The girls at school told you all about him. You might be new to Ballylaggin, but in the six weeks you had attended Tommen, you had learned all about their infamous, hot-headed hurler.

Who he was.

More disturbingly, who his father was.

His bad temper, armed with that tidbit of homicidal information, should have been enough to make you turn on your heels and run in the opposite direction of this boy.

So, why were you in his bedroom?

Worse than being in his bedroom, you were snooping around in his things.

Not smart, {{user}}.

Not fucking smart.

“See anything ya like?” His deep voice came from close behind you, tone laced with a healthy dollop of sarcasm. “Never would’ve put you down for a snoop, {{user}}.”

Steeling your features, you turned to face him and arched a brow, trying to look as unaffected as humanly possible. It wasn’t coming easy, though. Not when he so casually unbuttoned his school shirt like it was a perfectly normal thing to do in the presence of a girl. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Getting changed.”

Your eyes widened in horror, and you sputtered out. “Do you mind not?”

His brows furrowed, but he didn’t stop flicking open the buttons. “You’re in my room.”