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“Come on,” she squealed, and then grabbed my hand, quite literally dragging me down through the stands and onto the pitch.
We might not have looked out of place, what with half the school out on the pitch, but I certainly felt it as I shuffled along awkwardly behind her.
“Hughie!” Claire cried out, running over to throw her arms around her big brother. “You were amazing.”
“Cheers, sis,” he replied, patting her back as he searched through the crowds.
Obviously finding what he was looking for in the form of a tiny redhead, Hughie quickly set his sister aside and hurried off in the direction of her.
“I want that,” Claire sighed, watching her brother pick his girlfriend up and swing her around. “Obviously not with my brother,” she grimaced. “But what they have.” She sighed again. “I want that someday.”
“Claire-Bear!” a familiar voice called out.
Claire spun around and I swear her entire face lit up when she noticed Gibsie jogging toward us.
“You did it!” she screamed and then flung herself at him.
He seemed as excited as she did and caught her.
I watched them for several minutes, swinging each other around, completely caught up in their own bubble as they talked animatedly about different points in the game. Either Claire was clueless, Gibsie was clueless, or they were both as blind as each other because I could feel, see, and taste the chemistry wafting off them.
Feeling awkward and out of place, I shoved my hands in my coat pockets and quickly turned around, slipping through a mass of Tommen supporters.
I was familiar with match day. I’d been to enough of Joey’s games. This was different, though. And I felt like an intruder.
“Hey—” I heard an achingly familiar voice call out, distracting me from my thoughts. “Wait up!”
Basic human nature had me swinging around to see who was calling out and if it was directed at me. When my eyes landed on Johnny jogging toward me, my heart thundered against my rib cage, hammering violently.
Oh my god. What was he doing? Why was he coming over to me? What the hell was happening?
“How’s it going?” Johnny asked, closing the space between us, voice understandably breathless from the exertion on the pitch.
“Uh, it’s, ah, it’s going good,” I stumbled over my words, completely thrown off-kilter being this close to Johnny again. “Is it good for you?” I added lamely, and then immediately flamed in embarrassment. “You must feel good.” Sighing, I repressed the urge to groan and finished with a mumbled, “I mean, how’s it going for you…?”
“It’s going good,” Johnny replied with a smile that deepened the two tiny dimples in his cheeks.
It was my first time seeing those dimples and my memory soaked them in like a sponge.
“That’s good,” I breathed, struggling to focus.
Unlike the last time I was up close to him—when I was seeing stars—or in the hallways when he was a blur of movement or too far away to get a good look, I had a clear, concussion-free, unobstructed view of his face.
And boy was that view a breathtaking one.
Like, for real, he was strikingly, achingly, distractingly attractive.
He had remarkable bone structure with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, swollen lips, and a messy mop of dark-brown hair that was shaved stylishly at the sides, with that extra bit of length on top.
His face bore the markings of a boy that had been in many a fight. Over his left eyebrow was a freshly clotting scar, his nose had clearly been broken a time or two, and his right cheekbone was purpling at a rapid pace.
“You remember who I am, right?” he asked, still smiling, although he looked a little nervous now, probably because I was staring at him like a creeper. “Shannon like the river.”
Oh god.
“Yeah,” I choked out, feeling every ounce of blood in my body rush to my cheeks as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I remember you.” Unsure of what else to say or do, I stupidly raised a hand and waved. “Hi, Johnny.”
What was wrong with me? Seriously? Did I just wave at him? While I was talking to him?
