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“I told you not to pierce it, Gerard, but did you listen to me? No. No, of course you didn’t. Instead, you went right ahead and pierced it three more bleeding times!”
“I was completing my ladder.”
“Your ladder is a liability!” Johnny shot back, sounding just as invested in their conversation as Gerard was. “And what did I tell you about using the talcum powder? The medicated one I had after the surgery. Use generously. Before and after training, Gibs. Every session.”
“It makes me sneeze, Cap.”
“You’re not supposed to smell it, Gibs. You’re supposed to pour it on your groin and thighs.”
“You don’t smell it?”
“No, lad, I don’t smell my balls,” Johnny deadpanned before walking over to the couch and sinking down next to my bestie. “Hi, Shannon,” he said in a much softer tone as he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek.
“Hi, Johnny,” she replied, cheeks turning bright pink.
“No, not your balls,” Gerard continued animatedly as he climbed over the back of the couch and flopped down beside me. Ruffling my curls, he draped an arm over my shoulder before continuing. “The powder before you put it on your balls. Don’t you smell the powder?”
“Jesus Christ, give it a rest, will ye?” Patrick growled, strolling in behind them with my brother. “I feel like I know more about the two of your bollocks than I do my own.”
“That’s because you don’t have a clue what to do with your own bollocks.”
“That’s not what your mother says.”
“Don’t even think about bringing my mother into this.”
“Can we not?” Hugh snapped, joining everyone at the couches. “For one damn morning, lads?”
“I complained about my genitals one time, Patrick,” Gerard huffed. “I didn’t make a big hullabaloo out of it like a certain captain we all know.”
“True that.”
“But it was a good night in Dublin.”
“It was eventful to say the least.”
“Hey!” Johnny snapped. “That wasn’t my bleeding fault.”
“Then whose fault was it, Kav?” Gerard demanded. “Mine?”
“Yes,” both Hugh and Patrick chorused.
“And you think I have problems,” Tadhg drawled sarcastically. “Tell you what, Joe. I’d rather be a Lynch than a bitch any day.” With that, Tadhg hitched his bag over his shoulder and sauntered out of the common room, flipping the bird as he went.
Gerard turned to look at me. “Did he just call us bitches?”
“I think so,” I replied, stifling a laugh.
“The cheek,” he huffed before standing up and prowling toward the fridge. “Jesus, I’m starving.”
“You’re in trouble with that one, Lynchy.”
“Don’t I know it,” Joey muttered, popping another hard-boiled sweet into his mouth.
“That’s not your food, Gibs,” Johnny called out.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Johnny,” Gerard replied as he busied himself with peeling the name label off a tinfoil-covered bread roll. “Unlucky, Robbie, lad… Ah, score! Chicken and stuffing!” Grinning in delight, he ripped the tinfoil off and took a huge bite. “Get in my belly.”
“You’re lucky you’re in Tommen, lad,” Joey stated, looking mildly entertained. “Because if you pulled that stunt at BCS, they’d take your life for it.”
