October 31, 2001 Slut Drops and Alcopops
OCTOBER 31, 2001
Slut Drops and Alcopops
AOIFE
The pavilion was packed to the rafters on Halloween night, with people grinding and sweating all over each other in their hunt for a good time, and I was no exception.
Throwing shapes to Flip & Fill’s “Shake Ya Shimmy” in my fancy new shoes—courtesy of Daddy dearest—with my best friend by my side, I let loose and threw myself into the moment.
With our costumes coordinating, Casey was the slutty devil to my equally slutty angel. With her horns and my halo, we made quite the pair on the dance floor, enjoying the attention we were receiving from the lads in our year almost as much as the music.
“Cop on, Aoife,” an angry voice growled in my ear as a big body pressed up against me from behind and a pair of big hands clamped down on my hips. “Everyone is looking at you.”
“So?”
“That’s the point,” Casey said, laughing.
“So, I don’t like it,” Paul snapped. “You’re with me, which means you’re mine to look at, not every fella in this place. Enough of the fucking peep show.”
“One, you don’t own me,” I slurred, grinding my body against his. “Two, I’m only dancing.”
“Yeah, like a slut.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m serious,” he shouted. “Do you want everyone to think that I’m going out with a slut?”
“Oh my god.” I shook my head angrily and swung around to glare up at him. “You did not just say that to me.”
“My whole fucking team is looking at ya,” he argued, cheeks reddening. “It’s embarrassing for me having my girlfriend shaking her ass like that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Paul.”
“No, babe, wait—”
Shrugging out of his hold, I grabbed Casey’s hand and sexy danced toward her, ignoring the killjoy behind me.
“What’s his problem?” Casey shouted over the music, gesturing to where Paul was scowling behind me.
“Apparently, I’m embarrassing him.”
Narrowing her eyes, she sucked on her middle finger before using it to flip him off. “Asshole.”
DJ Alligator Project’s “The Whistle Song” blasted all around us then, drawing every teenager within a ten-mile radius onto the dance floor.
“Screw him,” Casey ordered, dragging me deeper into the crowd. “Let’s just have a girls’ night.”
“Excellent plan.”
Drunk off the good time—and the vodka flushing through our veins—we ground against each other, shaking our asses like we were contesting for the role of the next member of Destiny’s Child.
Spying one of the lads from our class, who was dressed as the funniest Marilyn Monroe I’d ever seen in my life, throwing shapes in the middle of the dance floor, we quickly closed in on him.
“Angel legs! Devil tits!” Alec cheered, throwing his arms over our shoulders when we reached him.
Off his head on drink, drugs, and mischief, he performed a wicked bump-and-grind along to the unofficial blow-job song, not giving two shits how ridiculous he looked in his cheap, knockoff relic of the Seven Year Itch white dress and a fake blond wig, with his hairy legs on full display.
“I can’t cope with him,” Casey half laughed, half slurred, gesturing to the big eejit grinding his ass against us. “I can’t tell if I want to slap him or kiss him.”
“Both,” I choked out through fits of laugher, as Al ripped the top half of his dress off in dramatic fashion and pinched his own nipples, eyes rolling in equally dramatic fashion.
“Cover those tits up, Marilyn.” Casey laughed, reaching up to cover our classmate’s nipples with her small hands.
Not missing a beat, Alec’s hands shot out to cup Casey’s barely concealed breasts.
“Are you seriously touching my tits?”
“You’re touching mine,” Alec shot back, waggling his brows at her. “Seems like a fair trade to me.”
“You have some pair on you, boy.”
“I was about to pay you the same compliment.”
“This is the part where they neck on,” a familiar voice shouted over the music, and I turned to find an amused Podge. “Told ya.” Winking, he pointed back to where Casey and Alec were now mauling the lips off each other. “So predictable.”
Laughing, I shimmied over to one of my favorite lads from our year and held my hand out to him. “Help a loner out, will ya, Podge?”
“The things I do for friends.” He chuckled, taking my hand and pulling me in for a dance. “Don’t be getting any notions now, ya hear?”
“I’ll try my best.” Grinning, I wrapped my arm around his neck and danced along to the music. “So, where’s your friend tonight?”
“Which friend would that be, Aoife?” he teased, knowing full well who I was referring to.
I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”
“Lynchy’s in here somewhere.”
“So, he actually knows how to dance?”
“I don’t know about dancing, but he definitely knows how to get a naggin of vodka past the bouncers.”
“Aoife!” Ripping me clean out of Podge’s arms, my boyfriend clamped his hand around my arm and roughly pulled me back to him. “Come here for a sec—”
“Hey,” I snapped, yanking my arm free as I turned around to glare at him. “That hurt.” I reached up to rub my arm. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” he protested with a roll of his eyes. “Come outside with me.” He reached for my arm again. “I want to talk to you.”
“No.” Yanking my arm free once more, I glared up at him. “You called me a slut.”
“I didn’t mean that the way it came out.” Pulling me into a hug, he leaned down and planted a kiss on my lips. “Come on, babe, it was a slip of the tongue. Don’t fall out with me over it.”
“You said that I look like a slut,” I hissed, shoving at his chest in order to escape his hold.
“Look at you,” he shouted back at me, losing his cool. “You’re practically wearing underwear and rubbing yourself against another fella!”
“Hey,” Podge warned, coming to my defense.
“Stay out of this, Podge.”
“Don’t grab her like that, lad.”
“It’s okay, Podge, I’m grand,” I told him before turning my glare back on Paul. “This is a Halloween costume, and Podge is my friend. I’m allowed to have friends, Paul.”
“It’s too revealing,” he argued. “I can see the cheeks of your ass under that thing you call a dress. It makes you look like a whore. You’re better than that.”
“Whore?” Drunk and furious, I shoved at his chest. “You prick.”
“Aoife—”
“I was dancing with my friend, enjoying myself. I wasn’t do anything wrong, and you insulted me.” I glared at him. “Twice. That’s a hard fucking limit for me, Paul.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been drinking.”
“And?”
“And I’m not comfortable with it.”
“With what exactly?” I demanded, voice slurring. “Me drinking or dancing?”
Paul opened his mouth to reply but I quickly cut him off.
“You know what? Don’t answer that. Don’t even speak to me. In fact, why don’t you consider yourself relieved of boyfriend duties for the night. At least that way you won’t feel embarrassed by me.”
“Don’t do this, Aoife,” he warned, snatching my hand up. “Not here. Not like this.”
“You started this, Paul.” Snatching my hand back, I wagged a finger in his face. “You called me a slut, remember? And a whore.” Shaking my head, I backed up a step or two, bumping up against a hard chest. “Whoops.”
“How are ya, Aoife?” Mack, one of the lads from my class, asked, offering me a friendly smile. “You’re looking well.”
“Hey, Mack.” I smiled back at him before returning to glower at my boyfriend. “You’re going to eat your words, asshole.”
With that, I turned back to dance with my smiling classmate, who was only too happy to dance with me.
“Yeah, girl,” Casey hooted in support as she and Alec danced over to us. “You show that prick who’s boss.”
“Jesus Christ,” Paul growled, grabbing ahold of my arm and roughly yanking me back toward him. “You’re a messy fucking drunk.”
“And you’re just plain messy,” I snapped. “Now leave me alone before you ruin my whole night.”
“Let her go, Ricey, lad,” Mack said in a concerned tone. “She was only dancing with me. We’re friends, lad. No harm done.”
“Yeah, prick,” Alec interjected, with Casey’s red lipstick smeared all over his face. “I wouldn’t put hands on her, if I were you.”
“She’s making a fucking show of herself,” Paul insisted before dragging me away from our friends. “I’d call that a lot of harm done.”
“Hey,” Casey called out after us. “Let go of her arm, Paul!”
“No,” he bit out as he began to make his way through the crowd, dragging me along after him. “You’re going to sober up and we’re going to talk about this.”
“I don’t want to talk,” I complained, digging my heels into the floor. “I want to dance.”
“And make an even bigger show of me?” He shook his head and continued to drag me toward the exit. “Yeah, that’s not happening, babe.”
“Stop,” I argued, trying and failing to break free from his hold. “You’re squashing my wings, my halo! Stop, I’ve dropped my halo on the floor.”
One minute I was pulling with all of my might to break away from Paul’s hold, and the next I was on my hands and knees on the floor, having lost my balance when he abruptly let go of my arm.
“My halo!” I half slurred, half cheered, reaching out a hand to retrieve it. “You bastard,” I wailed, when someone’s big foot stomped down on it, cracking the plastic in half. “You broke my halo!”
“Put your hands on her like that again and see what’ll happen,” a familiar voice threatened as the owner of said voice hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me to my feet. “She’s not a fucking rag doll, asshole.”
Bleary-eyed, I let my gaze wander up to the owner of said voice and beamed when his familiar green eyes landed on mine. “Well, hey there, Joe!”
“Molloy,” he acknowledged in his usual deep timbre. “Causing trouble again?”
“Always.” Grinning wolfishly, I hooked an arm around his neck for balance, feeling my pulse skyrocket at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking out for you, apparently,” Joey muttered, keeping one strong arm hooked around me.
“She’s mine, dickhead, back off,” Paul growled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll look after her.”
Joey cocked a brow. “Looks like you were doing a real stellar job at that.”
“She’s drunk. She’s a handful when she’s like this.”
“So, that’s your excuse for almost pulling her arm out of its socket?”
“Someone broke my halo, Joe,” I wailed, waving a broken piece around aimlessly in front of his face. “I’m a fallen angel now.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a shrug. “No one likes a saint, Molloy.”
“Aoife, come on.”
“So, what are you dressed as?” I asked, batting a random hand away as my gaze trailed over the fitted white shirt and blue jeans Joey had on. “Let me guess,” I teased, reaching up to fluff his perfectly styled hair and then letting my hand move to the silver chain hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. “You’re a fallen angel, too.”
“Come on, Aoife,” Paul interrupted, catching ahold of my waist and pulling me roughly to his chest. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“No,” I growled, huffing out a breath. “I don’t want to go with you. I want to stay and dance with Casey.”
“Now, Aoife!”
“It doesn’t look like she wants to go anywhere with you,” Joey interjected coolly, stepping in front of us when Paul tried to cart me toward the exit.
“I don’t,” I agreed, nodding vigorously as I slipped out of his hold. “I want to stay.”
“Stay out of it, Lynchy,” Paul warned, reaching for my arm again. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours. I’ll look after her.”
“Then why don’t you start by asking her what she wants?” Joey countered, taking a protective step in front of me. “Not fucking telling her.” Piercing green eyes locked on mine when he turned back to me and asked, “Molloy, do you want to leave with him?”
“No,” I replied and then hiccupped loudly. “He called me a slut.”
“You called her a slut?”
“I did not call her a slut,” Paul quickly defended himself. “I told her that she was dancing like one.”
“Same thing,” I shot back, leaning heavily against my protector’s tall frame. “I’m not dealing with you tonight, so just go away and leave me alone.”
“Aoife.”
“No, stop. I’m not going with you, Paul.”
“You’re drunk and that prick is off his head on god knows what,” Paul snarled. “If you think I’m leaving you alone with him, then you’re out of your mind.”
“I’m not leaving with you,” I shouted, losing my patience. “I’m mad at you, remember?”
“So, what?” he demanded. “You’d rather stay here?” His disgusted gaze flicked to Joey. “With him ?”
“Why not?” I slurred, patting Joey’s stubbly cheek with my hand. “He’s my friend.”
“Your friend ?” Paul scoffed. “He’s not your friend, Aoife. He’s a fucking druggie who’s only out for a good time. I’m your friend. I’m the one who cares about you. I’m your boyfriend . You’re mine, dammit!”
“I’m not your property, Paul,” I screamed over the sound of Mickey Modelle’s dance version of “I’ll Tell Me Ma” as it blasted from the DJ booth.
His eyes bulged, and he looked like he was about to lose his mind.
“Yes, you fucking are. Now let’s go,” he roared, losing his cool with me. “Because there’s no way in hell that I’m allowing you to stay here with him.”
“ Allowing me?” I hissed, outraged. “You don’t get to allow me to do anything, Paul. Who the hell do you think you are? I’m my own person. I make the rules for me.”
“Fine,” he said. “We can talk about all of it and more outside.” He reached for me again, but this time it was the boy I was leaning against who batted Paul’s hand away—and not gently, either.
“You heard her,” Joey warned in a dangerously cold tone, reaching up to pry my hand off his cheek. How it had gotten there, I had no clue. “Walk away.”
“Oh, you’re just loving this, aren’t you?” Paul narrowed his eyes.
“You must have a serious death wish, prick face,” Joey replied as he took a menacing step toward Paul. “Walk the fuck away before you restart something that I’ll be only too happy to finish.”
“Try it,” Paul snarled back. “You remember who my father is, don’t you?”
“Threatening me with your daddy the Gard?” Joey threw his head back and laughed. “Like I give a fuck.”
“He’s a lot higher up the pecking order than just a Gard,” Paul hissed. “You’d do well to remember that the next time you think about crossing me, Lynchy.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I mumbled, shaking my head as I squeezed my body between them, feeling the heat emanating from both boys as I pressed a hand to each of their chests. “Don’t even think about starting a fight in here.”
“Who’s trying to cause a fight here, Aoife?” Paul huffed at me, tone accusing. “Because from where I’m standing, all I’m trying to do is take my drunk girlfriend home. You’re the one making a scene and draped all over the school’s scumbag like he’s your savior. Classy, Aoife, real fucking classy.”
Running a hand through his hair, Paul glowered at Joey. “If you think that you’ve one-upped me tonight, Lynchy, you’re wrong. Because this right here…” He paused to wave a hand between us, sneering. “Doesn’t count. She’s not thinking clearly, and if you have a shred of anything decent about you, then you won’t take advantage of the situation.”
“Hey.” Joey held his hands up and smiled darkly. “All I’m doing is being a good friend to my favorite friend .”
“She’s not your anything.”
“Uh, yes, I am.”
“Hear that, Ricey?” Joey replied, with a shit-eating grin etched on his face. “Your girl here is my anything.”
“Hey,” I snapped, glaring up at Joey. “Not cool.”
He shrugged in response, unapologetic.
“And this is what you want to stay with instead of letting me take you home?” Paul demanded, giving me a look of such disgust that it made me wither. “A year and a half, Aoife. A year and a fucking half, and you pick that piece of shit over me?”
“No, Paul, I’m not picking him over you, I’m picking me over you,” I snapped in a shaky tone as I shook my head and staggered away from the both of them. “This is over, Paul. Congratulations, you’re a free agent. We’re done.”
“Aoife!” Paul called after me, but I didn’t turn back.
Screw him.
Screw them both.
Shoving my way through the mob, I tried to retrace my steps back to Casey, regretting my decision to come tonight almost as much as I regretted the alcohol running through my veins.
My phone was vibrating next to me.
Narrowing my eyes, I glared down at my phone and quickly pressed End when Paul’s name lit up the screen. He could go to voicemail, along with the other dozen unanswered calls he’d made, not to mention the seven unread texts.
Thoroughly depressed, I sat on the bonnet of a random car outside of the pavilion with a bag of chips balanced on my thighs as my fishnet-stocking-clad legs dangled loosely. Frozen to the bone, but too drunk to truly appreciate how cold the night air was, I muttered angrily to myself as I chomped on my vinegar-coated chips like a lunatic.
I was so fucking mad that I could taste it on my tongue, and I swung my legs so furiously that one of my heels slipped off.
“Fuck,” I slurred, staring down despondently at my shiny white stiletto when it landed in a puddle of muddy rainwater on the ground. “Well, now you can just stay there, you traitorous slut,” I hissed, glaring down at the knockoff leather. “That’s right. I said it. This is all your fault.”
“Well, if it isn’t the angel with dirty wings,” a familiar voice drawled, and I groaned loudly.
Great.
That’s just great.
Twisting my head, my bleary-eyed gaze locked on none other than Joey Lynch, phone in hand as he swaggered toward me.
“Fighting with your shadow again, Molloy?”
“I’ll fight you,” I grumbled, reaching behind me to check that my wings were still intact. “My wings are fine, asshole.”
“Got a spare chip?”
“Nope, not for you,” I growled, stuffing a fistful of chips into my mouth in a very unladylike way. “They’re all mine.”
“What are you doing out here on your own?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, jackass? I’m clearly sulking,” I huffed, voice still slightly slurred from the alcohol in my belly. “What are you doing?”
Shrugging, he slid his phone into his jeans pocket. “Waiting for a friend.”
“Oh, so you have friends?” I rolled my eyes. “I thought you were opposed to the idea.”
With an amused expression etched on his sickeningly good-looking face, Joey strolled over to where I was sitting. “Ah, that’s not entirely true.” Winking, he reached into my bag and swiped a chip. “I’m only opposed to you, Molloy.”
That small act of theft caused an unreasonable surge of violence to grow inside of me.
“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 chips 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 out, 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 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 judgment 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 judgment’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 cologne. “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 regretful 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 rib cage 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 hooded eyes. “Shall 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 asked.
“Yeah, there’s a difference,” he replied. “Do you want it?”
“I want it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Third difference,” he whispered, 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 hairsbreadth from mine. “Me neither.”
He’s going to kiss you.
Oh my god, Aoife, 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 ?
As Puddle of Mudd’s “Control” blasted from the car stereo, I watched as a souped-up black Honda Civic came tearing up the road toward us, spitting gravel from the speed with 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—N o, Joey, don’t go with him!” I choked out, 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.”
“Listen, Molloy, about us…” he began, and then paused like he was thinking carefully about what words needed to come next. His entire focus was on our joined hands as his thumb gently brushed over my knuckles.
“About us?” I croaked out, shivering from the feel of his thumb tracing my skin.
“You’re my friend,” he finally settled on.
“You’re finally admitting it without needing to be coerced?”
Nodding, he forced a small, humorless laugh. “Only took a few years, right?”
“Only a couple.”
“Yeah.” Clearing his throat, he looked behind him to where the car was waiting and then back to me. “I like you.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “Another admission.”
“The hardest one yet.”
“I bet.”
“I know what you want us to be,” he added, tone gruff. “But that can’t happen.”
“Joe—”
“No, listen to me,” he urged, giving my hand a small squeeze. “I can be your friend, okay? I can do that. But you need to know that I’ve got some bad genes running through my system. Some seriously fucked-up DNA.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Joe.”
He bent down and retrieved the shoe I’d lost earlier.“Nice shoes,” he said in a soft voice, putting it back on my foot. “You were right. They were worth hounding your father for.”
“See?” I forced a smile when I felt like crying. “Told you.”
“I’m not a good friend for you,” he added quietly, still crouching with his hand on my foot. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“You’re better at it than you think.”
“I need my job, Molloy.”
And there it was.
Finally.
“So, you’re finally admitting it?” I heard myself whisper. “You blew me off because of my dad?”
“And because you can do better than me.” Releasing my foot, he slowly stood up. “But you can do better than him, too.”
“Joe.”
“Lynchy!” one of the lads called out, swinging the back door of the car open. “Let’s go, lad.”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” he called over his shoulder, causing a surge of panic to rack through me.
“Listen, we can just chat,” I hurried to say. “Hang out, whatever. As friends. Friends is fine. Just please don’t go with him, Joey.”
Releasing a pained breath, he leaned in close and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I could go a fair bit crazy over you, Molloy.” His lips brushed against my brow as he said, “Stay out of my head now, ya hear?”
“Don’t, Joey,” I called after him, voice thick with reckless emotion, watching his back as he walked away from me. “Don’t go with them.”
He turned back, his green eyes flicked to mine, and it was clear that the shutters had been firmly clamped shut, blocking me and the rest of the world out. “I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy.”