“Oh, look at me,” I heard myself grumble as I made a terrible attempt to mimic his voice. “I’m Joey Lynch. I’m so hard, I’m so tough. I’m not friends with girls, even though I like to steal their chips and pick fights with their boyfriends.” Frowning, I held up a hand and swiftly corrected myself. “Ex. That’s right. He’s my ex-boyfriend, because he sure as hell isn’t my current one. Dick.”
Laughing at my reaction, Joey shook his head and said, “You’re a messy little drunk, aren’t ya?”
“No,” I corrected, slapping his hand away from my chip when he reached for another. “I’m a woman on the edge.”
“The drama’s that deep, huh?”
“Yes, and here’s why,” I snapped, grabbing another chip from his hand when he sideswiped me. “I have been very publicly labeled a slut tonight by my former boyfriend, that’s right…“ I paused for dramatic effect, before continuing, “my former boyfriend, who, for your information, has never had the privilege of being even remotely slutty with me.” Huffing out a breath, I muttered, “And that’s not for the want of him trying, either.” Constantly.
Joey’s brows shot up as he stood in front of me. “You and Ricey aren’t…”
“No, we’re not sleeping together,” I spat, narrowing my eyes. “God, what do you take me for?” I quickly reached up and clamped a hand over his mouth. “You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t need any relationship advice from you.”
Rolling his eyes, Joey reached up and peeled my hand from his mouth. “Jesus, Molloy,” he growled, tongue snaking out to taste his bottom lip. “How much vinegar did you put on those chips?”
“The perfect amount,” I replied, slipping a finger into my mouth to sample what he clearly had when I put my hand on his mouth. “Okay,” I conceded, holding my finger back up. “I may have been a little overly generous with the bottle.”
“You don’t think?” His tone was laced with sarcasm.
“Hey, don’t judge me,” I defended huffily. “I already told you that I’m a woman on the edge. I can’t be held responsible for my lack of judgement when it comes to pouring vinegar. Clearly, if tonight’s anything to go by, I’m not a very good judge of anything.”
“Well, my judgement’s just fine, Molloy, and I can tell you that it’s your boyfriend who’s the prick in this situation.” Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Joey added, “If he’s pressuring you, then walk. You have all the time in the world for that bullshit.”
“Ex.” My face burned with heat. “And by bullshit, you mean sex?”
“Would you prefer if I said fucking?” he offered, not missing a beat. “Look, do whatever you want, but if you want my advice, you shouldn’t give yourself away to the likes of him.”
“The likes of him?"
“Someone who’s supposed to care about you, but then puts hands on you and calls you a slut when he doesn’t get his own way.”
“As opposed to the boy who once called me easy.”
“There are a few big differences between us,” came his amused reply, as he leaned closer, so close that I could smell the distinct fragrance of his lynx. "Look, all I'm saying is you can do better than Paul Rice."
“Oh yeah?” Desperately trying to remain composed, and not reveal just how deeply this boy affected me, I kept my eyes locked on his when I asked, “Well, since you’re in such a chatty mood, would you care to oblige me by sharing those differences?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.”
“Fine,” he replied, not missing a beat. “First difference; I may have had a momentary lapse in my own judgment when I called you easy.” He placed his hands on either side of me as he spoke. “It’s something that, on many occasions since that night, I’ve come to feel somewhat regrettable about.”
“Wow. Is this another version of an apology?” I breathed, feeling my body sway closer to his. “Because it’s as shitty as the last one.”
“Not an apology,” he corrected. “More like a rare admission.”
“Well then,” I breathed, feeling my heart buck wildly against my ribcage, as I leaned back on my elbows. “If it’s a rare admission then it must have hurt you to say it?”
“You have no idea,” he agreed, hands planted on either side of my body, as he stared down at me with dark, hooded eyes. “Will I keep going?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Second difference,” he said. “I’m not your boyfriend, Molloy. I’m not supposed to care about you, remember?”
“No, you’re not supposed to,” I agreed with a shiver, as he pinned me to the bonnet of the car. Excitement thrummed to life inside of me. “But you still do.”
Heat flashed in his eyes, but he made no move to deny it.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Goading this boy was the same as putting my hand in the cheetah enclosure at Fota Wildlife Park.
A risky move.
“Is there a third difference?” I breathed.
“Yeah, there’s a difference,” he replied. “Do you want it?”
“I want it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Third difference,” he whispered then, leaning so close that I could feel his alcohol scented breath on my face. “I’m not pressuring you to spread your legs for me.” Rearing back, he made a point of glancing between us. “You did that all by yourself.”
My gaze followed his, and my breath hitched in my throat when I saw that he had deftly stepped between my legs.
Not only that, but my legs had wrapped themselves around his hips of their own damn accord.
“Well shit,” I whispered, breathing hard and fast, as I watched him watch me. “I have no idea how they got there.”
"Yeah," he agreed, closing the space between us once more, his lips a hair’s breadth from mine. “Me either.”
He’s going to kiss you.
Oh my god, Aoif, he’s going to put his mouth on yours.
Be cool, don’t freak out.
The sound of tires screeching tore his attention from me, and I wanted to cry.
No, God, why?
With Puddle of Mudd’s Control blasted from the car stereo, I watched as a souped-up, black Honda civic came tearing up the road towards us, spitting gravel from the speed in which the person was driving.
Beeping on the horn, he flashed his lights at us, and my heart sank into my ass when I noticed who was driving.
Shane Holland.
“Shit,” Joey groaned, momentarily dropping his head on my shoulder. “I better go,” he finally said, voice strained. “He’s here for me.”
“Wait – no, Joey, don’t go with him!” I strangled out in horror, catching ahold of his hand when he straightened up and took a step back. “Please don’t go anywhere with him,” I urged, scrambling to my feet, as I entwined our fingers and squeezed. “Stay here with me instead.”