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“Case…”
“Do you relent?”
“Fine.” Releasing a pained groan of defeat, I stopped fighting her. “I relent.”
5
How the Other Half Lives
JOEY
Spending my Saturday night inside a house that could have easily accommodated three of the one I’d grown up in, and surrounded by a bunch of people from Tommen College, was not something I had ever anticipated happening.
The closest I’d ever come to their elite school was when I walked past the big iron gates on my way to a match. Now, somehow, I found myself slap-bang in the middle of their fucked-up inner circle, watching as a bunch of privileged private-school boys got fucked up on high-grade skunk.
The captain these lads had been hell-bent on loosening up hadn’t bothered to show up tonight, but it was clear from most of their red-eyed, goofy-as-fuck expressions that all thoughts of their captain had long since dwindled.
Clearly, there was no limit to the levels that I was willing to stoop to for a couple of hundred quid.
Jesus.
The fact that my sister was supposed to start school with these people on Monday morning didn’t exactly sit well with me. Especially the big blond fucker with a penchant for dope, debauchery, and his friend’s baby sister.
“Put her down right this instant, Gerard Gibson,” Shannon’s curly-haired pal, Claire Biggs, instructed as she stood on the last step of their impressive staircase, dressed up as the blond from the Spice Girls, and pointed a finger at the big bollox attempting to waltz to the Vengaboys’ “Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!” with a pampered-looking cat. “Don’t you dare hurt my—”
“Pussy?” he offered and then made a ridiculous purring noise with his tongue. “You know that I would never hurt your pussy, Claire-Bear.”
Yeah, he was a few crayons short of a full box.
“I told you not to call me that in public,” she protested with a huff.
“And I told you not to wear that pink dress,” the big lad shot back with a wolfish grin as he set the cat down on the couch and prowled toward her. “But I’m so fucking thrilled that you didn’t listen to me.”
“Avert your eyes from my sister, fucker,” Hughie warned, appearing as if from thin air to intercept his friend before he reached the staircase. “What did I tell you about keeping your dick on the other side of the street?”
“Contrary to the many rumors going around about my magical dick, it doesn’t yet possess the ability to unattach itself from the rest of me, lad,” he shot back, brows waggling, as he bopped and rocked around in a pair of pink board shorts and a Hawaii-themed floral shirt. “So, if I’m here, my dick’s here.”
“Then go home.”
“No way.” He laughed. “This nineties party is my love child.”
“It’s not a nineties anything, Gibs. It’s just a party, so tell that asshole on the decks to play something decent.”
“No. It’s my party and he’ll play what I want him to play.”
“It’s my house.”
“It’s my playlist.”
“Then at least go home and change your clothes. You look like a tool.”
“Are you mental? Look at me. I make a beautiful Ken.”
“Beautifully deranged, more like. Nobody else is dressed up, lad.”
“My lover is.”
“Your lover? Are you well? She’s my sister, not your lover, asshole.”
