Rory Kavanagh x Fem!oc! Second generation boys of tommen book! 'I'd kinda like it if you'd call me, cause I'm so over being lonely. I need a virtual connection, be my video obsession.' RORY KAVANAGH doesn't enjoy people all that much. Sure, he'll go to the odd party, but it distracts him from the real goal. Rugby. Carrying the weight of the world's wishes for him, Rory has no choice but to follow in his father's footsteps and take on the rugby world like no other. What happens when a leggy girl with a big smile enters his mind and he just can't seem to get her out?? OR.. CHARLOTTE IRVING puts up with a lot of bullshit daily. Having lived with her four brothers most of her life, she's grown to accept the fact that her life is a complete wild card at the best of times. With an unwavering smile on her face, she conceals her real feelings and saves the tears for her pillow. What happens when a boy with a tendency to observe gains complete focus on her??

Rory Kavanagh was fine until Maeve Gibson started dating his worst enemy. She's his best friend. She's not supposed to get under his skin like this. Now she's pulling away, and Rory can't stop watching, can't stop wanting. Something's off. Something's wrong. And he's running out of time to stop it.

Rory Kavanagh. The best rugby player Tommen has ever seen-well, besides his da, obviously. Johnny Kavanagh. The Johnny Kavanagh. Our parents are basically joint at the hip, best mates since they were kids. And naturally, me and Rory just... became mates too. That's the deal. That's what we said we'd be. Friends. Right? Friends. But like-come on. Have you seen him? His abs? That man has a six-pack like he's sculpted from marble. His hair? Brown and silky, like-like a shampoo ad or somethin'. And those eyes? The kind of blue that makes you forget your own name. I swear to God, I'm not even being dramatic. So yeah... maybe I've a teeny, tiny, miniscule crush on him. Can you blame me? No. No, you can't. I won't hear it. But I'm not saying a thing. No way. What if he just laughs? That'd kill me. So for now, I'll just pretend I don't stare at him for longer than is normal when he talks. For now, it's just friendship. Grand. ...But what if he does feel the same? *** Bethany Gibson. Jaysus. She's been my best friend since we were in playschool, like actually since nappies. She's pure chaos-loud, mad, always in trouble for something-but I wouldn't change a thing about her. Not one thing. She's class. Gorgeous too. Not just like "oh she's grand," no-proper gorgeous. Her blonde curls bounce when she laughs, and I swear it's like the sun's just following her around. Her eyes? Silver. Like not even grey-silver, like a flipping fairy or something. Every time she looks at me, I forget what I was saying. Which is not ideal when you're trying to seem normal, right? I've fancied her since I was about seven. Maybe six. But what am I supposed to do? Tell her? What if she just laughs and goes, "Ah you're gas," and then pats me on the head like I'm some lost puppy? I'd actually evaporate from shame. But then again... what if she does like me back? What if all this time I was too scared to see it?

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇,, 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 used to be naive. She grew up oblivious to her da's business, unable to name the smell that filled her house. All she knew was that he loved her. The first day of secondary school opened her twelve year old eyes, even if she wasn't aware. Her life became intertwined with older kids, exposing her to lifestyles filled with parties and secrets. 𝐑𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐊𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐡 was a rugby prodigy. He was raised with affection, warm meals and massages whenever he ached. Yet, he knew not to push too far. Overworking himself would only burn him out, taint his happiness and suck away his soul. He was naturally sporty and smart, meaning his options were endless. All he had to do was avoid the wrong path. 𝐎𝐑,, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. Constant bickering that blurred the line between hate and teasing. They existed on different sides of social lives, yet always found themselves talking to the other. Whether in chippies or deserted classrooms