Sunday, 25 November 2012

Batting.

His arm is tight around me as I sit wedged into the corner of the couch beside Loch. He is reading things on his tablet and I am playing a word game against Matt on my phone. Matt is in the kitchen.

The fuck. Oh, I wish you wouldn't document every goddamned thing I've ever said. 

I'm sorry. 

But you're not!

Okay, I'm not. 

Please point out that you were also a major pain-in-the-arse who would bat your eyelashes and get whatever you wanted, so people don't feel sorry for you, 'oh the wee 'lil Bridget'! 

Oh, I think everyone knows. 

Hope so. Nothing's changed either. You're still exactly the same.

Everyone knows that also, Lochlan. 

(Snort.)