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Mum nodded. “Be good. Safe. All the things.”
I kissed her head as I passed her. “Will do.”
Rio chuckled as he waved goodbye to her, and I barrelled him out the door. “Roman Lombardi, good? I know they say love is blind, mate. But she’s having a laugh, surely?”
“Shut up,” I muttered as we climbed into his mid-90s Range Rover.
He looked like a prissy arsehole with a fucking Range, but it was roomy and just as good off-road as my Colorado. Plus, it got him from point A to point B. It ticked all the boxes.
“Are you sure you want to go to the bonfire?” Rio asked.
“Did you not want to partake of free booze and complain about their taste in music?” I countered.
Rio shrugged. “The booze if free and the music is worse at Jimbo’s.”
“And we can pull past Jimbo’s after.”
“You’re gonna need to do something.”
I scoffed. “About what?”
“This obsession with Barlow.”
“Now a guy can’t go to a party without it being about some chick?”
“A guy can. Roman Lombardi doesn’t. You find a chick to bang wherever we go. You don’t need to follow a chick around hoping she’ll bang you.”
“I don’t want to fuck Barlow.”
“You so do.”
“I’m not going to fuck Barlow.”
“Well, that’s very different.”
“Don’t read anything into it.”
“Too late. I did. I read ALL the things into it.”
“Fuck off.”
“You fuck off.” He was silent a while. “Look, word of advice?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Why can’t you just fuck her and get over her?”
“I don’t need to get over her.”
“More like you don’t want to.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, Lombardi, that maybe you don’t want to get over her because maybe, if you like her, then you’re not such a piece of shit after all.”
“I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.”
“I really haven’t.”
