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His words, so crass and boyish, yet sincere and caring, caused a small laugh to crack through my nervousness.
“I don’t think it works that way,” I replied, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “But thanks for helping me.”
“Have to say, it’s a first for me.” He frowned at the thought before muttering, “Thank fucking god.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” I jumped up to leave, but he caught ahold of my hand, pulling me back down on the bench.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he said gruffly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I just meant that I don’t have any sisters so this shite is foreign to me.”
“I bet,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
Did he think of me as a sister? It certainly sounded like he did. He certainly reacted to my kiss like he did. Had I been sister-zoned?
“Stop overthinking,” Johnny instructed in a coaxing tone, distracting me from my internal battle. “Everything’s fine.”
I turned to look at him. “What makes you think I’m overthinking?”
He shrugged, smiling this amazing boyish grin at me. “Am I wrong?”
No. No, of course he wasn’t.
Overthinking was my specialty.
Dammit.
“I can’t help it,” I admitted, feeling my face heat up. “It’s in my nature. I’m a born worrier.”
“Well,” he sighed. “One thing you don’t need to worry about is Bella.”
The minute I heard her name, I automatically began to worry. Worry and overthink.
What would she say next? What would she do? Was I going to get a hiding from her the next time she caught me in the bathrooms? Should I run now?
“Stop,” Johnny ordered, intercepting my panic. “You don’t need to worry about her.” He leaned back against the wall and hooked his hands together on his lap. “If she even thinks about coming at you again, I’ll know about it and I’ll sort it.”
“She has your jacket,” I blurted out. “I washed it and brought it to school to give it back to you, but she, uh, took it off me.”
“I have plenty more jackets,” he replied. “I’m just sorry she gave you shite over me. That shouldn’t have happened to you. I’d tell you that she’s psychotic, but you’ve probably already figured that out on your own.”
“She’s mad about you, Johnny,” I told him, voice small.
And so am I…
“She’s mad about my lifestyle,” he corrected with a heavy sigh. “She doesn’t even know me, Shannon.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a prize to her. A shiny trophy,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s all I am to most people.”
“Not to me,” I told him.
Johnny looked at me.
I forced myself not to turn away.
“No?” I could see frustration and hope flashing around in his blue eyes.
“No,” I confirmed quietly.
