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In this moment, I was glad my body was broken. I was glad that I hadn’t been able to have sex since Halloween.
Maybe it was fate?
Without my cock blinding my ability to make good choices in lieu of pussy, I was able to see through Bella’s facade. And it wasn’t pretty.
Knowing that I would rather peel my skin off than touch her again gave me some semblance of comfort.
Never again, Johnny.
Never a-fucking-again, lad.
Leaning against the wall of the pub, I allowed my thoughts to wander back to those lonesome eyes.
I wanted to see those eyes. And the girl they belonged to.
The alcohol running through my veins provided a block on my conscience, making it easier for me to obsess about Shannon Lynch without feeling like a piece of shite.
Tomorrow, when I woke up with a clear head, I would no doubt feel every ounce of the implications of my wayward thoughts, but for now, while I was temporarily void of a moral compass, I envisioned all the terrible fantasies in great colorful detail.
It was nice.
She was nice to think about. She was fucking beautiful.
Her voice. Her hair. Her smell.
The way she spoke.
Every single part of her.
I was deep in thought, contemplating how different it would have been had it been Shannon who put her mouth on me, when the sound of the taxi honking distracted me.
“Johnny, lad,” the taxi driver, whose name I never seemed to be able to remember, called out in a happy tone. “How’s it going?” To be fair, on the rare occasion our paths had crossed, I had been drunk off my tits. “Your pal not with you tonight?”
By pal, he meant Gibsie. Because Gibsie was usually the influencer behind terrible decisions like the one I made tonight.
“He’s still inside,” I explained, using every ounce of concentration to not stagger as I pushed off the wall. “Thanks for coming so fast, man.”
“Like I’d leave you here, boyo,” he chuckled. “Don’t forget your old friend Paddy when you’re up in the big smoke with the big boys.”
I couldn’t remember my old friend Paddy now, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Johnny—wait up, lad!” Hughie Biggs called out as he stumbled out of the pub toward me. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me to a stop. “You’ll have to take us with you.”
“Who’s us?” I replied slowly. “If you’re talking about that crazy fucking girl, then forget it, Hughie. She’s not my responsibility, and I’d rather cut my cock off than go back inside and deal with her.”
“Who—Bella?” Hughie frowned and shook his head. “No, man. Fuck her. She’s already gone back to Cormac. He was hiding in the lounge all night. Didn’t come out until you were gone, the coward.” He dragged me over to the window and pointed inside. “You can’t leave them here.”
My gaze flicked from Hughie to Gibsie, who was currently facedown on the table, snoring his head off, to Patrick Feely, who was being molested by one of Bella’s friends, to Bella, who was dry-humping Cormac Ryan, and then back to Hughie.
“Why me?” I groaned.
“Because we’re your babies,” Hughie announced, leaning his weight on me.
“My babies?” I slurred. “How the fuck are you three anyone’s babies?”
“You’re our captain,” Hughie slurred. “We’re kind of your responsibility.”
“On the pitch, ya gobshite.”
