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“Okay,” I muttered, still feeling like we were going way faster than a hundred kilometers an hour. “But I’d feel better if you slowed down.”
Exhaling heavily, Johnny slowed even further. “Happy now?” he asked, tapping the dashboard.
Leaning over, I checked the speedometer.
Eighty kilometers.
“Yes,” I breathed, my coiled-up muscles relaxing ever so slightly. “Thanks.”
Sagging back in my seat, I allowed my gaze to drift over him. He was staring at the road ahead, one hand resting on the gear stick, the other elbow leaning against the door. As if he sensed me watching him, Johnny glanced sideways and caught me red-handed.
I smiled weakly.
He stared heatedly back at me, unsmiling.
My smile faded.
With a low, frustrated growl, he turned his attention back to the road. Shaking his head, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, hand tightening around the wheel. Feeling dismissed, I clasped my hands on my lap and stared out the windscreen, not daring to cast another glance at him. We didn’t speak for the remainder of the drive, with only the songs coming from the stereo breaching the thick silence.
“Listen,” Johnny announced, breaking the silence when the lights of Ballylaggin town came into view. “What I told you back there? About my surgery?” His tone was level, polite even, as he stared straight ahead, maneuvering through the narrow streets and laneways. “I would appreciate your discretion.”
Appreciate my discretion?
He was embarrassed about having an injured groin? He should try having a useless father whose only talents were gambling his dole money and impregnating his mother, while whoring himself around to anyone stupid enough to have him.
Frustrated, I turned to him and said, “Who would I tell, Johnny?”
“Your friends,” he countered and then in a much quieter voice muttered, “My friends.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell anyone,” I bit out, annoyed and insulted. “I’m not a motormouth.”
He tightened his hand on the wheel but made no response.
Irritated by the sudden formality in his voice, not to mention the fact that he had spent the past fifteen minutes ignoring me, I glared at the side of his face and growled, “Why would I bother telling anyone anyway?”
“Because,” he bit out, keeping his attention to the road. “I know what most girls are like.”
Most girls? If he considered me to be like most girls, then why spend all that time talking to me? Why ask me all those questions and make me feel comfortable enough to answer him if he considered me to be just like most girls? Why bother with me at all?
“You’re being ridiculous,” I muttered.
“I’m being careful,” Johnny corrected calmly. “I shouldn’t have said anything to you. It was incredibly fucking reckless on my part, and now I’m asking you to do me a favor and keep it to yourself. I’ve a lot on the line here, Shannon, and word getting out about this could really mess things up for me. More than you will ever know.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Fine.”
“Fine?” he repeated warily.
“Yeah,” I deadpanned, staring straight ahead. “Fine.”
“Great.” He blew out a heavy sigh and said, “Thanks,” following it up several seconds later with, “I appreciate it.”
Silence followed; thick, heavy, and unbearable.
I was conflicted by the turn of events.
Was he playing me? Had this been a big game to him? Messing around with my emotions by being kind and roping me into a false sense of security with all that getting-to-know-each-other talk back at the school? Dangling the prospect of a friendship in my face with all that niceness and small talk and then snatching it all away?
It wouldn’t be the first time this happened.
