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She looked up at me with a hopeful expression. “Really?”
“Really, really.” Nodding, I hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her off the scales before setting her down. “Now, let’s get rid of this bullshit.”
“I’ll check one more time—”
“No, you won’t,” I warned, snatching up the scales and moving for her door. “Don’t let me catch you fucking around with this thing again.” Unlocking her door, I stepped into the landing and shoved the scales on the top shelf of the hot press before returning to her. “I swear those damn things do more damage to girls than Ouija boards.”
Molloy laughed. “How can you compare a weighing scale to a Ouija board?”
“Easy.” I shrugged. “They both summon demons.”
“I am completely fuckable, though, aren’t I, Joe?” she asked, hands on her hips. “You still think I’m the business, right? A few extra pounds or not?”
“Oh, you are beyond fuckable,” I coaxed, closing the space between us. “And your business is the only business I want to get caught up in.”
“Smooth.” Grinning, she hooked an arm around my neck and pulled my face down to hers. “Give me a kiss.”
“Speaking of getting caught up in business…” I trailed my hand down to the waistband of her big-ass granny knickers and pinged the elastic. “Please tell me these aren’t what I think they are.”
“Afraid so.” She laughed against my lips. “I’m spotting, which means…”
“You’re due on,” I groaned, letting my head fall back. “Fuck my life.”
“Come on, stud.” Reaching for my hand, she tugged me over to her bed and winked mischievously. “I’m sure we can be inventive.”
“You know, sometimes I really…” I breathed, trailing after her. “Love my life.”
20
Late Bloomers
AOIFE
Late-night visits and secret rendezvous became the norm for us, and as the days turned into weeks, and the winter made way for spring, the mile-high wall that Joey had spent a lifetime erecting around his heart continued to lower.
It wasn’t that his home life had become any easier; the opposite would be a closer comparison. The fights with his dad had significantly worsened, resulting in deeper mood swings and darker bruises, but his eyes remained clear and his head focused.
Most of the time, that intense focus seemed to remain honed in on me, and I wasn’t complaining. He spent every second of his spare time with me, and having him close settled my anxiety. Because when he was with me, I could keep him safe. When he was with me, he was sober and unharmed.
“What the hell are you doing?” my brother demanded when he walked into the living room on Sunday night.
Mam and Dad had gone out for a drink, and Joey and I were thrown down on the couch, watching You’re A Star on RTE and arguing over who we thought should win the singing competition.
I was rooting for the siblings from Westmeath, while Joey was rooting for an aneurysm to put him out of his misery, or so he continued to tell me. Secretly, I think he liked the siblings, too.
“What?” I stared at Kev in confusion before looking down at myself. Dressed in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, with my legs sprawled over my boyfriend’s lap, I couldn’t be accused of being too revealing. “What did I do?”
“It’s not what you did,” Kev groaned, pointing at the plate of food balancing on my lap. “It’s what you’re eating.” He shook his head in disgust. “Nachos and chocolate spread?” He gaped at me in horror from across the living room. “Oh my god, are you mixing the chocolate with mayonnaise?”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” I replied, tossing back another mouthful of deliciousness. “So…good.”
“You are sick.” He looked to Joey. “Are you responsible for this?”
“Nothing your sister does surprises me anymore, lad,” Joey mused, stretching his legs out on the coffee table.
“So, you don’t think what she’s doing is beyond sick?”
“Hey.” Joey shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever she wants to put in her mouth is fine by me.”
