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It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen each other during the summer. I’d swung by the garage on many the occasion to torment him when he was working with Dad, and I’d been to most of his and Paul’s matches, but we had been surrounded by friends or my dad.
Ridiculous as it sounded, I missed our little one-on-one moments.
Sure, they might have occurred against his will at times, but I knew that he enjoyed my banter as much as I enjoyed his.
Heart bucking wilder than necessary, given the fact that it was only the boy’s eyes that were on me, and not his hands, I reached up and brushed my thumb over his swollen bottom lip, addicted to tormenting him. “What’s that on your mouth, Joe; drool?”
“Don’t do that.” His green eyes darkened. “Not here.”
“Don’t do what?” Tone heavily laced with sarcasm, I traced his bottom lip with my thumb and grinned. “This?”
“Play your games when your father is across the landing.”
“Why not?” I teased, hell bent on playing games. “Are you afraid he’ll catch you looking at his daughter like you want to eat her up.” I stepped closer, waiting for him to crack and be the first to move away. “Do you, Joe? Do you want to eat me up?”
Reaching up, Joey snatched my wrist with his big hand, but instead of pushing me away like I was prepared for him to do, he pulled me towards him – so close that my body was pressed against his.
“Don’t try to fuck with my head, Molloy.” His voice was low and heated, and held the hint of warning. “I indulge you by playing your little games, but don’t push your luck.”
“My luck?” I breathed, heart racing violently, as I watched him watch me.
“Your luck,” he confirmed. “There’s only so far you can push me.”
I could do nothing but stare at his face and resist the urge to slap it – or kiss it.
I wasn’t sure which.
“I’m not Ricey. I won’t kiss your cheek and hold your hand,” he added, tone heated. “You keep goading me into touching you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” His pupils dilated and my heart hammered recklessly against my ribcage. “You might think that you’re brave enough to take me on, to go toe to toe with me, but make no mistake about this.” Leaning in close, he pressed his lips to my ear, and whispered, “You’re not the wolf in our story, Molloy.“ His breath fanned my cheek, causing my pulse to skyrocket. “You’re the lamb.”
“What’s that, Joey, lad?” my father called out from where he was kneeling in the bathroom, with his back to the landing.
“Nothing, Tony,” Joey called back, not moving one muscle, as he turned his attention back to me. “You’re the sweet, innocent lamb that’s hellbent on playing with fire,” he said, walking me backwards until my legs hit my bed. “So, you might want to stop hunting me, Molloy.” His hands moved to my hips, and he literally tossed me down on the mattress. “Because if you don’t?” With my wrists pinned to the mattress above my head, he stepped between my legs and leaned in close, so close that his nose brushed mine. “Then one of these days, I’m going to hunt you back.”
Oh fuck.
“You got that?” Releasing one wrist, he swiftly cupped my chin and forced me to look at him. “Friend?”
“I’ve got it.” Breathless and feeling faint, I felt myself nodding. “Friend.”
“Good girl.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You dick.”
He grinned victoriously down at me before releasing me and walking out of my room to rejoin my father in the bathroom.
On shaky legs, I hurried towards my bedroom door and slammed it shut, before blowing out a ragged breath. “Holy shit.”
Did that just happen?
* * *
A few hours later,after a whole lot of soul-searching and not a lot of job hunting, I found myself sprawled out on a towel on the lawn in our back garden, soaking in the last of the sunrays from the unusual heatwave, with the family dog curled up on the grass beside me.
Still mentally chewing over my earlier altercation with my classmate, I had been ordered by my father to go downstairs and stay out of their way.
My father had hit his limit this morning, when I had continued to hover in the bathroom doorway, making smart-ass comments about their shoddy work, and tormenting his precious apprentice.
It wasn’t my fault.
