Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3

SEPTEMBER 1ST 2001

JOEY

I WAS BEYOND AGITATED, and the worst part was knowing that it had very little to do with the slating we had taken in the first half of our match, and everything to do with her.

My annoyance didn’t stem from the fact that Molloy had, once again, inserted herself into my life by tagging along to the pitch with me.

Nor did it come from the play-by-play she had given me on the walk over of the day trip that she had taken with Casey earlier this summer, to the Aqua Dome in Tralee.

Yeah, apparently, Molloy deemed me to be a good enough friend of hers to subject me to a detailed account of her misadventure with a rogue tampon string.

Much of the conversation had consisted of the perils of swimming pools, unexpected periods, and skimpy white bikinis, and had left me feeling slightly disturbed and eternally grateful to possess a dick.

The driving force behind my agitation was the fact, when he had arrived at the pitch, she had allowed that piece of shit boyfriend of hers to talk down to her like she was a child.

When we rocked up to the GAA grounds, Ricey had all but shit pebbles.

He didn’t want her anywhere near me. I wouldn’t have blamed him for feeling that way had he treated her even remotely good enough.

But he didn’t.

He was a sanctimonious prick, that, when he wasn’t speaking over her, was speaking down to her, or abandoning her like she was a suitcase he couldn’t fit in his car, and decided he no longer needed.

Ricey looked at Molloy and saw a pretty face and a smoking body.

And for him, that was enough.

He didn’t care to scratch the surface.

Meanwhile, I knew what she was about, and had her personality pegged to a tee.

His girlfriend was a mischievous, self-assured, free-spirited, good-time girl, with a pure heart and a penchant for trouble.

Her easy-going, playful nature meant that she didn’t take a lot of his jibes to heart, but I did.

I fucking took them to heart for her.

Watching her tolerate his less than stellar treatment of her irked the hell out of me.

It evoked feelings in my chest that had no business being there in the first place.

“Lynch!” Eddie snapped, dragging my attention away from the screen of my phone, where I was attempting to play a game of snake to calm myself down and distract myself from the very strong urge I had to lunge across the changing room and pummel Paul the prick.

“Shit,” I grumbled when his interruption caused me to die in my game, and quickly snapped my head up to look at my coach, who was pacing the changing room floor “Yeah?”

“Put the phone away,” he instructed. “You’re on my time now. You can text your girlfriend after the match.”

“Girlfriend.” I shook my head in confusion. “What girlfriend?”

“That blonde young one you’re always knocking around with,” Eddie snapped. “The one perched on top of the dugouts, driving me half mental with all the cheering. Do me a favor, lad, and leave her at home for the next match. She’s a distraction. Texting you and tormenting you when you’re trying to play. You can be doing all the loving you want with her on your own time – after you win this game for me.”

“Oh shit,” Alec laughed, pressing his fist to his mouth, as he gestured between myself and Ricey with his free hand. “He thinks she’s your—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Ricey seethed as he flung his helmet across the room at Alec, before rising to his feet and storming out of the room.

The changing room erupted with laughter.

Feeling an immediate shift in my mood, I smirked to myself, thrilled that Eddie had unintentionally riled Paul up, and finding it even more humorous that he thought she was mine.

She is yours.

“Have I missed something?” Eddie asked, looking around to each of us. “What’s the matter with Rice?”

“That smoking hot distraction you’re talking about?” Alec snickered. “Yeah, that would be Ricey’s girlfriend.” He waggled his brows before adding, “But don’t worry, Eddie, lad, I reckon Lynchy will be doing plenty of loving with her in the near future.”

“Jesus Christ, Al,” I chuckled, as the team laughed and bantered around us. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Right, right. That’s enough of that,” Eddie grumbled, looking embarrassed. “Get your holes out on that pitch and put us in the running for some silverware.”

Sore and uncomfortable, I slid my helmet back on, grabbed my hurley, and made my way out of the changing room and back onto the pitch.

“Woo! Would you look at the ass on number six!” a familiar voice called out when I slipped through the metal gate of the fencing that separated the supporters from the field and moved to join the rest of my team.

Sitting on top of our team’s dugout, inside the fencing where she had no business being, Molloy winked down at me. “Nice moves.”

“Nice legs,” I replied, feeling much more sated now than ten minutes ago.

She beamed down at me from her perch, with her long legs dangling off the edge of the steel roof. “Stay out of trouble out there, okay?”

I nodded slowly. “I’ll try my best.”

“Make sure you do,” she laughed. “Because I’ve put an awful lot of effort into saving you, six.”

A confused laugh escaped me. “What does that mean?”

Molloy winked. “It means what it means, my friend. Now, go play with your stick and ball—”

“Aoife,” Ricey snapped, stalking towards her just as the referee blew his whistle. “What the hell are you doing?”

Reluctantly, I jogged back onto the pitch and took up my position as the second half went underway.

I couldn’t concentrate for shit, though.

Not when my gaze kept drifting back to where Ricey, who had been subbed off for the second half, was arguing with Molloy.

“Run, Joey, lad!” Eddie screamed from the sidelines, when I caught a sweet ball mid-air.

Usually, I didn’t need to be told to do anything.

When I got a sliotar in my hand, I moved on instinct.

Not today, though.

Not as I watched that prick grab Molloy’s arm and drag her off the roof of the dugouts.

She fell onto her knees, and I lost it.

Abandoning the sliotar on the ground, I stalked towards them, ripping my helmet off as I moved, feeling a level of fury that was almost inhuman.

He had his hand clamped around her arm and was trying to pull her towards the gate, shouting something that I was too far away from them to hear.

“Joey!” Eddie was screaming. “What are you doing? Go back!”

“Lynchy!”

“Number six, get back on the pitch, or you’re booked.”

Ignoring them all, I kept moving, not stopping until that bastard was within reach.

Tossing my hurley aside, I caught ahold of the back of his jersey and ripped him away from her.

“What are you—” Ricey began to warn, but was quickly silenced by the fist I implanted in his jaw.

Staggering backwards, he cupped his jaw and tried to steady himself. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You,” I roared, chest heaving. “You putting your hands on her like that.”

“Jesus Christ!” Ricey roared back at me. “When are you going to get it through your head that she’s my girlfriend, asshole, not yours!”

“Don’t you ever touch her like that again, do ya hear me?”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll put you in a body bag.”

“Oh, fuck off back to the tramp whose legs you came out of, you filthy scumbag.”

“Joey, no!” Molloy screamed, hurrying to step in between us, but it was too late.

Because I had well and truly taken leave of my senses.