Even though he was the master of concealing his emotions, Joey couldn’t mask the excitement that flashed in his eyes. “I won’t be seventeen for two more days. I only have a tractor license until then.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, watching his gaze flick from my face to the keys and then back to me. “So that means that we’ll be breaking the law, doesn’t it?” I taunted, giving the keys a little rattle. “But, then again, when has that ever stopped you?”
Joey stared at me for a long time before releasing a low chuckle. “Give me the keys, Molloy.”
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Squealing with nervous excitement, I clenched my eyes shut and choked out a laugh, when we took the corner of the local supermarket, after burning the rubber of my tires doing half a dozen donuts around the empty carpark.
“Oh, my Jesus, watch out for the footpath!”
“Relax, Molloy, I’ve got this.”
Yeah, he did.
Joey might not have an official license yet, but he certainly knew how to handle a car. I put it down to years of messing around with motors at the garage with Dad.
With Jay-Z and Beyonce’s ‘03’ Bonnie & Clyde’ blasting from the car stereo, a fitting song given the circumstances, I held on for dear life to the dashboard, as the wild and reckless boy in the driver’s seat blew my mind. Sitting in the passenger seat beside him, I felt like I was on a power trip. Like we could take on the whole world in this moment.
It was exhilarating.
“Happy fucking birthday to me,” Joey laughed, clearly delighted with life, as he slipped my car into fifth gear, and left the lights of Ballylaggin behind us. “So, where do you want to go, Molloy?”
Anywhere with you. “I don’t care, just don’t kill me, okay?” I begged, and then screamed out a laugh when we flew over a hump in the back road.
Joey cast a sideways glance at me and grinned. “I’m making no promises.
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A lot of miles on the clock later, and we were on the back road near the beach, with me in the driving seat, and Joey laughing his ass off at my discomfort.
“I can’t do it!” The car chugged and stalled for the third time in a matter of minutes. "It’s pointless. I’m never going to figure this shit out.”
“Well, you better keep trying,” he warned, not one bit sympathetic to my cause, as he balanced my heels on his lap. “Because I heard your father tell Danny Reilly that if you don’t pull your finger out, and start actually driving instead of admiring the stereo, he’ll sell him the car.”
“Fine by me.” Flustered and barefoot, I turned the key in the ignition, and attempted to pull off. “I’m entirely the wrong person to be behind the wheel of a potential death machine.”
“Yeah, because you’re really going to do some damage in first gear,” Joey drawled. “Come on, Molloy, you know the drill. Clutch and slide into second.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t.”
“I really can’t.”
“Stop being a princess and just fucking do it.”
Deep in concentration, I attempted to do just that, but the gear stick wouldn’t comply. “This car hates me,” I wailed, yanking on the gear stick and then wincing then the engine roared in protest.
“Jesus, come here. Okay, press the clutch.” Reaching across the passenger seat, Joey covered my hand with his, and deftly slid us into second. “Now put a bit of pressure on the accelerator,” he instructed, while I repressed a shiver from the feel of his big hand on top of mine. “Good, now clutch again,” he added as he switched us into third. “See? You’re doing it; driving without conking the engine. It’s not as bad as you’ve built it up in that head of yours.”
“Yeah, but it’s just so fucking tricky,” I wailed, both hands springing up to grip the wheel. “Feet on the pedals, hands on the wheel, hand on the gearstick, eyes on the road…” I blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s like I tell my dad every time he forces me to get behind the wheel. There are just too many things to do at once.”
“I thought females were the ultimate multitaskers.”
“Well, not this female,” I choked out, twisting the wheel to avoid a pile of sand sludge on the road. “Oh, my Jesus, Joey. I hate this stupid car.”
“You don’t hate the car,” he countered. “You hate the feeling of not being in control. It’s new and scary. I get it, Molloy. You’re just figuring it all out.”
“How do you know so much about this?” I eyed him sitting beside me. “How can you be three months younger than me, and kick my ass at driving?”
“It’s not a competition, Molloy,” he chuckled, with a shake of his head. “And your dad showed me a lot down through the years.”
“Well, good for you,” I bit out. “Because he basically showed me nothing until he handed me the keys for this thing and said drive.”
“Give it a couple of months. You’ll look back at this night and laugh.”
“Doubtful,” I mumbled, eyes locked on the dark night ahead of me. “Very doubtful.”
I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME
DECEMBER 24TH 2003
JOEY
Pressure was the thing that I was most used to in life. It never normally fazed me, not when I'd spent most of my life with the weight of my father's hands around my neck, threatening to cut off my air supply, but all of that paled in comparison to Aoife Molloy’s infinite ability to restrict my breathing.
It was two in the morning and the clock had rolled into Christmas eve. Instead of being home, like I knew I needed to be when there was a full bottle of whiskey at my father’s disposal, I found myself spinning around with her, instead.
I felt like a criminal being with her. I had no damn business stepping foot inside the girl’s car. A car I had spent a lot of my time working on at the garage. A car I certainly shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel of and driven, but when she dangled those keys in front of me, the temptation had been too strong to resist.
I also didn’t understand her reasons for wanting to be here with me. Why she continuously sought me out. But I wasn’t about to argue with her tonight because it meant I didn’t have to go home and deal with any of my father’s bullshit. No, I wasn’t about to talk Molloy down from the ledge, because the longer we teetered on the edge of the law, the longer I got to be with her.
Because the truth of the matter was that I enjoyed her company.
I enjoyed being with her, be it arguing or messing around, flirting or fucking around town in the car her daddy bought for her.
I felt genuine affection towards the girl, which was abhorrently abnormal on my behalf.
But I did.
She could piss me off more than most, and she drove me demented at times, but there was no one else I would prefer to break the law with.
Even as we parked up back outside the garage, with a bag of chips balancing on the dashboard between us, I was having a hard time trying to find the motivation to leave her.
The truth was that staying right here in this car, with the only person whose touch didn’t make my skin crawl, seemed like a good idea.