September 18, 2004 Happy Eighteenth, Molloy
SEPTEMBER 18, 2004
Happy Eighteenth, Molloy
JOEY
Molloy had a lot of fans.
The entire back bar of the Dinniman was packed with bodies, all here to celebrate her turning eighteen. I felt bad for her brother, Kev, who was sitting in the corner with his select group of four friends while his twin drew half the school to her like moths to a flame.
A very sexy flame.
A flame that, if I saw one more lad from our year kissing on the cheek or touching dangerously low on the back, would make me lose my shit.
I had no problem with Molloy’s extroverted nature; it was who she was. It was a huge part of why I had been drawn to her in the first place, but I had a very big problem with her male friends’ wandering hands.
“Looks like you’ve got your hands full there, son,” Tony interjected, inclining his head to where his daughter was surrounded by a group of lads from our year as they danced and jumped around to Kevin Lyttle’s “Turn Me On.”
“Yeah, Tony,” I replied, rubbing my jaw. “Looks like I have.”
“Ah, nothing to be worried about there, boyo. She’s always been like this. Our Aoife has never been in short supply of admirers,” Tony explained in an amused tone. “There’s something infectious about her personality, you see. It draws people in.” Chuckling to himself, he finished off his pint before adding, “Which puts the fear of God in her poor mother.”
I watched from a distance until I saw Eoin Caddigan wrap a strand of Molloy’s long blond hair around his finger as he danced up behind her.
“And that’s me off, Tony,” I announced, tossing back the last of my drink. “It’s time to put the fear of God into someone else.”
“Ah, first love.” Laughing, he waved me off. “Keep the head, young fella.”
“Don’t count on it,” I muttered under my breath as I pushed through the crowd, not stopping until I was on the dance floor with my arm wrapped around her waist.
“Joe!” Molloy smiled up at me as her arms came around my neck. “I thought you said you don’t dance?” Reaching up on her high-heeled tippy-toes, she pressed a red-lipstick kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Tonight’s an exception.” Glowering at the prick from school who was gingerly backing away from my girl, I pulled her body flush against mine. “Happy eighteenth, Molloy.”
Beaming up at me, she let her hands wander to my chest as she rocked and thrust her hips against mine, grinding herself against me to the rhythm of the music. Fuck me, I needed a lot more than a vodka and Red Bull to handle this girl.
“I absolutely don’t love you, Joey Lynch,” she breathed, fist knotting in my shirt as she tugged my face down to hers. “And I always won’t.”