Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

CUPID FUCKED UP

JOHNNY

"Are you okay? You look a bit distracted."

Tara blinked, snapping out of whatever reverie she had been lost in. "I, uh, yeah," she replied, but her voice was distant, her eyes betraying the fact that her thoughts were still somewhere else entirely. She offered me a half-hearted smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

I nodded, I'd gotten used to her guarded nature, the way she kept her emotions locked up tight. We'd been seeing each other secretly for about two weeks now. Mostly after our training sessions at the Academy, when the place had emptied out, and it was just us.

After weeks of persistence, and more than a few heated snogging sessions on my part, I'd even managed to talk her into letting me tag along on her early morning ritual of going for a run. Tara was a creature of habit, and her daily runs were sacred to her. I knew it wasn't easy for her to let someone into that space, but she had, and that meant everything to me.

The runs had become our routine—hers for the exercise, mine for the excuse to be close to her. They usually ended with us grabbing a coffee from her favorite spot. I wasn't mad for the drink, to be honest, but the taste of her lips after? Jaysus, that was quickly making me a convert.

The thing was, no one could know about us – whatever this was. We hadn't put a label on it yet, and I wasn't sure if we ever would. We were definitely more than just friends; the way she looked at me, the way her body pressed against mine when we kissed, told me that much. But we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend either. It was a bit of a head-wrecker, really, and neither of us had brought it up yet. Friends with benefits? Maybe, but even that didn't feel quite right.

I didn't want to push her, didn't want to ask too many questions that might scare her off. If I did, she might call the whole thing off right then and there, and I wasn't ready for that. Not by a long shot.

So I kept my mouth shut, content to just be with her, to grab what moments we could steal away from the rest of the world. With her, I didn't have to pretend. I could be myself, injury and all. I didn't have to hide the fact that my adductor was still acting up, or that I was struggling to keep up with the lads more than I let on.

She knew.

She could see right through me.

I knew Tara wasn't exactly thrilled about me pushing my body to the limit, but with the thigh compression bands she'd given me, and the way she'd carefully check my leg and reapply the bandage after I'd showered in my locker room, I could tell she was a bit more at ease. It was in those moments I knew she cared more than she let on, and that made me feel a little better about everything.

The first day I wore the thigh compression band, I couldn't help feeling self-conscious. They were tight, almost like a second skin, and paired with my already short rugby shorts, I was worried someone might notice. I wasn't ready for questions I couldn't answer without blowing my cover. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I asked Gibsie to do me a solid and tell me if they were obvious. I didn't know much about her friend—Tara hadn't mentioned his height, weight, or what position he played. I wasn't sure if what worked for him would work for me, but I trusted her judgment.

To my delight and relief, Gibsie told me he hadn't noticed a thing. "No worries, Cap," he'd said with that carefree grin of his, "and if anyone does get suspicious, just say they're your boxers. No one's gonna bat an eyelid." That same afternoon, I made sure to show Tara just how grateful I was. The second we were alone in the car, driving her home from the Academy, I pulled her in for a long, steamy snog, the kind that left my head spinning and my heart racing. She didn't seem to mind one bit—in fact, she seemed to enjoy my thank you just as much as I enjoyed giving it.