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“Well, I–I…” Rambling, I shook my head and tried again. “I don’t know how to help you with that.”
“Relax, I wasn’t going to let you examine it,” he tossed back defensively.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, thoroughly mortified. “I didn’t…uh, realize where it was.”
“And by the way,” he added, eyes narrowed, “It’s my groin I had surgery on—not my cock—so I’d appreciate you having the facts right before you go running your mouth about it.”
What?
“Running my mouth?” My eyes drifted from his face to his crotch, an unstoppable reaction of hearing the word cock come out of his mouth. “I don’t—”
“I know what girls are like for gossiping,” he bit out, jaw flexing. “Fuck, what am I doing?”
I gaped at him. “Gossiping?”
Was he serious?
“Look, just forget I told you any of that,” he huffed. “It’s getting late.”
Reaching between us, he closed a large hand over the gear stick and shifted into gear. “Where am I taking you?”
I blew out a breath. “I have no idea.”
He turned to look at me. “What?”
I squirmed in my seat. “What?”
“Your address, Shannon.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. “You need to tell me where you live so I can take you home.”
“Oh.” God. “Sorry. Um, Elk’s Terrace in Ballylaggin.”
With a clipped nod, Johnny reversed out of his parking spot and then threw the car into forward gear before taking off down the school driveway. Flicking on the indicator, Johnny slowed to a temporary stop when we reached the entrance, leaned forward, and checked both ways before pulling onto the main road at lightning speed.
Leaning back in my seat, I raised a hand and grabbed the Jesus handle and focused on counting the cars passing us in a bid to distract myself from obsessing over the speedometer on his dashboard. I could feel the tension emanating from him, his earlier friendliness replaced with stony silence, our conversation obviously the catalyst behind the shift in his mood. The silence enveloping us right now was thick and uncomfortable, and I was irrationally disappointed by this. I was more than disappointed.
I was reeling.
For the first time in forever, I had been enjoying myself. I had loosened up, bantering back and forth without the fear of, well, backlash.
And then he dragged the rug right out from beneath me. I hadn’t seen it coming and I was regretting ever coming out of that bathroom stall.
When Johnny reached across the console and started switching out CDs in his swanky car stereo, I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from grabbing the wheel.
A few moments later, he settled on a song, track number five, and the car filled with a familiar guitar intro, providing a temporary distraction from my troubling thoughts.
Johnny cranked the volume and Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle” blasted through the car speakers so loudly I could feel the vibration of the bass in my bones.
I loved this song and considered it my anthem. Like seriously, I drowned myself in the lyrics daily. If music healed the brokenhearted, then the lyrics of this song soothed my soul. It was on a mix CD Joey’s girlfriend made him for Christmas. He obviously wasn’t keen on the CD Aoife had made him because I had swiped it from his bedroom last month during a random sister snoop-fest/spot-check and Joey had yet to discover it was missing. It was currently in my portable Discman where I listened to it on repeat every night before bed.
Concentrating on the lyrics of the song I already knew by heart, I attempted to get a handle on my nerves, but the punk rock beat only seemed to encourage the crazy in my designated driver because the minute we slipped onto the main road, Johnny put the pedal to the metal and floored it.
When the speedometer tipped over 120 kilometers per hour, I closed my eyes and stopped breathing. Covering my face with my hands, I peeked between my fingers, groaning when the flash of headlights of cars in the opposite lanes whizzed past us.
“What’s the matter?” Reaching over, he turned down the volume on the stereo. “Shannon?” His attention flickered between the road and my face. “Are you okay?”
“You’re going too fast,” I strangled out.
“Relax, we’re going the limit,” he replied, but he slowed the car. “And I’m a good driver. You’re safe with me.”
