Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3
Saving 6: Part 1 – Chapter 3

FEBRUARY 14TH 2000

AOIFE

OKAY, so inviting a boy who wasn’t my recently acquired boyfriend into my house on Valentine’s night might not have been my brightest idea, but in my defense, sharing a box of coco pops with Joey Lynch wasn’t exactly the crime of the century.

It was a harmless, platonic, random act of kindness/show of gratitude to the boy who had walked me home in the dark.

See, I could be chivalrous, too.

“Pull up a chair,” I instructed, as I strode into the kitchen ahead of him. “I’ll grab the bowls.”

Looking wary and mistrustful, my classmate shuffled towards the kitchen table and slowly pulled out a chair. “I mean it, Molloy. This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I drawled, humored by his pathetic attempt to shield himself from my irresistible charm. “Whatever you say, Joey Lynch.”

Setting to work, I grabbed bowls, spoons, milk from the fridge, and a box of cereal from the cupboard before setting them down on the table in front of him. “Dig in.”

He didn’t move an inch.

“Tea?” I offered then.

Joey looked at me like I had grown an extra head. “Tea?”

“Tea,” I confirmed, fighting back at smile at his discomfort. “It’s something us regular folk drink from time to time.”

“I know what tea is,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And no, I’m, uh, I’m not thirsty.”

Realizing that he had no intention of touching anything on the table until I joined him, even though he hadn’t stopped eyeing the cereal box since I placed it in front of him, I set the kettle down and moved for the table, taking the seat opposite his.

“Seriously, Joe,” I encouraged, pouring two bowls of chocolatey goodness, and then filling both bowls to the top with milk. “Tuck in.”

With a deep frown set on his face, he steered the overflowing bowl towards him, and reached for a spoon. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied around a spoonful of cereal, feeling a swell of something strange in the pit of my stomach, as I watched him wolf down his bowl of cereal like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Mam’s out with a few of the girls tonight, and I don’t cook, so it’s the best I can come up with.”

“You don’t cook?”

“No, do you?”

Joey shrugged. “A bit.”

My brows shot up. “What can you cook?”

Another shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends?” I pressed, as I reached across the table and refilled his empty bowl. “On what?”

“Thanks,” he replied, dutifully waiting for me to remove the box before his wolfing resumed. “It depends on what’s in the cupboard.”

“Well, I know you’re good at home economics,” I decided to add, having sat in a classroom with him for the past few months. “The dishes you prepare are always the teacher’s favorite.”

“Only because it’s edible,” he snorted, keeping his head bowed as he ate. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“With your mam?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued by this boy, as I rested my elbow on the table and watched him. “Did she do a lot of cooking with you growing up?”

“Something like that,” he replied, reaching for the cereal box. “Do, ah, do you mind if I…”

“Go for it.”

“So, where’s your brother?”

“Knowing Kev, he’s probably inhaling the books in his room.”

“He’s a fair bit of a brainbox, isn’t he?”

“Just a tad,” I reluctantly conceded, grimacing when I thought about my twin and his superior academic brilliance. “He’s my mother’s golden boy.”

“Hm.” Joey nodded in understanding. “I know that feeling.”

“What?” I teased. “You’re telling me that you’re not the pet at home?”

He arched a brow. “More like the pest.”

I laughed. “I don’t believe that for a second, mister hotshot hurler.”

He smirked. “You’d be surprised, Molloy.”

“So, how many siblings do you have?”

“Four,” he muttered before quickly correcting himself and saying, “three.”

“Four, three?” I laughed. “Which is it?”

“I had four, I have three,” he replied in a flat tone.

“Oh my god,” I croaked out, feeling a pang of sympathy hit me. “Did one of your siblings pass away?”

“He’s still breathing,” Joey deadpanned. “But he’s dead to me.”

Well crap…

“Okay,” I replied, watching him warily. “Tell me about the others.”

Joey shrugged. “Two brothers, one sister.”

“How old?”

“Ten, six, and almost four.”

“You’re the eldest?”

“I am now.”

Okay…

“What’s it like having younger siblings?” I heard myself ask. “It’s only me and Kev here.”

“It’s exhausting.”

“I can imagine.”

He looked up at me through hooded lashes. “You have no idea.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

He gave me a hard look. “You don’t pick favorites, Molloy.”

“Bullshit,” I laughed. “Everyone has a favorite. That doesn’t mean that you love any of them more or less than the other. It only means that you’re more compatible with one and prefer their company.”

He thought about it for a long moment before mumbling, “I suppose I’m closest to Shannon.”

“Your sister?”

He nodded.

“Is she the one who’s ten?”

Another nod. “She’ll be eleven next month.”

“She’s the next one in line after you, right?”

Another nod.

“So, the dead brother must be the oldest?”

He glared at me. “Don’t push it.”

“Oh, don’t get all cranky with me.”

“Stop asking so many questions and I won’t.”

“Fine.” I smiled sweetly back at him, knowing that a person caught more flies with honey, and said, “You have nice eyes.”

“Nice eyes.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching for the cereal box, I refilled his bowl and then added some more to mine. “You said stop asking questions, so I’m paying you a compliment instead.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Why, though?”

“Because it’s nice to be nice, Joey.”

“You are a really weird fucking girl,” he grumbled, looking thrown off kilter, before begrudgingly adding, “With nice legs.”

I grinned back at him. “Thank you.”

He eyed me mistrustingly. “You’re welcome.”

“What about the rest of your family?”

“What about them?”

“Who are you closest to?”

“Myself.”

“Oh come on.” I rolled my eyes. “You can’t say yourself.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Well, do you have a secret rich aunt, or some cool cousin you love hanging out with at family functions?”

“No.”

“Come on, Joe.” I smiled. “Humor me. There has to be someone.”

He stared at me for a long time before releasing a breath. “I have a great-grandfather.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded warily.

“What’s his name?”

“Anthony.”

“Same as my dad.” I beamed. “Is he your mother’s father or your–“

“My mother’s.”

“And is he nice?”

Another slow nod. “I, ah, don’t see him much anymore, but I spent a lot of time with him growing up.”

“Why don’t you see him much anymore?”

“Shit happened in the family.” He shrugged. “And I got busy with work and school and hurling.”

This was the longest I had managed to get Joey Lynch to stay and talk to me since we met at the start of the school year, and I was willing to do just about anything to keep him in my kitchen – and keep him talking.

To say that I felt drawn to him would be a major understatement.

I felt it that very first day of first year – that epic wave of familiarity, lust, and comradery – when our eyes locked, and I felt it now.

There was something about this boy that I found impossible to ignore, and I knew he felt it, too.

Joey could deny it until the cows came home, and throw up all the walls he wanted, but he wasn’t fooling me with his blasé bullshit indifference.

The arctic reception I received from him on the second day of first year – and every day since – had nothing to do with him not liking me and everything to do with the fact that he worked with my father and didn’t want to piss him off.

As the school year unfolded, I had watched as Joey made his way through the girls at school like they were going out of fashion.

Danielle Long.

Amy O Donovan.

Samantha McGuinness.

Laura Callaghan.

Denise Scully.

Nicole O Leary.

Saoirse Dooley.

Neasa McCarthy.

Neasa Murphy.

The list went on and on – and it didn’t include me.

He never once flirted or made a pass at me after that first day, and it pissed me the hell off.

In no way was I one of those self-absorbed or conceited teenage girls, but I had enough confidence and wherewithal to know that I was a damn good catch.

Annoyed at myself for wasting almost six months of my life waiting around for Joey to get his shit together and ask me out, I’d accepted our fellow classmate’s offer.

Once again, I found myself annoyed, but this time, my anger was projected towards my shitty sense of judgment.

I had never been short of offers from the lads since starting at BCS but had agreed to go out with Paul because he was comfortable to be around and a relatively safe bet.

Joey was thinner than Paul – he was taller, too. He had muscle, that I could vouch for, having seem him shirtless many times after PE, but he was seriously lean.

Like a runner.

Or someone hungry…

But I knew with Paul I wouldn’t get my heart broken.

And while my heart certainly wasn’t broken, my pride was definitely wounded.

Knowing that his friends knew what we got up to, knowing that Joey knew, only made the humiliation that much harder to swallow.

“You look pissed,” Joey noted, watching me from across the table with those sharp green eyes.

“I am.”

“I can leave.”

“No, it’s not you,” I replied. “I’m pissed with Paul for talking about me.”

“Oh.” Setting his spoon in his empty bowl, Joey leaned back in his chair and gave me a hard look. “Well, if it’s any consolation, he won’t be talking about you again.”

“Because you set him straight, right?” I joked.

Joey didn’t laugh.

“Oh my god.” Awareness crashed down on me. “You set him straight, didn’t you?” I whispered, feeling my heartrate spike, as I thought back to their fight the other day. “That’s why you hit him, isn’t it?”

“Someone had to.”

“And that someone was you, right?”

He shrugged.

My heart leapt. “Joe…”

“Thanks for the food, Molloy.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I should be going.”

“No.” Disappointment soared to life inside of me. “You don’t have to go yet.”

“Yeah, I do.” Grabbing his bowl and spoon, he walked over to my sink and quickly rinsed them both off before setting them on the draining board.

Meticulous, he walked back to the table with a dishcloth in hand and wiped down where he had eaten. Tossing the cloth in the sink once he was finished tidying up, he moved for the front door. “Again; thanks for the food.”

“No problem,” I replied, holding the door open for him.

He pulled his hood up, concealing his face, and stepped into the night. “I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy.”

“Yeah, Joey Lynch.” I blew out a shaky breath. “You will.”