Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

AIRPLANES AND SHOOTING STARS

JOHNNY

Today was the day.

Today was the final game of the tour, and after that, I'd finally be going home—to her. That was the only thought anchoring me as I sat on the bus with the team, trying to focus. The past two months had been like a fucking dream come true, a whirlwind of matches and victories that had brought me closer than ever to my goal. But it had also made me realize how much I missed home, missed the people who'd been by my side every step of the way, and just how much I needed them. I owed them everything, and today I was more determined than ever to make them proud.

The hum of the bus engine mixed with the nervous energy of the team, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I reached for my iPod in my sports bag, thinking maybe I'd put on some tunes to settle my nerves—but I hesitated. No, I was holding out, hoping my girlfriend would text or call before the game started. Jesus, I missed her. After today, I'd be back in Ballylaggin, back with the lad, Mum, the Lynches. Then there'd be packing for the next round of competitions. Da was already hyped for it, but even more so, he was excited to cheer Tara on in her own competitions, which, until she'd reminded me on one of our calls, I'd nearly forgotten were just around the corner.

Just then, my phone rang, and a smile tugged at my lips the second I saw her name flash on the screen.

"Took you long enough," she teased, her familiar voice smooth and warm as honey.

"Hi, baby," I replied, my gaze wandering out the bus window at the blur of city streets and crowds.

"Hi, Jonathan," she replied, and I could hear the low hum of background noise, probably Biddie's, where she and the lads were likely gathering. "How are you?"

"A bit nervous," I admitted, running a hand over my knee, bouncing it restlessly. "Finals, baby. Fucking finals."

"And you're gonna smash it," she assured me, her confidence flowing through me like a bolt of warmth. I could picture her face, that private little smile she only gave me. "Just grab the ball and run like your arse is on fire."

"It's not that easy, baby."

"Oh, okay," she teased, voice low and sultry. "Then picture me waiting at the try line, wearing your jersey. That should get ya running."

Jesus, that was one hell of a motivator. A shiver ran down my spine at the image, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, grinning like an eejit.

"Just the jersey?" I murmured, smirking. "Or something else along with it?"

"Whatever you fancy," she answered, her voice dipping. "Use your imagination."

My mind was already running wild. "Then, I'm definitely picturing you in that lacy green set I got you," I muttered, my voice just above a whisper, the lads' voices fading around me.

"Very patriotic of you, Jonathan," she laughed, her own tone cheeky.

"It's also the colour of your eyes," I added. "Beautiful shade of green."

"Sure it is. We both know you like green because of your rugby obsession."

"Hey now," I protested, "I like you in any colour, baby. I'm not picky."

"Oh yeah? Could've fooled me," she snorted. "Every colour's a bit temporary for you—you're dead quick to tear them off."

"I just like you better naked," I said, shrugging, unable to keep the smirk from my face.

"You're lucky I love you, or I'd have your head for wrecking my knickers every time."

"If the means of execution is my head between your legs, kissing and licking you, with my fingers in you—well, I'll die a happy man."