“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?
SPECIAL_IMAGE-images/svgimg0003.svg-REPLACE_ME
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.
The boy was too damn distracting to not stare at, and too sharp-tongued to not play with, but that didn’t matter to Dad.
Banished from my own bedroom doorway for distracting my father’s, and I quote, ‘poor young fella’， I had retreated to the garden with the dog.
Ugh.
“What do you think, Spud?” Reaching down, I stroked his neck. “Hmm? I’m not a lamb, am I?”
Spud, who was a mix between a boxer and at least three other breeds, let out a groan of contentment, rolling onto his back and kicking wildly when I scratched his ear.
“Exactly,” I cooed. “A lamb could never give you such good ear scratches. That boy is full of crap.” And sexy as hell.
“Do you mind?” A dark shadow fell over me, blocking the sun. “My friends are here.”
“And?” I drawled, using my foot to kick my brother out of my way of the sunshine.
“And I’m trying to play WWE,” Kevin growled, shoving me back with his foot. “But they keep coming downstairs for drinks.”
“Don’t touch me with your freaky fungus feet,” I warned. “And so? What do your creepy little friends have to do with me?”
“It’s called athletes foot,” Kev shot back defensively. “And they’re not coming downstairs for drinks, dickhead, they’re coming down to gawk at you.”
Sliding my sunglasses off, I pulled myself onto my elbows and glared up at the scrawny little shit. “Don’t call me a dickhead, dickhead.”
“Aoife, come on,” he said, gesturing to where I was sprawled out. “Can’t you do that inside?”
“Can’t I sunbathe inside? Why no, Kevin, sorry but I can’t. That’s not how sunbathing works,” I deadpanned, readjusting the strap of my yellow bikini top.
“Then cover yourself up.”
“That’s not how sunbathing works either, Kev.”
“Aoife,” he groaned, tone whiny now. “Come on, you’re embarrassing me. Just go inside or put some clothes on.”
“How many days of sunshine do we get in Ireland, Kev?” I asked my half-twin.
Yeah, we might have shared a womb for nine months, but that was all we had in common. The truth was that we couldn’t have been any different from each other.
“The answer is not enough,” I told him. “Not enough by half. Besides, Dad’s upstairs, putting a new bathroom in with Joey, and I’ve already been banished.”
“Yeah, I saw he brought him over again,” my brother grumbled. “He could have asked me to help him with the bathroom.”
“Ha,” I laughed. “Like you know the first thing about manual labor.”
“He could show me,” Kev snapped in a defensive tone. “I’m a faster learner than that thick fucker upstairs.”
“Don’t call him thick,” I warned, hackles rising. “He’s more world wise than you’ll ever be.”
Kev rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, because knowing where to score drugs takes a real genius.”
“So, he smokes weed occasionally,” I heard myself defend. “Big deal, Kev. So do a lot of other people in our year. It doesn’t make him a bad person.”
“It doesn’t make him a good one either,” he shot back. “Why are you always defending him?”
“Because he’s my friend, Kevin.”
“Yeah? Well, your friend does a lot more than smoke weed.”
“Like you’d know.”
“I would, actually,” he replied. “I’m in his year, too, remember. I know what goes on just as well as you do.”
“Yeah, in the swot class,” I snorted. “And sure you do, Kev. You’re right in there with the big guns, aren’t ya? Mister popularity himself.”
“You think your looks and popularity are going to get you far in life?” he laughed. “You’re so stupid that it’s pitiful.”
“Look at you, getting all riled up and catty.” I grinned. “No need to pity me, dear brother, because I’m doing just fine for myself.”
“No, Aoife, I’m doing fine. I’m the one going places. The only way you’re getting out of this council estate is if you marry up,” he sneered. “Because you sure as shit won’t make it on your own. So, you might want to hold onto Paul Rice, because he’s looking like your best shot.”