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I shook my head. “No, the only restraining that should have been done was me restraining my dick.”
Gibsie laughed as we walked out of the changing room. “Restraining your dick.”
“It’s not funny,” I barked. “I haven’t had sex with her since Halloween. It’s March now, Gibs. Fucking March. You’d think she’d let it go by now.”
“You should have stopped things back then.” He opened the door to the hall and we both stepped out into the rare afternoon sunshine. “You let it slide into January, Johnny.”
“Yeah, well, I had a lot on my mind,” I huffed, descending the steps. “And she finished it, so I have no bleeding clue why she won’t just go away.”
“You know why she won’t go away, lad,” Gibsie replied, nudging my shoulder as we strolled into the car park.
I sighed heavily. Yeah, I knew.
Fucking rugby.
“Can you promise me something?” he said as he pulled out his car keys and unlocked his shiny new Ford Focus.
“Yeah, lad,” I sighed, slinging my bags into the boot of the car.
“Promise that you will never go back there, no matter how fucking tempting it is.”
I balked at him. “Gibs, I wouldn’t go back there if she was the last girl on the bleeding planet.”
He laughed at my response and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“I’m serious,” I told him, sinking into the passenger seat. “I wouldn’t touch that girl again if she was the only cure for my unejaculating dick—” I paused to fasten my seat belt. “I would rather walk around for the rest of my life with blue balls and a shriveled cock than put my hands on her again. That’s how much she repulses me.”
“Well, good for you.” Gibsie cranked the engine. “Because that girl wants to tie your ass down so bad it’s scary.”
“There will be no tying me down to anyone,” I shot back. “And especially not her.”
He arched a brow. “You sure about that?”
“Just shut up and put your seat belt on,” I instructed, looking around for anything he could hurt. “And check your mirrors.”
“Yes, Dad,” Gibsie muttered, complying with my commands.
“Okay, you can go now…nice and slow,” I told him when I was confident that he could pull out of his parking spot without causing grievous bodily harm, which he was quite capable of doing. “Slow, Gibs.”
“Binding thirteen,” Gibsie snickered as he tore off way too fucking fast for comfort. “Little Shannon blew that shit clean out of the water.”
“Slow your ass down,” I barked, resisting the urge to snatch the wheel. “And what the hell does ‘binding thirteen’ mean?”
“You don’t know about that?”
I shook my head. “Obviously not since I’m asking you.”
“That’s what they say, lad,” Gibsie explained.
“Who?” I demanded as I grabbed ahold of the Oh Jesus handle and threw a few Hail Marys to the man upstairs.
Don’t let this fucker kill me.
“The girls at school,” Gibsie chuckled, pulling onto the main road without checking both ways and narrowly avoiding a milk van. “That’s what they say about you.”
Oh, Jesus. I was going to die in this car. He was going to take my bleeding life.
Sheepishly saluting the milkman who was shaking his fist at us, I turned to glare at Gibsie.
