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“Oh, okay.” I flushed. “Thanks.”
“Johnny!” a booming male voice called out, distracting us both.
I turned my head to see a burly man sauntering toward us with an impressive-looking camera strapped to his neck.
“Give us a picture for the paper, will ya, son?”
I was fairly sure I heard Johnny mutter the words fuck off under his breath but he turned to the photographer and gave him a polite nod. “No problem.”
“Good man yourself,” the photographer praised and pointed the camera at Johnny, only to halt and turn to me. “Move out the way, will ya, love?”
“Oh, right, sorry!” I squeaked and scrambled to back out of the line of the lens.
“We were talking,” Johnny bit out. He cast a scathing glare at the photographer and then walked right over to me.
“Smile,” he instructed quietly as he pulled me in to his side and clamped his huge muddy hand on my hip.
Stunned, I stared up at him. “Huh?”
“Smile,” Johnny repeated calmly, tucking me under his arm.
Frazzled, I turned back to face the photographer and did exactly what Johnny told me to do.
I beamed.
The photographer arched a brow and gave me a curious look, but quickly hurried to snap what felt like a million snaps. The flashes coming from his camera were blinding, and when they were joined by many more flashes from other photographers, I began to shake with anxiety.
What the hell was happening?
“Alright, that’s enough,” Johnny declared as he held a hand up and released my hip. “Thanks for coming out today. Appreciate the support.”
“Johnny, Johnny?” one of the women crowding us called out. “What’s your relationship?”
“Private,” Johnny shot back coolly.
“What’s your name, love?” the original photographer asked, as he pulled a pen out of his coat pocket.
Trembling, I just stood there, feeling like a dummy, feeling a million pairs of curious eyes on my face.
“Shannon Lynch,” Johnny stated with a clipped nod, and then, ignoring the half dozen photographers watching us, he turned his attention back to me. “Are you coming to the party after school?”
“What are they doing?” I asked uncertainly, unable to focus on what he just said, because I was too busy eyeing the photographer writing something on the back of his hand and several other reporters skulking nearby.
“Ignore them,” Johnny said with a shake of his head. “They’ll go away.”
“They’re watching you,” I whispered. “And I think they’re watching me?”
Releasing a frustrated growl, Johnny turned around. “I’m at school,” he stated in a sharp tone. “On school grounds. With a minor.”
Thankfully, that seemed to do the trick because they slowly dispersed.
“That was so strange,” I strangled out when Johnny faced me again.
He eyed me curiously. “You don’t like that sort of thing?”
“That was horrible,” I choked out. “All that attention over a silly game.”
Johnny gave me another curious look.
