Slipping Through My Fingers | John B Little Sister

Chapter 5

John B had just had the best day of his life.

For fucks sake, talk about having it all. 

Adventure, mystery, a classic 80's makeover montage, not to mention it was all curtesy of the girl of his dreams. Dreams John B hadn't even realized he'd dreamt of before yesterday. But now?

John B was fairly certain he would be dreaming about his day with Sarah-fricking-Cameron until the day he died.

Why wouldn't he? She was something else. 

Gorgeous, daring, wicked smart and fucking hilarious. 

And her smile? God, how could a girl with a smile like hers and trust fund the size of Texas not only spare a guy like him the time of day but sponsor his 'Geek to Chic' transformation, grant him invaluable intel on his treasure hunt, and kiss him in the rain like some kind of 90's lead from a trashy romcom.

Needless to say, despite the lurking suspicion that Sarah Cameron had sugar mamma-ed the shit out of him, John B had a stupid lovestruck skip in his step all the way to Mr. Sunn's classroom. 

And as he left the classroom, with the translation locked safely in his Fort-Knox of brain, the skip in his step had graduated to a leap.

The treasure was on the island. 

After all the shit he and his family had to go through for and because of this gold, John B couldn't help but feel that God owed them a big fucking cheque, and now the big guy was finally cashing it in. 

Everything was coming up John-fucking-B.

Is what he was thinking before he accidently kicked a dead chicken in the head out the back of the Chateau.

"Fuck. You've got to be shittin- gross," John B swore as he stumbled back from the bird, scrambling to wipe as much of the blood off the whites of his converse on the grass as he went.

He had approximately half a second to realize that chicken was a Routledge chicken, and that Lu would never leave the coop open during fox season before he was crash tackled against the back wall of the shed.

"What the-" 

A familiar sweaty hand was forced over John B's mouth.

"Shh-" A familiar voice hissed. "Shut the fuck up bro."

Knocking JJ's hand off his face John B took in his best friends rough appearance. 

"What are you doing bro?" John B asked. 

What happened to you?

Is what he really wanted to ask as he gaze locked on a scabbed over cut beneath the blonde's eye. But he already knew the answer. Trouble. There never any other answer when it came to JJ.

John B had been gone a day. One day. And a day was all it took for boy like JJ to get his ass beat, bleed out a bit and get the fuck over it. He fought like a Pogue, and he always seemed to forget that he could die like one too. 

JJ's sweaty hand on the back of his neck tore John B's gaze away from his bruises and forced him to stagger a couple of steps and crouch down in a clearing. 

"See that?" JJ said in a whisper, pointing through the opening towards an unfamiliar sleek black car. "They're watching us, okay?"

"Who?" John B breathed out, his mind reeling back to the burly men who tore up the Chateau. 

"I don't know," JJ offered unhelpfully squeezing the flesh on the back of John B's neck sharply to keep him in focus, "Let's go sneak round the dock an-"