Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

WANDERING HANDS AND ANGEL EYES

APRIL 2ND 2004

JOHNNY

"Wait!" I shot my hand out, desperately trying to stop her from leaving, but my fingers only brushed the air as she slipped away, disappearing into the crowd.

Slightly disappointed, I turned back to the table where Gibs, Hughie, and Patrick were watching me with amused, expectant expressions. My best friend, Gibs, shifted over in the booth, making room for me to slide in beside him.

"We've seen you get pretty handsy with the girl, Cap," Gibsie said with a knowing smile. "She's certainly an upgrade from Bitch Bella. And that dress, lad... she's definitely earned the Gerard Gibson stamp of approval."

"Can't blame you, Johnny lad," Hughie chimed in, a smirk playing on his lips. "The girl was very sexy."

I raised an eyebrow at him, silently questioning his remark. Don't you have a girlfriend, Biggs? I wanted to call him out but decided against it, keeping my thoughts to myself.

"Whatever," I muttered, taking a long sip of my beer, the cold liquid doing little to cool the frustration simmering inside me.

I didn't want to come to Biddie's from the start. This was all the fault of the bleeding eejit I had the misfortune to call my best friend. Gibsie had insisted that all I did was sleep, eat, train, and repeat, claiming I hardly ever went out with the lads to hang out anymore.

His words made me feel guilty. Gibsie, Feely, and Hughie were my childhood friends and teammates on the rugby field. So, ignoring the warnings in my head that going out with Gibsie and the lads for a few pints was a bad idea and outside of my structured life, I decided to join them.

My life was centered around rugby. From the moment I had enough strength in my hands to pick up a rugby ball, my dream had been to get noticed by the Academy and play for the Irish National Team. I had put my body, mind, and soul into training to be the best.

My childhood and teenage years had not been that of a normal fella my age. Coaches, physios, nutritionists, and trainers—that was what my 16 years of life had consisted of. I had sacrificed a lot to get to where I was now. No distractions, no girlfriends, no parties—nothing that would hurt my image in front of the Academy.

If I wanted to become a professional rugby player, I needed to stay on the right side of the tracks.

And then it happened. Or more specifically, she happened.

I had been sitting between Feely and Gibsie, ignoring the party going on around me. My phone kept buzzing with messages: Coach Mulcahy reminding me that he wanted to discuss something important tomorrow, Mam asking if I was having fun, and Bella wondering when we could meet again. Between that and the persistent pain in my adductor, I could barely think straight.

Gibsie seemed to be talking to a girl over the pounding music, but I didn't bother to look up. My best friend was a party animal through and through—outgoing and always cracking jokes, which made him more attractive and open to conversation with the girls. That didn't mean I didn't have my fair share of girls after me, but a lot of them approached me because I was Johnny Kavanagh the rugby player, not just me—just Johnny.

"Cap," I felt Gibsie nudge me, breaking through my thoughts, "she's talking to you."

I looked up, confused, and bloody fucking hell, in front of me was a vision—an absolute angel. My mind went completely blank, and all I could do was stare at her like a bleeding eejit. She was dressed in a short white satin dress that clung to her curves perfectly and a smirk promised anything but good intentions.