I didn’t fuck around.
If a girl wanted exclusive, no strings, then I was more than happy to oblige. I didn’t enjoy the hunt or the chase that appealed to most of the lads. If a girl was expecting me to chase her then she was looking to the wrong guy. I wasn’t in the position to be boyfriend material right now. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a girlfriend; I just didn’t have time for one. I didn’t have the time for consistent dating or any of those demands.
I was too busy.
It was another reason I preferred older girls.
They weren't expecting miracles from me.
Right now, for example, I was fooling around with Bella Wilkinson from sixth year and had been since April last year.
In the beginning, I liked Bella because she didn’t breathe down my neck. At nineteen, she had a couple of years on me, she didn’t hold me to some invisible standard I couldn’t or wouldn’t meet, and afterwards, I could walk away and concentrate on rugby, while she left me to my own devices.
But after a few months, I quickly realized that it wasn’t me that Bella was interested in.
It was the bullshit that came with being with me.
It was all about status with Bella, and by the time I realized it, I was too comfortable and too lazy to do anything about it.
She wanted my dick.
That was it.
Well, my dick and my status.
Now, I stayed because she was familiar and I was lazy.
Bella had one expectation from me, one requirement that, up until a couple of months ago, I was more than capable of providing.
I hadn't been doing much of anything with Bella since before my surgery – I hadn't laid a finger on the girl since early November when it had become too painful to even contemplate it – but my point was that when it happened, it was just sex for me.
A steady release.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I acknowledged that this was an unhealthy attitude towards life and relationships with the opposite sex, and that I was probably deeply jaded, but it was hard to remain a boy when I was living in a man's world.
It also didn’t help that I was playing rugby at a level where I was surrounded by men much older than me.
Conversations that were meant for people much older than me.
Women that were meant for men much older than me.
Not girls but women.
Jesus, if my mother knew the half of the woman who'd offered themselves to me – grown ass women – she'd pull my arse out of The Academy and lock me in my room until I turned twenty-one.
In a way, my childhood was robbed from me because of my ability to play rugby.
I grew up very quickly, taking on the role of a man when I was little more than a boy; coached and pushed, pressured and championed.
I didn’t have a social life and childhood.
Instead, I had expectations and a career.
Sex was the reward I allowed myself for being, well, good.
For controlling everything else in my life.
For balancing my school and my sport with pristine control and an iron will.
I wasn’t the only one like this.
Aside from a couple of the lads with long-term girlfriends, the rest of the lads in The Academy were as bad as me.
Actually, they were worse.
I was discreet.
They weren't.
"We're not talking about me," I told Gibsie, dragging my attention back to the present, my anger growing by the second. "She's a fucking kid, too young for all you horny little pricks, and every asshole in this room needs to respect that."
"Fifteen is a kid?" Gibsie countered, looking confused. "The fuck are you talking about, Johnny?"
"Fifteen is young," I barked, frustrated. "And illegal."
"Oh." Gibsie grinned knowingly. "I see."
"You don’t see shit, Gibs," I shot back.
"Since when did you start giving a shite about what any of us do?"
"I don’t. Do whatever and whoever the hell you want," I countered heatedly. "Just not her."
He grinned widely, clearly goading me, when he teased, "Keep that talk up and I'm going to start thinking you're going soft for the girl."
"I'm not fucking around here," I countered, taking the bait.
"Relax, Johnny," Gibsie said with a sigh. "I've no intention of going near the girl."
"Good." I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
"I can't vouch for the rest of them, though," he added, gesturing his thumb behind him.
Nodding stiffly, I turned my attention to the busy changing room and stood up, bristling with agitation.
"Listen up," I barked, drawing everyone's attention to me. "That girl on the pitch earlier?"
I waited until I had my teammates’ attention and then I waited for understanding to cross their features before bursting into a rant.
"What happened to her out there today? It would be embarrassing as hell for anyone and especially for a girl. So, I don’t want to hear one word of it repeated around school or town." My voice took on a threatening hint when I said, "If it gets back to me that any of you have been talking about her…well, I don’t have to explain what will happen."
Someone snickered and I turned my glare on the culprit.
"You have two sisters, Pierce," I snapped, glaring at the red-faced hooker. "How would you feel if that happened to Marybeth or Cadence? Would you like the lads talking about her like that?"
"No, I wouldn’t." Pierce reddened further. "Sorry, Cap," he muttered. "You won't hear it back from me."
"Good man," I replied, nodding before facing the team. "You don’t bring up what happened with her clothes to anyone – not your pillow pals or friends. It's gone. Erased. Never fucking happened... and while we're on the subject, don’t talk to her," I added, on a roll now, my commands this time for entirely selfish reasons I didn’t dare think too much about. "Don’t get any notions about her. In fact, don’t look at her at all."
To be fair to them, most of the senior players on the team just nodded and went back to whatever they'd been doing before my outburst, letting me know that I was being irrational about this.
But then there was Ronan fucking McGarry and his mouth to contend this.
I didn’t like this guy – couldn’t stand him if I was being honest.
He was a loud mouthed third-year who pranced around the school like he was king of the hill.
His cocky attitude had only magnified in annoyance this year when he was brought into the senior team at school after an ACL injury had finished Bobby Reilly's season early.
McGarry was a mediocre rugby player at best, playing scrumhalf for the school this season, and a goddamn pain in my arse to cover on the pitch.
He was only on the team in the first place because his mother was the coach's sister. It certainly wasn’t for his talent.
It gave me great pleasure taking him down a peg or ten at any given opportunity.
"Why?" he taunted from the safety of the opposite end of the changing room. "Are you laying claim?" The blond little fucker, encouraged by a couple of his benchwarmer buddies, continued, "Is she yours now or something, Kavanagh?"
"Well she's certainly not yours, Prickface," I shot back without hesitation. "Not that I was including you in that statement." Sniffing, I looked him up and down slowly with feigned displeasure before adding, "Yeah, you're not an issue for me."
Several of the lads erupted into howls of laughter at McGarry's expense.
"Fuck you," he spat.
"Ouch," I feigned hurt then grinned across the room at him. "That hurt so much."
"She's in my class," he tossed out.
"Good for you." I clapped, not liking this new information one bit, but burying my annoyance with a heavy dollop sarcasm. "Do you want a medal or a trophy for that?"
Turning my attention back to my team, I added, "She's young, lads, too young for any of you. So stay the fuck away."
"Not for me," the little prick piped up. "She's the same age as me."
"No. It's not a matter of age for you," I countered evenly. "She's just too good for you."