“Jesus Christ—fuck, Ma!”

“Don’t ye use that language in my house, Patrick Gallagher!” Peg scolded as she tried to flick Patrick in the head again.

“Fine!” He stood from the table. “Let’s go.”

“To play basketball?” I still didn’t understand. He was the least likely person I could see playing the game. I mean, he had a silver chain clipped to a belt loop on his pants that hung in an arc to the wallet in his back pocket… a chain, for God’s sake.

“Kevie goin’ to be there?” Peg asked as she took our bowls to the sink.

“Yeah, should be.” He was still freaking looking at me.

“Go, then,” she said to me with a smile. “Get out of here for a bit, yeah?”

Chapter 6

Amy

The neighborhood had an outside basketball court that I’d never noticed before. It was only four blocks away, but it wasn’t on my route to school so it wasn’t surprising that I hadn’t seen it. I barely left the house unless I was going to the grocery store or school. God, that was pathetic.

When we got there, I was surprised to see just one guy waiting for us, dribbling a basketball between his hands. He was shorter than Patrick, but not by much, and he had blonde hair that was cut conservatively short. He was dressed for the game in track pants and a grey t-shirt, and when he saw us coming, his face lit up in a bright smile.

“Trick!” he yelled happily, walking quickly toward Patrick and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. I heard their murmuring, but couldn’t make out what they were saying as I followed slowly behind Patrick, and by the time I’d caught up to them, they’d turn to face me, one of Patrick’s slung around the other guy’s shoulders.

“Dis is Amy,” Patrick introduced, “Amy—Kevie. Stay away from him, he’s a total arsehole.”

“Ye cretin,” Kevie replied, shoving Patrick away. “Hello, Amy. It’s nice to meet ye.”

He held out his hand to shake, but before I could lift my own, Patrick was knocking Kevie’s down. “None o’dat.”

We looked at him like he’d lost his mind, but Patrick’s face was implacable.

“I cannot shake her hand?” Kevie asked dubiously, his eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead.

“Ye’ll not touch her.”

I knew my mouth was hanging open. I knew it, and I couldn’t seem to close it as Patrick reached for my arm and pulled me to his side.

“Patrick—” Kevie was trying not to laugh, but he couldn’t hide the smile causing his cheeks to twitch.

“Save it.” Patrick ordered before turning to me. “Sit over here, yeah?” he asked, his voice gentling. I followed him for a moment, before turning my head back to Kevie.

“It’s nice to meet you, too!” I called out, then stumbled as Patrick jerked me forward and spun me to face him.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his face dipping down to mine until they were almost touching.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I shouldn’t have brought ye here,” he mumbled, his eyes sweeping over my face.

“Then I’ll go back! God, why do I keep giving you chances to not be a dick?” I tried to pull away, but his hand came up and tangled in my hair.

“I don’t want him lookin’ at ye, I don’t want him touchin’ ye. I shouldn’t have brought ye. I should have left ye wit’ me mum.”

“Is he bad? He seems nice.” I rose to my toes to try and see clean-cut Kevie over Patrick’s shoulder.

“Keep yer eyes on me.”

“You’re being an idiot. What the hell?” I reached up to try and untangle his fingers from my hair. I wanted to leave. The whole situation was just weird. He was acting like I was stripping or something, like that Kevie guy was going to lay me on the cracked asphalt and have his wicked— oh, shit. He was jealous.

“You’re jealous?” I asked incredulously. “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“I’m not fuckin’ jealous!”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, you are.” I snorted.

“Yer such a pain in me arse! And don’t snort, it makes ye sound like a pig.”

“I bet Kevie would like if I snorted,” I answered snottily, “Hey Kev—”

His hand slid out of my hair and covered my mouth before I could finish my sentence. I could hear Kevie laughing like we were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Shut yer trap!” Patrick yelled back to him.

“God, why de fuck do I give a shite what yer doin’?” he asked under his breath. He looked so confused that I felt a little sorry for him. “Just sit dere, alright? I’ll come get ye when I’m done.”

His hand slipped away from my face and down my neck as I swallowed hard.

“I’m supposed to just sit here?”

“Ye can watch.”

“Oh, joy.”

“Can ye just shut de fuck up for two seconds?”

“Probably not.”

“Yer—argh!”

He stomped away, pushing Kevie hard when he reached him and stealing the basketball out of his hands.

I was surprised at how fluidly they moved when they started the game. They weren’t playing for points, and as long as Kevie didn’t glance in my direction, they didn’t play aggressively, either. It was more choreographed than that. They moved around each other like they’d done it a million times before, blocking and dribbling and shooting the ball through a hoop with an old chain net.