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“I, uh—” Clasping my hands together, I cracked my knuckles and exhaled a heavy sigh. “I needed a change.”
“A change?” He arched a disbelieving brow. “Halfway through your junior cert?”
“It’s complicated and sort of private…” My voice trailed off, and I turned my face to look out my window, though all I could see was darkness outside.
I wasn’t comfortable with the direction this conversation had taken. Every time I thought about my old school, a fresh batch of terror enveloped me. My reasons for being here weren’t something I was willing to talk about with anyone.
“Hey.” I felt his fingers brush against the back of my hand, his voice closer now, soft and probing. “Where’d you go?”
I was startled by the contact. My head snapped back, my gaze flickering from his face to where his thumb was still grazing my hand, smoothing soft circles over my knuckles. It was only a harmless touch meant to capture my attention, but what surprised me most was that I didn’t immediately pull away. The awareness that I liked his touch was unsettling, but not nearly as unsettling as the urge I had to flip my hand over and entwine my fingers with his.
“Shite.” Yanking his hand away, Johnny shifted back to lean against the door, grimacing in what looked like discomfort at the move.
His hand automatically shot to his thigh again.
“Sorry,” he grunted and it was a noticeably pained sound. Clearing his throat, he added, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s okay,” I whispered, chewing nervously on my bottom lip. “I don’t mind.”
He exhaled a hard breath and then ran a hand through his hair with his free hand.
“No, it’s not okay.” His gaze drifted to my mouth and he expelled another hard breath. “It’s not fucking okay at all.”
“It is okay,” I tried to comfort him by saying. “Don’t be mad over it.”
“I’m not mad,” Johnny bit out, jaw clenched. “I’m just… Fuck!”
He so was mad.
My gaze flickered to his right leg, the one on the floor, and then to where his knuckles had turned white from the pressure he was using to knead his thigh.
Distracted by the sight, I blurted out, “What’s wrong with you?”
Johnny’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You had an ice pack on your leg at school earlier,” I stated, gesturing with my hand to where he was still digging his fist into his thigh. “Are you hurt?”
His gaze followed mine to his thigh and he quickly yanked his hand away.
“Jesus,” he grunted, looking appalled. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
“You’ve been touching yourself since we got in the car,” I announced.
“Jesus Christ!” Johnny hissed, gaping at me in horror.
I immediately regretted my choice of words and began to backpedal. “I mean, not touching yourself. Obviously, you weren’t touching yourself touching yourself—”
“Please stop talking,” Johnny begged, holding up a hand.
I closed my mouth and nodded.
Shifting his body gingerly, he sank back down in his seat, flinching ever so slightly at the movement.
I watched in silence as he fastened his seat belt and inhaled a deep breath, expelling it slowly.
“Just to be clear,” he stated after a long pause of silence. “I really wasn’t feeling myself up or anything like that. I’m just…”
“Sore?” I offered, remembering his words from that day.
