“Pack it in.” Johnny growled at Gibsie, throwing his rugby boots into his lockers and not flinching at the loud sound it produced. His idiotic and slightly demented best friend was leaned against the locker neck to Johnny, dressed in only his jocks and throwing a rugby ball between his two outstretched palms.

“I’m telling you, lad,” Gibsie kept talking, unbothered by Johnny’s withering glare that would make any other eejit shrivel into a ball. “You need to get yer’ dick wet, that’s all. You’ve been so grumpy lately. Cormac Ryan was on about someone shitting in your cereal this morning.”

Johnny had been a bit aggressive with the lads today, barking out orders and shoving shoulders. It wasn’t his fault. He was boiling with frustration, between the stress of his injury, his idiotic teammates, the fact that he hadn’t eaten in hours, and yes, he reluctantly admits to himself, he hasn’t gotten laid in a damn minute. “Well, if Ryan thinks so…” Johnny bit out sarcastically in response.

Cormac Ryan was an eejit who’s uncle was the head of the rugby department, giving him leeway into the rugby team, despite how useless he was at the sport, and certainly didn’t make up for it in personality. He was a spoiled brat, not to mention the way he spoke about girls, especially his new girlfriend, {{user}}, who was apparently the sexist girl in Ireland. Sure. Johnny would believe it when he saw it.

Right now, Johnny and Gibsie were alone in the locker room after all the other lads had trickled out, as Johnny yanked his shirt over his sweaty, broad chest and Gibsie opened his mouth to respond, both boys paused at the sound of a nearby sob. A sob that most definitely came from a girl. Gibsie and Johnny cocked eyebrows at one another and Johnny bent his head towards the source of the sound, shutting his locker with a slam.

“Locker room’s closed.” He projected gruffly in the direction of the crying, not caring for babying whatever girl had sauntered into the boy’s locker room to sob her eyes out. When no response came, Johnny stood up, his jeans unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his hips, and walked over to the showers, where he had heard the sobs, Gibsie trailing close behind.

As Johnny rounded the corner, he could not have predicted the sight he’d see. Curled up on the bench outside of the showers was a girl. But not any girl. The most beautiful girl Johnny had ever seen. She had clearly been crying, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears as she looked up at Johnny, her hair messy and disheveled, but still soft-looking and smelling like whipped vanilla. Her swollen bottom lip trembled just slightly, strands of hair falling down to cup her pretty face. She wore a crimped Tommen school uniform, a smudged eleven painted on her cheek with black paint.

Well, shite.

Eleven. Cormac Ryan’s number. This was his girl? Johnny could hardly believe it. How had that eejit managed to capture the angel sitting in front of him in his grimy little hands? Judging by the sight of her crying, though, maybe she wouldn’t be his for much longer. Johnny couldn’t help the jolt of excitement that shot up his spine at the thought of this girl being available. He didn’t feel an ounce of regret for Ryan. Johnny didn’t owe him anything.

Johnny took a heavy step forward as he turned his head and waved for Gibsie to leave, to which the eejit shrugged and pushed open the door, leaving Johnny and {{user}}, Ryan’s girl, alone together.