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“Stop,” I told him as I sank down on the step of the stairs and ripped at the paper only to squeal with excitement. “McFly’s album!” Eyes wide with excitement, I stared down at the CD in my hand and smiled. “I really wanted this.”
“I know.” He snorted. “You’re such a girl.” Slipping his hand into his jeans pocket, he tossed another box on my lap. “This one’s from Aoife,” he explained.
Thrilled at the prospect of getting two presents, I tore at the polka-dot wrapping paper and gasped when I saw what was inside.
“Whoa,” I breathed, gaping at the designer bottle of perfume in my hands. “This must have cost her a fortune.”
“She must love you, too,” Joey teased.
I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“Hurry up and get changed,” he ordered, moving for the front door. “I’ll be in the car.”
Bolting into my room with my presents in tow, I placed them carefully on my dresser before tearing off my pajamas. Pulling on a jumper and tracksuit pants, I ripped open the box that contained my new bottle of perfume, squirted myself all over, and then raced after Joey.
Shoving my feet into my runners in the hall, I grabbed my coat off the banister and hurried outside to the car. The minute I climbed into the passenger seat, the smell of alcohol assaulted my senses.
“Jesus, Joey,” I coughed as I rolled down the window. “It smells like a brewery in here.”
“I know,” Joey replied as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “You can blame your friends from Tommen for that.”
“My friends?” I shook my head and stared at his side profile. “What are you talking about?”
“Johnny Kavanagh,” Joey stated. “We ended up dropping him home from the pub last night.”
“Oh.” Wait. What? “You dropped Johnny home?” I hated the way my voice was all loud and pitchy. “When…? How…? Why?”
“Last night when we were picking up our takeaway,” Joey explained as he pulled out of the estate and onto the main road. “He was thrown down against a wall outside the chipper in town. He was in a bad way.”
“He was?” Oh god. Concern filled my chest. “What was wrong with him?”
“He was drunk off his tits,” Joey grumbled. “His friend was worse.”
“His friend?” I asked, careful to mask the emotion in my voice. “His…girlfriend?”
“Nah, some big blond fucker,” Joey corrected and I mentally sagged in relief. “I think his name was Gussie or Gillie or something like that.”
“Gibsie,” I confirmed quietly, thinking about how those two were joined at the hip at school.
“That’s the one.” Joey nodded, then released a low chuckle. “Bloody eejit threw himself on top of the car, demanding I give him back his center.” Laughing, he added, “He looked serious, too. Like he genuinely thought I was kidnapping Kavanagh.”
My brows furrowed. “Why did Gibsie call Johnny his center?”
“Johnny’s position is outside center in rugby,” he explained. “He’s number thirteen.”
Oh, yeah, I knew that.
I remembered his jersey.
“So, you dropped them both home?” I asked, feeling warm. “To Johnny’s house?”
“Yep,” my brother confirmed. “Had to help Kavanagh carry that Gibsie fella into the house. He was legless, Shan. A right bloody mess. We left him in the living room.”
“You were inside Johnny’s house?”
My brain was reeling, trying to digest everything my brother was telling me.
He was with Johnny last night. He was at his house. He was inside his house.
