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“You’d be surprised how I’ve spent my Friday nights, Al,” Casey said, readjusting her woolly hat before accepting the naggin of vodka he held out for her.
“Jesus, lad, could you be any more conspicuous?” Podge demanded, gesturing to the hi-vis coat that Alec was wearing. “You’re not at your Saturday job, Al. You could have left the construction-site jacket at home.”
“Ooh, get you and your big words,” Alec grumbled, sparking up a rollie. “Fuck off, ya swot. I haven’t a notion of what you’re talking about.”
“Conspicuous,” Neasa chuckled. “It means you’re not being very discreet, Al.”
“Discreet about what?”
“About the fact that we’re not meant to be here,” Podge argued. “And you can’t be smoking in here, either. The bales are dried out, lad. One rogue flame and this place will go up like a Christmas tree.”
“Don’t mind you, Farmer fucking John with your big words and laying down the law. If I want a smoke, I’ll have one.”
“Could you be any more of a townie?”
“Better a townie than a farmer with a big culchie head up on him.”
“Hey now, there’s nothing wrong with farmers,” Casey chimed in with a wink. “Plenty of money hidden under the mattress.”
“Plenty of sheep, too.”
“Actually, we’re tillage and beef farmers.”
“So?”
“So, we fatten bullocks, asshole, not sheep.”
“Joe, I feel sick,” Molloy declared, distracting me from our friends’ antics. She thrust her half-empty can of Dutch Gold into my hand and groaned. “Seriously, my stomach is turning.”
“Well, take it handy,” I replied, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “Don’t mind what the rest of these assholes are doing.” My lips brushed against her ear as I spoke. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
She looked fucking adorable in her puffy white coat and pink bobble hat, scarf, and matching gloves, with her long blond hair braided in two plaits that reached the middle of her back. The epitome of fashion, regardless of the venue, she’d donned a light-blue tracksuit she liked to call her knockoff Juicy, whatever the fuck that meant, and a pair of black wellies.
“My stomach’s not turning from drink,” she grumbled, twisting around to look up at me. “It’s turning from having to look at those two.”
My gaze flicked to where she was pointing and a deep shudder rolled through me.
“Jesus.”
From where we were sitting, we had a perfect view of Ricey and Danielle.
“I can’t decide if he’s trying to kiss her lips or eat them,” I mused, ignoring my phone as it vibrated in my pocket.
“Both,” Molloy said, laughing. “Uh, Joe, it’s so bad, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, Molloy.”
“He has this really wide tongue,” she continued to tell me, like this was important information her current boyfriend needed to know about her ex. “Which would be a pretty great asset if the boy actually learned how to use it.” Snickering, she added, “But he’s one of those ‘three flicks of the bean and I’m done’ guys.”
“What a lovely mental image to inflict upon me,” I drawled, tone laced with sarcasm. “Ricey’s wide tongue on my girlfriend’s pussy.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Trust me, it was never a pleasurable experience.”
“Do you want me to puke?” I accused. “Because I’ll puke, Molloy.”
“Oh please,” she snorted, digging me with her elbow. “Like you haven’t had your dick in half of the females in attendance tonight.”
“Who?”
