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SMILING FRIENDS AND SNEAKY GIRLFRIENDS

Hugh

OCTOBER 17, 2003

“W HO PUT THAT SMILE ON YOUR FACE? ” I ASKED F EELY WHEN HE JOINED ME AT THE bus stop after school on Friday. “Lad.” I laughed when I took in his flushed expression. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing, Hughie,” he replied, attempting to conceal his blush by rubbing his jaw. “I got out of last class later than expected.” He shrugged dismissively. “I’m flushed from the run.”

“You’re flushed from a girl,” I challenged with a laugh. “Who is she?”

“No one, because there’s no girl,” he said quickly—too quickly.

“Come on,” I teased, elbowing his side. “Out with it.”

“All right, fine!” Pushing a hand through his dark hair, he looked anywhere but me before saying, “There might be a girl.”

“Hah.” I laughed. “And who might this girl be?”

“Just someone I met in the school music club.”

“Oh really.” I grinned. “Do I know her?”

“Don’t think so,” he replied. “She’s new.”

“And does this girl have a name?”

“She does,” he replied slowly. “But it’s early days, and I don’t want to say more until I know more.” He blew out a breath. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, lad,” I replied, clapping his shoulder. “It does.”

“But, ah, if I happen to know more by the time your birthday rolls around, do you think it would be all right if I, ah…” His words broke off and he shifted in discomfort.

“You can bring anyone you want, lad,” I filled in, taking pity on my friend because I knew this wasn’t easy for him.

Feely’s communication skills had always been lukewarm at best. From as far back as I could remember, he’d never been one to express himself or demand attention from people. It wasn’t that he was particularly shy or lacking in confidence. He just seemed to withdraw socially. He played his cards close to his chest and was almost as allergic as Johnny was to the thought of being tied down.

While Feely had more than his fair share of random hookups, he never introduced a girl to us. When we were younger, I used to think it had something to do with his childhood crush on Liz, but once he leveled up in secondary school, I realized that he was just emotionally closed off. So this mystery girl had to have a special something about her to pluck one of Feely’s highly guarded heartstrings.

The school bus rolled up a moment later and we took our usual seats. I didn’t have to wait long for my bus buddy to arrive because she came barreling onto the bus a moment later, dragged behind my rambunctious sister.

“Sorry, we’re late, sir,” Claire told Micky, our elderly bus driver. “There was a boy.” Heaving out a huge breath, my sister blocked the traffic to talk to the driver. “His name is Jamie Kelleher.” She pointed to her chest. “And he asked me out, sir. Me !”

“Claire, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me sir?” Mickey replied. “I’m a driver, not a teacher, love.” He chuckled before adding, “Off you go now, that’s a good girl.”

“Okay, sir,” my sister chirped, thankfully releasing her grip on my girlfriend’s hand when she moved for her seat. “Uh, I mean Mickey, sir.”

“She ate a bag of Skittles in double maths,” Liz explained, when she reached our seats and hitched her skirt up to clamber over my lap. “Which is the equivalent of hooking her up to an electricity pole.”

“Sounds like you’re going to have an eventful sleepover in her room tonight,” I mused, gaze shamelessly moving to the up-close and X-rated view of her thighs.

“Who said anything about me sleeping in her room,” she teased.

I opened my mouth to flirt back, but my words got stuck in my throat and my entire frame stiffened.

Goddammit to hell!

“Expect a late-night visitor in your bed,” Liz purred, flopping down on the window seat.

Jaw clenched, I forced myself to nod.

Because here was not the place for what I had to say to her.