Binding 13: Boys of Tommen #1
Binding 13: Chapter 8

Saturday was my favorite day of the week for a whole host of reasons.

First: it was the first day of the weekend and the furthest from Monday.

Second: there was no school.

Third and most importantly: it was GAA day.

Joey, Ollie, and Tadhg were always out of the house for most of the day on Saturday with training and matches.

Thankfully, that meant my father was out, too, participating in activities not pertaining to alcohol consumption.

What made this particular Saturday better than most was the fact that not only was my father out of the house all day with the boys, but he was heading to his friend’s stag party in Waterford tonight.

It was with this knowledge, and Mam’s permission, that I agreed to go over to Claire’s house on Saturday afternoon to hang out with both her and Lizzie.

I had all of my chores completed by three o clock – which consisted of cleaning the house from top to bottom, putting on half a dozen loads of laundry, and cooking the dinner.

And although I had almost had a heart attack when her brother Hughie rolled up outside my house with his girlfriend to pick me up, I had managed to compose myself enough to climb into the back of his car and accept the lift to their house.

All evening we had stuffed our faces with junk food, watched re-runs of One Tree Hill, and gossiped about absolute nonsense.

It was the best Saturday I’d had in years.

By seven o clock, I was bloated and strewn on Claire’s bed, suffering from a sugar overload, and listening to Lizzie drone on about how much she despised Pierce.

“I don’t know what I ever saw in him,” she grumbled for the hundredth time. “But whatever it was, it wasn’t worth giving him my v-card.”

“Shut the front door!” Claire squealed, jumping up from her perch on my legs to gape at Lizzie. “You had sex with Pierce?”

“You’re not a virgin, Lizzie?” My mouth fell open. “But you’re only sixteen.”

“Don’t look at me all judgy,” she grumbled. “Just because you’ve never seen a dick.”

“I haven’t,” Claire offered, holding her hand up. “Not even the tip.”

“Neither have I,” I fully admitted, shaking my head. “I’ve never even kissed a boy.”

“That’s just sad, Shan,” Lizzie retorted.

I flamed beetroot red.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Claire quipped. “Tell us about it.”

Lizzie shrugged. “What’s to tell?”

“When did it happen?” I asked.

“Thursday.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Claire squeaked. “Oh my god, Liz, we were in school with you all day Friday and you never once mentioned anything!”

Lizzie shrugged but didn’t respond.

Claire and I both eye-balled each other before Claire asked, “Where did it happen?”

“In his car.”

“Ugh,” we both groaned in sympathy.

No girl wanted her first time to happen in the backseat of a car.

“Where?”

“The GAA grounds.”

“Ugh,” we chorused again.

“Yeah,” Lizzie deadpanned. “And word to the wise, girls, don’t give it up.” Settling back on a pillow, Lizzie rested her back against the headboard and picked up her magazine before adding, “It hurts, it’s disappointing, there’s blood, and the boy turns into a complete spanner afterwards.”

“He broke up with you?” I gasped.

“I’ll kick his ass,” Claire hissed.

“No,” Lizzie responded. “But he’s been acting all standoffish since.”

“What a fucker,” Claire growled.

“Yep,” Lizzie agreed.

“Did it hurt really bad?” I asked, curious.

“Like a burning hot poker being rammed in your cooch,” she replied.

Claire and I winced in sympathy.

“Are you okay?” I asked, feeling a deep surge of sympathy for my friend. Lizzie was hard as nails and rarely showed an ounce of emotion, but this was a big deal for any girl.

“I’m always okay, Shan,” was her clipped response.

“See, that is exactly why nothing is going inside my area,” Claire declared with a shudder, flopping back down and resting her head on my legs “I think I’d die if I saw a penis coming towards me.”

“Claire,” I chuckled. “Stop.”

“She’s serious,” Lizzie informed me. “She’s afraid of the D.”

“It’s true,” Claire stated without an ounce of embarrassment. “I’ve only kissed one boy – Jamie Kelleher. We were going out for six weeks in second year, and when he tried to push my hand down the front of his jeans at the school disco, I screamed at him.”

“You didn’t,” I gasped.

“Oh, she did,” Lizzie replied. “At the top of her lungs. Caused a right scene at the disco.”

“I panicked,” Claire defended, grinning sheepishly. “I didn’t want to touch his penis.”

“What happened?”

“He called me a frigit bitch and broke up with me right there on the dancefloor in front of the entire school,” she replied.

“What a creep,” I spat.

“It’s okay,” Lizzie interjected. “Claire got her own back on him, didn’t you?”

“Not intentionally,” she objected.

“Oh, come off it.” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “You knew exactly what he would do when you went crying to him.

“Who?” I asked. “What did you do?”

Lizzie smirked. “She went ru

nning to her shadow.”

I arched a brow. “Who?”

“Gibsie,” Lizzie filled in.

“Oh my god.” My eyes lit up. “What did he do?”

“What do you think he did?” Lizzie shot back. “He jumped in to defend her honor.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did,” Claire chirped gleefully.

“He broke Jamie’s nose,” Lizzie added.

Claire sighed happily. “It was epic.”

“You could’ve come to me,” Lizzie said. “I would’ve gladly kneed that eejit in the balls on your behalf –”

Claire’s bedroom door burst inwards then, startling all three of us.

“Oh my god,” Claire shrieked, tossing a pillow at the tall, blond boy who had invaded her privacy.

“I have a problem!” Gibsie announced, catching the pillow mid-air.

“Gerard!” Claire hissed, glaring. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“There’s no time,” he replied. “I need your help, babe.”

“I’m not your babe,” Claire grumbled and tossed another pillow at him. “What if I had been naked in here?”

“Then I would die a happy man,” he retorted as the second pillow smacked against his chest. “It’s the cat.”

She frowned. “Brian?”

“You named your cat Brian?” I chuckled.

“He’s not my cat,” Gibsie replied. “I don’t even like cats.”

I frowned. “Then whose is he?”

“My Mam’s,” Gibsie replied. “He’s her pride and joy.” He turned back to Claire and said, “He’s had an episode.”

“Another one?” Scrambling off her bed, she adjusted her pajama shorts and padded towards him. “Where?”

“Uh…” Shrugging sheepishly, Gibsie gestured to the door.

“He’s in my house?” Claire squealed.

“Why is your cat in her house?” Lizzie asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Gibsie replied. “I took him for a walk.”

“You took your cat for a walk?” Lizzie shook her head. “Boy needs institutionalizing.”

“It’s not that strange,” he huffed defensively. “I live across the street.”

“Did you put a leash on him?”

“Obviously.” Gibsie looked at her like it was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “How else was I supposed to walk him over here?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Then I stand by my previous statement.”

“Wow, you’re a barrel of laughs, aren’t ya?” Gibsie shot back sarcastically. “Pierce is a lucky lad.”

Lizzie responded by flipping him off.

“Focus,” Claire snapped, clicking her fingers in Gibsie’s face. “Where is he now?”

“He’s in your bathroom.” Grimacing, he added, “He’s had an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Claire growled.

He shrugged sheepishly. “The explosive diarrhea kind?”

“Gerard!” Claire screamed, slapping his huge bicep. “I told you not to bring him over here after the last time.”

“I was worried,” he groaned, rubbing his arm. “I’m sorry. But you have to help me.”

“Ask Hughie to help you,” she growled, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m tired of rescuing you.”

“I can’t,” he groaned. “He’s dropping Katie home and picking up the lads before we go out.”

“So why are you still here?” Lizzie quipped, as she flicked through a magazine.

“Hey,” I admonished quietly, poking her rib. “Don’t be mean.”

“Ugh!” Claire growled as she stomped out of the room with Gibsie hot on her heels.

“That boy is an idiot,” Lizzie muttered, not looking up from her page. “Our friend is in love with a class-A idiot.”

“He’s not that bad,” I replied and then quickly backpedaled. “Hold on – you think Claire’s in love with Gibsie?”

Now Lizzie looked at me.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “What girl in her right mind puts up with years of flirting and tormenting if she doesn’t have serious feelings for him?”

“Gerard!” Claire screamed at the top of her lungs, distracting us both. “Your cat is shitting in my bathtub!”

“I know,” Gibsie groaned loudly. “It smells so bad, and he won’t stop.”

“I have to see this,” I snickered, scrambling off the bed. “Are you coming?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Nope. I’ve seen more than enough of their antics to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.”

Shaking my head, I hurried out of the bedroom and across the landing, reaching the bathroom doorway to see a huge, and I mean seriously huge, snow white Persian cat balancing on the edge of the Biggs family bathtub.

Standing in the doorway, I watched their strange interaction with my hand clasped over my mouth, partially because of the smell, but mostly because it was so funny.

“Brian!” Gibsie was roaring. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He turned on the water and grabbed the shower head. “God, that’s the worst fucking thing I’ve ever smelled in my life.”

“Yeah, I know, Gerard,” Claire hissed, covering her nose and mouth with her hand while using the other to pour bleach into the tub. “I can smell it too, you know.”

“He did this on purpose,” he told her, tone accusing. “Because I put him out of my room last night. He’s punishing me.”

“He’s glaring at you,” she told him.

“I know.” Gibsie shuddered. “Just pick him up and put him in the utility room.”

“He’s glaring at me now,” Claire squeaked, scrambling away from the cat.

“He’s trying to intimidate you, babe,” Gibsie coaxed. “Don’t look him in the eyes.”

“Christ, he’s scarier than Mr. Mulcahy,” Claire groaned, shrinking behind Gibsie’s huge frame.

“Just come up from behind him and scoop him up,” he instructed as he held the shower hose in front of them like a weapon. “Keep his paws away from you –hold him away from your body and run.”

“I am not picking him up, Gerard,” Claire hissed, eyes wide. “He looks like he’s two seconds away from murdering me.”

“I’ll protect you,” he vowed valiantly.

“You’re afraid of him!”

“Fine, hold this,” he grumbled, passing my friend the hose. “I’ll put the fucker out.”

“Do you think we should hose him down?” Claire asked. “He’s got poo all over his fur.”

“Fuck no,” Gibsie exclaimed. “Last time I tried to clean his ass, he maimed me.”

I laughed out loud.

“It’s not fucking funny, Shannon,” Gibsie grumbled, surprising me by remembering my name. “I had to get a tetanus shot because of him.”

“I’m sorry,” I snickered, clamping a hand over my mouth. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” I chuckled. “More at the situation.” Studying the furry feline, I added, “He looks like the cat from Inspector Gadget.”

“Yeah, well he’s certainly evil enough,” Gibsie replied. “Some nights I wake up and he’s on my bed, standing over me with those evil little eyes.” He shook his head. “They should have never neutered him. He’s been in a homicidal mood ever since. Would have been an easier life to let the poor bastard keep his balls.”

“Go on, Gerard,” Claire coaxed, shoving Gibsie towards the tub. “You can do this. I have every faith in you.”

“Ah fuck, okay! Okay!” With his arms stretched out, Gibsie prowled towards the cat. “Here kitty kitty,” he coaxed, reaching over the tub to pick him out. “Good pussy… that’s right… I love pussies…I do… I won’t hurt you– ahhhhh!”

Brian snarled and wacked a paw at Gibsie, who, in turn, screamed like a girl and dove behind Claire.

“Bad fucking pussy,” he choked out, dragging Claire away from the flailing cat who was hissing and spitting at them both. “Did he get me?” he demanded, thrusting his hand in her face. “I feel like he got me.”

“I don’t know,” Claire screeched, pushing them both into the corner of the bathroom. “But I really hate your cat,” she squeezed out, huddling under his arm.

“Let me help,” I offered, stepping into the danger zone.

Smothering my laughter, I swiped a towel off the hand rail and approached with caution.

“Don’t do it, Shannon,” Gibsie warned as he and Claire clung to each other, cowering from the cat. “He’s a bastard with violent tendencies

.”

“That’s not true,” I coaxed, crouching down in front of the bathtub, eyes locked on the stunning, albeit lethal, cat. “You’re not a bastard, are you, Brian?” I asked as I reached out and stroked Brian’s head.

Surprisingly, he let me stroke him without fuss.

“Meow,” he croaked out, hackles retracting.

“It’s okay,” I soothed, stroking him in a gentle pattern. “You’re okay.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gibsie breathed. “Your girl here is like the pussy whisperer.”

“Shannon,” Claire squeaked. “Please be careful. He’s vicious. He can turn on you in an instant.”

“Yeah, Shannon,” Gibsie agreed. “Be fucking careful. He only lets my mother and Kav hold him. He’s seriously dangerous.”

“Shh, guys, don’t shout,” I warned when Brian’s hackles shot back up. “You two are making him nervous,” I explained. “He can sense your anxiety and it’s making him lash out.”

I sat there for several more minutes just stroking and petting his face and ears until reaching over and scooping him up.

“Good boy,” I cooed lovingly, holding him to my chest.

Thankfully, I was rewarded with a deep purring noise.

Flicking my gaze to Gibsie, I asked, “How far is your house?”

“Directly across the street,” Gibsie replied.

“Okay.” I continued to stroke Brian. “Do you want me to carry him over to your house for you?”

He nodded gratefully.

I inclined my head toward the door and said, “Lead the way.”

Gibsie scuffled out nervously, keeping a wide berth of me.

Careful not to upset the cat in my arms, I followed him out of the Biggs’ fancy house and across the street to another impressive looking three-story property.

“You’re a lifesaver, Little Shannon,” Gibsie announced when Brian was safely tucked away in his house. “Seriously.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, feeling shy now that my mission was complete and I was alone with a virtual stranger. “It was no big deal.”

“It was for me,” Gibsie chuckled as he locked the front door and slipped his key back into his jeans pocket. “I’m heading out tonight for birthday drinks and you just saved my ass from showing up covered in scratches.”

“It’s your birthday?” I asked, falling into step alongside him as we crossed the quiet cul de sac road back to Claire’s house. “Today?”

“It is indeed.” Gibsie grinned. “The big one-seven.”

“Oh, well happy seventeenth birthday,” I replied. “I hope you have a great night.”

“Ah, I’m only heading for a few quiet ones with the lads,” he explained as he walked up the garden path. “The big celebrations will happen the end of May.”

“What’s in May?”

“My best friend’s eighteenth,” he told me. Smiling knowingly, he added, “You know him, right? Johnny Kavanagh?”

“Oh.” My face turned a bright shade of red at the mention of Johnny’s name. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

“He’ll have gotten the call up by then,” Gibsie added proudly. “It’ll be a double celebration and a session and a half that night.”

The call up?

What call up?

I wanted to ask him about it, but I held my tongue, knowing that it wouldn’t do me any good.

I didn’t need to add any more Johnny obsessed thoughts into my already Johnny-filled mind.

“He’s coming out with us tonight,” Gibsie continued to ramble on, oblivious to my blushing. “Which is a fucking miracle in itself considering he never comes out with us anymore.” He opened the front door of the Biggs’ house and gestured for me to walk in first. “Hughie’s actually picking Kav and Feely up after dropping Katie home.” Glancing at the clock hanging in the kitchen, he added, “They’ll be here in a few. You should wait around down here and say hi to him.” Winking, he added, “I bet he’d love to see you.”

Was he teasing me?

I didn’t think so.

But he was definitely stirring.

I just wasn’t sure if it was for my benefit or not.

Either way, I was not staying downstairs to say hi to anyone.

“No, that’s okay,” I mumbled, feeling every ounce of blood rush to my face. “The girls are waiting for me.”

“Suit yourself, Little Shannon,” Gibsie chuckled.

“Happy birthday.” Offering him a weak wave, I turned to bolt up the staircase. “Have a nice night.”

“Will do,” he called after me.

I didn’t have to turn around to see he was grinning; I could hear it in his voice.