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The supporters in the stands around me all went quiet.
Miss it.
Miss it.
Fuck it up.
Go wide.
All of my prayers were answered when the ball left his boot and was blocked down by Johnny, sending the ball flying upward in the direction of their goal line.
The clock ran down, falling into the red.
“Yes!” Claire screamed, jumping to her feet, along with every other supporter on the sidelines. “Go on, Johnny! Come on, Kavs!”
Unable to breathe, I watched as three Kilbeg backs hunted after him. They weren’t fast enough, though.
Like a bolt of lightning, Johnny chased down his interception, moving faster than any boy his size should be able to. Cheers and screams and roars of encouragement erupted from the stands when Johnny kicked the ball forward, nudging it closer to the try line as he ran at top speed after it.
“Go on!” Claire roared excitedly. “Yes! You’re almost there. Keep going. Move those sexy legs!”
The ball rolled over the line.
Milliseconds later, Johnny pounced, outstretching the Kilbeg backs who were hot on his heels. A blur of movement resulted in Johnny grounding the ball into touch.
Everyone around us went insane.
Tommen’s number 10 moved into position in front of the posts and quickly kicked the conversion over, securing the two points.
And that was it. It was over.
Tommen had won. And I was reeling.
“You have some explaining to do, missy,” Claire squealed as she bounced up and down in celebration. “Woo-hoo! Go, Tommen, go!”
“Explaining?” I called back. “About what?”
“About why that boy down there is looking at you like he wants to eat you up,” she replied, and then pointed a blatantly obvious finger right at Johnny—who was staring right at me again.
“I don’t know,” I choked out. “I have no idea what’s happening here.”
All of his teammates were running around like lunatics, leaping and jumping around in celebration, and Johnny looked distracted.
He was quite literally swamped by people, ranging from teachers to students to local journalists and cameramen with microphones thrust in his face.
The thing that stood out was his immaculate composure. None of this was fazing him. Not one bit. He looked the epitome of cool, calm, and collected as he answered reporters and thanked the supporters clapping his shoulders, but every few moments, his gaze flickered back to me.
I didn’t understand it.
Worse, having his attention thrilled me.
“Why are they flocking to him?” I asked in confusion, feeling bad for the other guys on the team.
Claire rolled her eyes. “Ah, because he’s Johnny Kavanagh.”
“So?”
I didn’t get it.
