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I mentally noted that he was walking with that same slight limp I’d observed on countless occasions. It was barely noticeable, but if you looked closely enough, like I constantly seemed to do, it was clear that he tried to keep weight off his right leg.
My gaze danced between all three of them, moving from Ronan, who wasn’t yanking on the handle anymore—in fact, he’d taken a few steps away from the door—to Gibsie, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, before landing and staying on Johnny.
Seriously, as tall as Gibsie was, Johnny towered over him.
There was a streak of dried mud on his cheek that he attempted to bat away with the back of his free hand.
His dark-brown hair was sticking up in forty different directions.
Probably from sweat, I mentally noted, or playing outside in the rain.
He was standing in such a way that I could see his side profile and the way his frown deepened as Gibsie spoke quietly in his ear.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying and was unwilling to leave the sanctuary of my corner outside the bathroom, knowing I could always bolt inside and lock myself in a toilet cubicle and phone Joey if this turned ugly.
Seconds later, Johnny’s body visibly tensed. “What?”
Tossing the ice pack on the floor, he balled his hands balled into fists at his sides as he turned to glare out the glass, revealing the number 13 on his back. He took a step forward, stopping just shy of the door when Gibsie clamped a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re fucking kidding me!” Johnny roared, reacting to whatever his friend was whispering in his ear.
Johnny’s head turned in Ronan’s direction before quickly snapping toward me. His eyes landed on my face, and holy crap, he looked livid. It was only a fleeting glance and he quickly turned his attention back to Ronan. This time I could clearly hear what he was saying.
“I’m going to give you a five-second head start, prickface,” he roared through the glass panel. “And then I’m going to cut your cock off and feed it to you.”
“Fuck you, Kavanagh,” Ronan shouted back, but his face was much paler than earlier. “You can’t touch me.”
“One,” Johnny barked. “Two, three, four…”
“What are you waiting for?” Gibsie called out, waving his hands in the air encouragingly. “Get going, Forrest.”
Were they really going to fight? Over me?
Was this really over me?
It couldn’t be. They didn’t even know me.
No way.
I didn’t like confrontation, I couldn’t cope with it, and this sure looked like it was about to snowball.
Deciding to detract myself from the situation, I turned on my heels and bolted into the bathroom, not stopping until I was safely tucked away in one of the stalls with the door locked behind me. With trembling hands, I pushed my bag off my shoulders, allowing it to clatter against the tiled floor. Dropping down on the closed toilet, I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my knees, and buried my hands in my hair, reeling.
What the hell just happened? What was that? What would I have done if Gerard or Gibsie or whatever his name was hadn’t come? Where would I be now?
As my earlier adrenaline deflated, tears dripped down my cheeks, but it wasn’t because I was upset. Okay, yes, I was upset, but my tears were those of anger.
I was pissed off actually.
Who the hell did Ronan McGarry think he was? More, who did he think I was?
Inviting me into the bathroom with him.
God, he looked like he actually expected me to say yes.
Blinking away my tears, I clenched and then unclenched my fists, knees bopping as anger and humiliation coursed through me.
I hated humans. They were such a disappointment. And to think God switched dinosaurs for man.
