Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

DODGING BULLETS AND BREAKING HEARTS

TARA

Sleeping with Jonathan had been a mistake.

A colossal, earth-fucking-shattering mistake.

The biggest mistake I'd made to date.

Why?

Because every time I closed my eyes, I could feel the imprint of his hands on my body. Every inch of my skin seemed to smolder, igniting with a relentless, all-consuming heat that flared up every time I dared to recall the way his hands had traced over me. It was as if his touch had left a permanent mark, searing itself into my flesh, branding me with the memory of that night. I couldn't escape it, couldn't forget how completely he had consumed me in those few short hours.

One night.

One bed.

One boy.

That was all it had taken for the monster inside me to fall silent. Not even Teddy Lynch could intrude on the overwhelming sense of peace that had settled over me that night.

Jonathan Kavanagh Jr. had done in one night what I hadn't been able to do in eighteen years—he had tamed the monster within me in a way I never thought possible. Simply by existing, by being near me, he had managed to lull the violent part of my soul that had always been restless, always hungry.

And that was bad.

So fucking bad.

Why?

Because Jonathan was the kind of temptation that could ruin me.

 A sinful, irresistible temptation standing 6'5", sculpted like a Greek god, with a wild mop of dark brown hair that begged to have fingers run through it. His eyes—God, those eyes—were a deep, mesmerizing blue, like the ocean under a starry night sky. They were the kind of eyes that seemed to hold a thousand promises, each one more enticing than the last, pulling me in even when I knew I should stay away.

A temptation like him deserves a sin like you

And now, he had touched me. 

His hands had traced over my skin and now, every fiber of my being craved his touch, refusing to be satisfied by any other hands but his. It was like he had claimed me, and nothing else would ever satisfy the need he had awakened within me, leaving me feeling so fucking guilty that it hurt.

Because Jonathan wasn't just any boy—he was the boy my Shannon had her heart set on.

I could still remember the last Friday in February like it was yesterday. Tommen College had played their rivals, Kilbeg Prep, on the school grounds for the School Boys Shiel, and the excitement had been palpable around our house. Shannon had been practically buzzing with excitement, waking me up at the crack of dawn, already dressed in a borrowed jersey. She had asked me to paint a #13 on her cheek—the number Jonathan wore on the field— with a grin so wide, it was impossible to refuse.

As her older sister, I had obliged, teasing her about not doing anything I wouldn't do and reminding her to text me and Joey when she would be home. I watched her leave that morning, her face glowing with anticipation, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of protectiveness. She was so full of life, so eager to support the boy she admired.

The next day, she joined me at the Academy, running a few laps by my side as she breathlessly recounted every detail of the game.Her eyes sparkled with joy when she told me how she and Jonathan had taken a picture together for the paper. She was so proud of that picture, talking about how she was going to save it as a keepsake, something to show off when Jonathan became famous, proof that she had been his number one fan from the very beginning.