strangled out. “Please, just stop!”
“Fine. Just answer me one question and I’ll drop it.” Pulling me to a stop, Gibsie placed his hands on my shoulders, looked me dead in the eyes and asked, “Are you fucking yourself?”
Glaring, I shoved his chest and hissed, “Go fuck yourself!”
“I do!” Gibsie hissed, eyes wide. “Three times a day. Can you?”
“Yeah, I’m not listening to this,” I announced, desperately trying to mask my panic as images of exploding ball sacs danced across my mind.
Swinging around, I stalked back down the corridor towards the entrance.
I was going the fuck home.
To get away from the absolute mental case that was my best friend. And to check on my balls.
“Better out than in, lad!” Gibsie called after me. “Practice makes perfect. Let me know how it goes.”
