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Gibsie chuckled. “Okay, everyone except for this one calls me Gibsie.” He pointed a thumb at my friend, flashing her an indulgent smile before returning his attention to me. “She likes to be awkward.”
“No, Gerard, I like to address people by their given name,” Claire corrected, giving him the stink eye. She turned her attention to me and began to explain. “Gerard here is friends with my brother, Hugh. You remember Hughie, don’t you, Shan?”
I nodded, clearly remembering Claire’s beautiful older brother.
With light-blond hair and brown eyes, Hugh Biggs was the male equivalent of his sister, except with abs, masculine features, and the obvious boy parts. Hugh didn’t attend the same primary school as us, but he had always been friendly to me when I went to their house. He was one of the few boys aside from Joey that I didn’t feel on edge around. Hughie always left me alone and I appreciated it.
“Well, they’ve been in the same class since junior infants, and this monster right here”—she paused to give Gibsie a small shove before continuing—“has been a permanent fixture in my kitchen for most of my life. He lives across the street from us,” she added. “Unfortunately.”
“Come on, Claire-Bear,” he teased. “Is that any way to talk about the guy who gave you your first kiss?”
“That was the result of an unfortunate game of spin the bottle,” she shot back, cheeks turning pink as she glared up at him. “And I’ve told you a million times to stop calling me that.”
“It’s all a show,” Gibsie informed me with a huge grin. “She loves me really.”
“I really don’t,” Claire shot back, flustered now. “I tolerate him because he brings cookies to my house.” She turned to me and said, “Gerard’s mother owns a bakery in the city. Her cakes are insanely delicious.”
“Gibs! Come on, lad. The team’s waiting for you!” someone called out from the other side of the lunch hall, causing all three of us to swing around.
My heart flatlined for the briefest of moments before somersaulting in my chest when my eyes landed on Johnny Kavanagh standing in the archway of the lunch hall, with his hand gesturing wildly in the air and a thunderous expression etched on his face.
“Five minutes,” Gibsie called back.
“Coach wants us now,” Johnny barked in that thick Dublin accent I’d learned to listen out for. “Not in five bleeding minutes,” he added, not giving a damn who was listening to him.
It was quite clear that he didn’t care if people looked at him or not.
Ignoring him, Gibsie held two fingers up and turned his attention back to Claire.
He began to speak to her in a low hushed tone, but I didn’t catch any of it.
My entire focus was on the pair of blue eyes that were staring right back at me.
Usually, when he caught me staring, I would look away or duck my face, but this time I couldn’t.
I felt snared.
Completely and utterly ensnared in his gaze.
Johnny tilted his head to one side, regarding me with a curious expression, the earlier irritation in his eyes replaced with something I couldn’t quite decipher.
My heart hammered violently against my rib cage.
And then he shook his head and looked away, his attention moving to the watch on his left wrist, breaking the weird, trancelike stare-down.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I turned away from him, sagged forward, and let my hair fall forward to conceal my burning cheeks.
“I expect to see pom-poms and the words I heart Gibsie in neon letters across your tits next week at the School Boy Shield final,” was all I managed to catch Gibsie saying before he waved us off and jogged away.
“Sorry about him,” Claire said, gaze flickering from my face to behind me. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes twinkling. She pulled at an imaginary piece of fluff on her school jumper before adding, “He’s a little strange.”
“He’s a whole lot into you,” I stated, grateful for the distraction from my thoughts.
“Gerard likes everyone,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “Well, everyone with a vagina.”
“I don’t know, Claire. He seemed to really like you,” I began to say, but she quickly cut me off.
“Well, I do know, Shan,” she said, cheeks still flushed. “He’s a player. A total fecking player. He rides anything in a skirt,” she added. “They all do.”
