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“Because I was in your life for both of those years.”
“Ah, but I didn’t get naked with you until seventeen,” I reminded her, winking. “Seventeen was a far more productive year for me.”
“No, you didn’t get naked with me until you were seventeen,” she agreed with a sudden bite to her tone. “Because, if I recall correctly, you were too busy sticking your dick in most of the girls in Ballylaggin and at least fifty percent of our friendship circle at school.”
“Funny. Because if I recall correctly, you were the one in that four-year relationship with one of my teammates.”
“Three and a half years,” she corrected with a growl. “And that was totally different.”
“How?”
“Because I never slept with Paul. I’ve only ever been with you.”
“Yeah, and I never loved any of the girls I slept with, because I’ve only ever loved you.”
“So, I get your heart, while you get my heart and my virginity?”
“Sounds about right.”
“That’s not a fair trade.”
“Tough shit.”
She finally decided on a disc, one of her older burner CDs, labeled JL 4 AM 1999 in black Sharpie ink, and popped it into the stereo.
A few seconds later, “Joey” from Concrete Blonde drifted from the speakers.
“Turn it off,” I warned. “I mean it.”
“No, I like it, and don’t change the subject,” she argued. “We were talking about the fact that you’ve made your way through half of the girls at school.”
“How did a conversation about Johnny Kavanagh’s sex life switch into a fight about our previous sex lives?”
“Your previous sex life, Joe,” she corrected hotly. “My entire sex life—past, present, and future—starts and ends with you.”
“And my sex life, present and future, starts and ends with you.”
“But not your past.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Molloy.”
“How about the truth?”
“The truth about how your mood swings are on another fucking planet?” I bit out, jaw clenched. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you lately?”
“It was Danielle Long, wasn’t it?” she pushed, ignoring my very accurate assertion. “I know you slept with her. Multiple times. But she’s the one who took your virginity, isn’t she?”
“Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because I want to know.”
“What does it even matter?” I growled, knowing full well that whatever I said or didn’t say could and would be used against me in the court of Aoife Molloy. This was a dangerous fucking conversation, one that I had deftly managed to avoid until now, and one I could never in a million years win. “The past is in the past for a reason.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Then drop it.”
“Alright. Fine.”
