Wordlessly, I climbed out and rounded the driver’s side, while Molloy folded her arms across her chest, tapped her foot expectantly, and gave me a stormy-eyed glare.
Reversing the car into her intended parking spot, I killed the engine, climbed back out, and rounded the boot.
Yanking it open, I grabbed both of our bags and tossed them over my shoulders, before reaching for my hurley and helmet.
Slamming the boot shut, I locked the car back up and tossed her the keys.
Catching them mid-air, she pocketed them, and then, with her nose cocked in the air, she walked over and yanked her bag off my shoulder.
Fine.
Suit yourself.
Arching a brow, I watched as Molloy slid her bag onto her shoulder and strutted off in the direction of the main entrance, keeping at least ten feet between us, and giving me a glorious view of her peachy ass, as her hips swayed with temper.
“Lynchy?” I heard Rambo call out, dragging my attention from my girlfriend’s fantastic rear end.
I turned to see him waving me over to the side of the PE hall, with smoke drifting up from beneath the sleeve of his school jumper.
“You coming, lad?”
Offering him a clipped nod, I veered off path, feet moving in the direction of my buddy, when a hand wrapped around mine and pulled me to a stop.
I swung back to find Molloy standing there, with my hand in both of hers, as she glared up at me and shook her head.
Still refusing to speak to me, but unwilling to walk away, she stood there, glowering up at me, giving me an ultimatum with her eyes.
Do it, she mentally dared me, see what happens.
Beyond fucking irritated, I glared down at her, equally unwilling to be the first one to give in and speak.
Releasing my hand, she gave me one final hard look before backing up a few steps, and then, with that sexy fucking nose cocked in the air, she turned on her heels and walked off.
Fine.
Blowing out a frustrated growl, I turned on my heels and walked towards the PE hall, but only managed to make it about five steps before swinging back around.
Goddammit to hell!
I could hear Rambo and the lads cracking up with laughter, and making the mandatory whipped sound as I trailed after my girlfriend like a fucking puppy.
Jesus Christ.
When I caught up with her at the door, she didn’t look behind her when she slid her bag off her shoulder and held it out.
Jaw ticking, I begrudgingly took her bag and slung it over my shoulder.
Clearing her throat, she folded her arms across her chest, and inclined her chin to the door.
Biting back a growl, I stepped around her and held the door open.
“Hm,” she huffed prissily before sauntering inside.
Resisting the urge to swing the door shut on her ass, I ground my teeth together and followed after the girl who had a firm hold on my heart – and my nuts.
“What’s ailing ya?” Alec asked, tossing a cigarette towards me when I joined him at the back of the PE hall for a smoke. “Sexy-legs still giving you the cold shoulder?”
“Let’s just say that the women in my life have my head in a fucking spin, lad,” I muttered, hopping up on the wall next to him. “Cheers, Al,” I mumbled, cigarette balanced between my lips, as I took the lighter he held out for me and sparked up. “Sound as a pound, lad.”
“Girls are a mindfuck, Lynchy.”
“Oh, believe me. I’m only too aware.”
“How’s your sister getting on with the elites of Tommen?”
“Good,” I told him, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Really fucking good, Al.”
“I’m glad,” he replied, nudging his shoulder with mine. “She was always too pure for this place.”
Nodding my agreement, I inhaled another deep drag before saying, “Got herself a fella.”
“One of those preppy rugbyheads?”
“Yep.”
“Well shit,” he chuckled. “Do we need to give him a warning?”
“Nah, he seems like a decent enough lad.”
“Must be if you’re not stringing him up by the bollocks.”
“Ah, it sounds fairly innocent,” I mused, taking another drag of my smoke, and ignoring the bell signaling that small break was over. “Once he’s good to her, he won’t have any hassle from me.”
“Well, if he isn’t good to her, there’ll be a queue waiting to take his place.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Because I hate to break it to ya, Lynchy, but that sister of yours is a ride.”
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned, unable to stop the shudder rolling through me. “Why do you have to ruin my life by saying shit like that?”
“What?” he laughed. “It’s true. We all think it. None of us ever went there out of respect for you.”
“She’s my baby sister, you fucking pervert.”
“She’s no baby, lad,” he said with a chuckle. “Shannon Lynch is sweet sixteen and looks like a wet dream.”
“I will kill you.”
“I’m only saying.”
“Well, don’t say it.” I shuddered again. “Don’t even think it. Jesus.”
“She has epic blue eyes.”
“I have an epic right hook.”
“Then save it for the fella actually banging your sister, not the fella admiring her from a distance,” he laughed.
“He’s not banging her.”
“Not yet.”
“Stop it.”
Weathering the storm that was Hurricane Molloy, I managed to keep off her radar and out of trouble for the first four classes. Until double Maths before big break, where not only did I have to face her wrath, but I had to do it in the seat next to hers.
With a face like thunder, Molloy strolled into class five minutes late, which was abnormal for her, while spinning some yarn to our teacher about needing to use the bathroom.
With all eyes on her, and her long legs on full view to every eager-eyed prick watching her, which, let’s face it was most of the class, my girlfriend strutted down the aisle to our desk, with her tits pushed out and her hips swaying.
See that was the thing about Molloy – and one of the earliest things I’d learned about her – when she got pissed, she got sexy.
That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t ridiculously sexy every day. It was more that she was never more aware of her feminine supremacy than when she had a point to prove.
Like right now, for example, she was letting me know that I was topping her shit-list, and she had plenty of options if I didn’t get with the program and up my game.
“Molloy,” I decided to breach the silence by saying when she took her seat next to me. “Nice legs.”
Her lips reluctantly tipped upwards, but she quickly steeled her features, keeping her scowl in check, as she set her books and pencil case on our desk.
“Can we just…“
She shook her head, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t ready to wave a white flag of her own.
She had a lot of nerve.
If anyone had the right to be pissed off it was me, the misfortunate bastard whose stash she flushed down the damn toilet the night before.
Shrugging at her prissiness, I leaned back in my seat, pencil in hand, and stared out the window, watching as the March rain pelted against the pane of glass outside.