“He’s thirty eight… or nine. I’m not actually sure, to be honest,” I reply dryly.
“Either one is still old.”
I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I was spying on him and I saw him take my photo off the fridge. Then he put his hands down his boxer shorts and played with himself.”
Emerson’s eyes widen, and her mouth falls open.
“Then he took the photo and went upstairs to his bedroom.”
“f**k off.”
“I’ve still got it.” I giggle, and we clink our glasses together.
We smile at each other as we sip our drinks. This is so much fun.
“Oh my God, tell me about Mark?”
She twists her lips. “He’s okay, I suppose.”
I wince. “Just okay?”
“He’s a bit of a d**k, to be honest.” She thinks on it for a moment. “I’ve met a few d***s this week, come to think of it.”
For some reason I get the giggles and hold my
