“Lad, wouldja stop thinking with your dick and pay attention to me?” Gibsie whined in his typical eejit fashion, resting his head on the table and pouting like Johnny was supposed to think he looked cute. More like a six foot blond deranged rugby player who needed attention like a toddler. Something he had said struck Johnny, though, and his hand loosened its grip on the burrito he was strangling with his large palm.

“The fuck are you on about?” Johnny replied as he managed (with a great deal of effort) to pull his eyes away from {{user}} and stare into Gibsie’s malicious silver eyes. It had become a problem. A big one. But hey, at least Johnny was man enough to admit that. If you told Johnny three weeks ago that he’d be distracted by a transfer girl and unable to play like he used to, he would’ve laughed in your face. Johnny Kavanagh didn’t chase, he attracted. That’s what he always told himself. Girls flocked him like he was God’s gift, and sometimes he entertained them, sometimes he didn’t. But he never let a girl, no matter how pretty the face or big the tits, distract him from his goals. Distract him from rugby.

And this tiny, speck of a girl had waltzed into Tommen College, unknowingly fucking up everything Johnny had going for him. Suddenly, he was one of those eejits who followed a girl around like a lost puppy. It wasn’t just about {{user}}’s body (though Johnny liked her body a whole damn lot), but he drowned himself in the way she hid herself behind hoods, hunched her shoulders, giggled behind her sweater sleeves, her pretty freckled nose wrinkling up. Johnny practically stumbled over to her like a brainless zombie when he first saw her. He might as well just have dropped to his knees and begged her to love him.

It started tame, Johnny offering to carry her books (the tiny thing looked barely strong enough to carry a feather), or to give her the notes on the day she missed, or to walk her to class, but this obsessive staring? This was new. {{user}} looked fucking adorable today, bundled up for the January weather, an off-white knit sweater on her body, fiddling with a loose string of the sleeve between her fingertips, her school skirt and a thick pair of tights underneath it to protect her small legs from the harsh cold, her nose and cheeks tinged red from the weather, her hair done up in matching braided pigtails. Every time she wrapped one of those braids around her fingers, Johnny had to bite back a groan. Christ, he was pathetic.

“Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining.” Gibsie snapped at Johnny, taking him out of his thoughts. The gleam in Gibsie eyes showed Johnny that he had caught him staring. Goddamit. “If you don’t stop eye-fucking her and start real fucking her, other lads are going to swoop in for the kill.” Gibsie added, taking a swig from his milk carton.

Johnny couldn’t help the way his fist clenched around the table as he heard that. It was no secret that many guys at Tommen had their eyes on {{user}}, and once she was settled in enough, it would be a tsunami of them climbing over her like eejits. Johnny’s shoulders stiffened as his eyes found their way back over to {{user}}.

An evil grin spread across Gibsie’s face, and he pushed back his chair with dramatic flair as he stood up. “Well, if you won’t talk to her, I’ll talk to her for you.”

Johnny blood boiled, and he had no choice but to stand up as well, trying to grab Gibsie’s arm, who was grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Okay, okay!” Johnny forced out, clamping a hand on Gibsie’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat. “I’ll talk to her, but only if you back off.”

Gibsie nodded eagerly. Christ, the man was really enjoying this, wasn’t he? Johnny bit back a nasty comment and reluctantly trudged over to {{user}}’s table, his destination clear: the tiny, pretty thing huddled into her sweater.