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Just like that day on the pitch with the reporters, Johnny was nothing but professional, accepting handshakes and claps on the shoulder while we waited at the bar for one of the waitresses.
I was so distracted by the attention he received, and the hand he kept on my lower back as he spoke, that I just nodded when he leaned into my ear and asked me if I was hungry.
It took a further five minutes of talking to random people before we finally sat down at the only empty table in the bar.
I felt absolutely mortified that he had bought me food, and I would have protested and offered to pay, but I didn’t have any money. I didn’t have anything to offer this boy.
Nothing at all.
“How are you feeling now?” Johnny asked, stirring me from my thoughts.
My head snapped up from where I had been staring at my hands, and I found him watching me from across the small round table.
That familiar burn ignited inside of my tummy as I forced myself to meet his gaze. I had his coat wrapped tightly around me, but that didn’t stop me from shivering.
“I’m, uh, I’m feeling a lot better now,” I replied, blushing from the weight of his stare. “Thanks.”
“Good.” Johnny leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on me, and tapped a beer mat on the table absentmindedly. “I’m glad.”
“Thanks for dinner,” I added, feeling shy and awkward and a million other emotions. “I really appreciate it.”
For some reason my words drew a huge smile from Johnny.
“You consider a bowl of soup to be dinner?” he asked, grinning so wide his dimples appeared.
“Well, it was a huge bowl,” I offered with a shrug “So, yeah, I would consider it dinner.”
“It’s soup, Shannon.” Johnny chuckled. “It’s practically water.”
“Why?” I eyed the empty plate and bowl in front of him. “Are you still hungry?”
He couldn’t be.
I’d just watched him inhale a gigantic bowl of soup, before following it up with a mountain of veg and chicken. It was physically impossible to be hungry after consuming that volume of food.
Johnny snorted. “This was a snack.”
“A snack?” I rested my elbows on the table and asked, “You’re planning on having another dinner when you get home?”
“I’ll probably eat at least four more times before I go to bed,” he told me.
My mouth fell open. “But it’s five o’clock.”
“I know.” He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “You should see what I put away on a daily basis. It would probably shock you.”
“Well, you’re not fat for a guy who eats so much,” I blurted out and immediately regretted my words.
Johnny laughed softly. “No, I’m not.”
I turned the color of crimson.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked out. “I didn’t mean to call you—”
“Don’t apologize,” he told me, still smiling. “I train. Hard. I need the fuel to pump my body.”
“Because of the rugby?” I asked, tucking my rain-damp hair behind my ears.
Johnny nodded. “I need to consume four thousand five hundred calories daily when I’m in training.”
