Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

THAT WAS A LOT EASIER THAN EXPECTED

JOHNNY

Tara Lynch was pure gold.

I know it might sound like I'm a lovesick fool saying it, but it's the truth. From the moment we met, I knew she was something special. She had looked like an angel, standing there in a white satin dress that hugged her curves just right, with a smirk on her crimson lips that promised anything but good intentions. The way the light hit her, it looked like she was glowing. But there was something else, something from within her that drew me in.

What was she hiding behind those blonde locks and those captivating meadow-green eyes that seemed to see straight through me?

I still get chills when I think about it.

It only took one night for me to become utterly obsessed with her.

Obsessed with how breathtakingly beautiful she was.

Obsessed with the way she looked at me, like I was the only person in the room.

Obsessed with how her touch ignited my skin.

Obsessed with how those tempting red lips looked, begging to be kissed.

Obsessed with the sultry, husky sound of her voice.

Obsessed with how perfectly her body fit against mine, like we were made for each other.

Obsessed with the way my heart raced whenever she was near.

Obsessed with the fact that she didn't even know my name.

I started to think I was sick in the head, because my only obsession before her had been rugby, not girls. But she wasn't just any girl; she was my girl. I just hadn't realized it yet.

When your life is dominated by crack-of-dawn training sessions, coaches barking orders, physios ensuring your body is in peak condition, and nutritionists dictating every meal, focusing on anything else is impossible.

And then, suddenly, there she was.

She was the kind of woman who could command a room with a single glance. Good God, she was so goddamn beautiful it almost hurt to look at her sometimes. Her flirtatious nature drew men in like moths to a flame. She knew the power she had over people and wasn't shy about using it. With a flutter of her eyelashes, a teasing smile, or a subtle touch, she could have anyone at her feet, ready to do her bidding.

Tara Lynch was some woman for one woman

Oh, and there's one more thing: my girlfriend oozed sex appeal. She always had, but since we'd started sneaking around, I noticed it even more. There was always some guy trying to catch her eye wherever we went. How did I know? Simple. I followed her. Not always, mind you—I'm not some creepy stalker. But sometimes in the mornings, I'd sit in my car, hidden, watching her get her coffee while chatting with her on the phone.

There was this barista kid I'd clocked early on. He'd always check her out, drawing hearts on her coffee cups, slipping her extra cookies, and tossing compliments her way like, "For the prettiest girl in the place." He'd chuckle at his own shite jokes, and my girl, out of politeness, would give that laugh—fake laugh—the kind that says, "I don't give a shite what you're saying, but I'm laughing so you don't feel even more miserable." The eejit behind the counter, I didn't know his name, didn't care to, but he didn't stand a chance with my girl.

The little shite still hadn't copped on, even after he'd seen us snogging, Tara sitting on my lap at one of the tables. For the love of Christ, the lad had seen us together, but he was still making eyes at her.

Tara found it amusing. "He's a kid, Jonathan. He's fifteen," she'd say. But I knew better. I'd been that age once, and I knew what it was like to have an angel in front of you, giving you even the slightest bit of attention. It felt like hitting the fucking jackpot. And if that angel's name was Tara Lynch, it was like finding a bleeding pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.