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He smiled down at me. “Hi, Shannon.”
“Hi, Johnny,” I whispered, staring back at him, feeling like my heart was two seconds away from bursting out of my chest.
“How are you?” he asked, voice deep, blue eyes burning holes in mine.
“I’m good,” I breathed. “How are you?”
He smirked. “I’m good.”
Dammit, there was that word again…
“Did you have a nice weekend?”
“Uh, it was okay.” I felt myself blush. “Did you?”
“I spent most of it training.” He smirked. “Same as always.”
I nodded, not really understanding a damn thing that was happening here. “H-how was the party?”
“I didn’t stay long.” Johnny leaned his elbow on the table, turned his body inward, and gave me his full attention. “I just went to show my face really.”
“How come?” I breathed, burning from being so close to him.
“Training commitments,” he explained, thrumming his long fingers against the table, blue eyes locked on mine. “I try to avoid parties during the season—”
“Jesus, not you, too,” Lizzie growled. “It’s bad enough Thor over there is pulling his shit with Claire without you messing with Shannon.”
Johnny turned his blue eyes on Lizzie. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she countered.
“Am I not allowed to speak to her?” he questioned, arching a brow. “Do you not like to share your friends?”
“You know what you’re doing,” Lizzie shot back defiantly.
“You’re right, Gibs,” Johnny mused with a small shake of his head. Leaning back in his chair, he added, “Pierce is a bleeding saint.”
“Total respect,” Gibsie shot back, resting his arm around Claire’s chair.
“Ugh,” Lizzie sneered, giving both Johnny and Gibsie a disgusted look. “I hate you all.”
“When you say all, does that apply to just us”—Gibsie gestured from himself to Johnny—“or all men?”
“You most of all, you big blond eejit, with your rugby-shaped head,” Lizzie snapped. Shoving her chair back, she stood up and cast a glare at Johnny. “And you’re a close second, Captain Fantastic, for not having better control over him.”
Having said that, Lizzie swung around and stalked out of the lunch hall.
“Whoa,” Gibsie breathed when she was gone. “That girl seriously hates me.”
“She hates everyone,” Claire replied, patting his arm soothingly. “Don’t take it personal.”
“It’s true,” I decided to offer up. “She only likes, like, two people.”
“Exactly,” Claire agreed. “It truly is nothing personal. Lizzie’s just protective of us.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a rugby-shaped head,” Gibsie grumbled. He looked to Johnny. “Do I?”
“No, Gibs.” Johnny sighed. “Your head’s not shaped like a rugby ball.”
