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“You do that, Gibs,” I replied wearily, condoms in hand. Heading for the front of the store, I sidestepped a woman with a litter of young children swarming her legs. “I’m sure they’ll listen.”

“I hope so,” Gibsie grumbled, falling into step alongside me.

“Hello, Jonathan,” the woman said. “Hello, Gerard.”

I swung back to face her and inwardly groaned when recognition dawned on me.

Jesus Christ, why me?

“How’s it going, miss,” I muttered, discreetly moving the box of condoms behind my back.

“Yeah, hey, Mrs. Moore,” Gibsie purred in that tone of voice he used for flirting, causing me to repress a shudder.He had a fucking thing for the older women.“You’re looking your usual lovely self.”

“Well, thank you, Gerard,” our guidance counselor replied. “Fancy meeting you two boys in the chemist on a Sunday evening.” She smiled up at us. “I presumed you’d both be running around a field somewhere with a soccer ball.”

“A rugby ball,” I correctly quietly. “And we were. We just had to—”

“We’re on a condom run,” Gibsie blurted out, much to my horror. And then he went a step further and gestured to her five small kids. “Something your husband obviously doesn’t buy very often.”

“Lad,” I hissed, mortified. “I’m sorry about him, miss,” I hurried to say, feeling my face burn. “He doesn’t have a filter.”

“I’m well aware,” Mrs. Moore replied, thankfully smiling. “Well, I’ll let you two go about your business, and I’ll see you both at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you at school.” Cringing, I grabbed the back of Gibsie’s neck, stepped around a couple of identical red-haired girls, and hauled him toward the checkout. “Come on, you fucker,” I hissed in his ear. “Before you do any more damage.”

“Oh, and boys?” Mrs. Moore called after us.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need someone to talk to…” Frowning, she gestured to the pregnancy test Gibs was still holding before continuing, “My door is always open.”

“Uh, that’s okay.” I laughed nervously and elbowed Gibsie in the ribs. “We’re good.”

“The fuck, lad?” Gibsie groaned, rubbing his side.

“Put it down,” I hissed, still smiling like a maniac at our teacher.

“Oh, we’re not pregnant,” Gibsie laughed, awareness finally dawning on him. With a carefree shrug, he tossed the test into a basket of makeup samples beside him. “Oh shit, I’m sorry—” Digging it back out, he held it out to our teacher. “Did you want it?”

Ugh.

“Jesus Christ.” Rubbing my jaw with my hand, I turned around and walked away, stalking up to the checkout with only one goal in sight: pay and get as far away from that lunatic as possible.

“Good afternoon,” the middle-aged pharmacist chirped when I dropped the condoms on the counter in front of her.

“Yeah,” I muttered, cringing when I heard Gibsie talking animatedly to Mrs. Moore from a few feet behind me. “Can I get a bag, please?”

“Are you sure you need a bag?” she asked, ringing the condoms through her till. “It’s an extra fifteen cents.”

“I’ll pay,” I ground out. “Just give me the bag, please.”

“Okie-dokie,” she replied, handing me a plastic carrier bag. “That’ll be €13.14, please.”

“Thanks.” Pulling out my wallet, I handed her a twenty and swiped up the box.

“What’s wrong?” she asked after about a minute and a half of a struggle.

“Nothing.”

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