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“Yeah, well, all the other lads on the team don’t have a bitchy nutritionist to contend with,” he explained between bites. “Or a truckload of coaches and scouts breathing down their necks.”
Huh.
I thought about that for a moment.
“Do you mind?” I asked then.
He smirked. “No, baby, I don’t mind.”
My heart stopped in my chest.
Johnny’s face flushed and he shook his head. “I mean—”
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s fine.”
He looked at me with a pained expression and then exhaled heavily. Shaking his head, he tucked his lunch box back into his bag and rubbed his forehead.
Desperate to break the clammy tension enveloping us, I blurted out, “Teach me about rugby.”
Johnny looked at me with surprise. “You want me to…” His voice trailed off and he arched a brow. “Why?”
“I’m being forced to watch you guys play again,” I replied. “I should know what I’m watching.” Shrugging, I added, “Like, what position do you play on the team?”
“I play center,” he explained, still looking at me with a puzzled expression. “Outside center is where I’m most comfortable.”
“Okay.” I nodded, absorbing the information. “So, do you go in the scrums and stuff?”
Johnny snorted.
“What?” I shot back defensively. “I’ve only watched one of your games and the rules and positions went clean over my head. I’ve already told you that I’m a GAA girl.”
“I know.” Chuckling, he held his hands up and said, “I’m not judging.”
“But you are laughing,” I admonished.
He stared at me for the longest moment before asking, “You really want me to teach you?”
I nodded. “I want to know.”
Johnny blew out a breath and nodded. “Why not,” he mused. “It’ll pass the time before the next bullshit assignment the crazy one gives us.”
“I think it’s meditating once we’re back on the road,” I snickered.
“Stop.” Johnny shuddered. “Do you have a pen and paper in your bag?”
I frowned at his request but didn’t question him. Instead, I slipped my hand into the front pocket of my schoolbag, retrieved a small notebook and pen, and handed them to him.
“The fuck is this?” Johnny asked, staring at the pink fluffy bobble dangling on top of the Welcome to Tommen pen that Claire bought me. “Christ.” He flicked the bobble, making it sparkle, then turned his accusatory gaze on me. “Could you be any more of a girl?”
“You said you wouldn’t judge,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks burn. “And I am a girl.”
“Right.” Shaking his head, he turned his attention to my notepad. “Let’s do this,” he announced, clearing his throat. “Prepare to get schooled.” He flashed me an indulgent smile before adding, “Again.”
I grinned. “I’m all ears.”
Johnny opened my notebook to a blank page and began to sketch out a grid with fifteen small boxes, explaining as he worked. Inside each box, he scribbled down words like flanker, hooker, right wing, left wing, and then explained each position. Alongside each box he ascribed a number. Next to the box labeled outside center, he wrote 13.
“Outside center—that’s you, right?” I asked. “You’re thirteen?”
