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I jumped as my phone went off and I dragged my eyes from Roman’s profile as I pulled it out of my pocket. It was a string of messages from Hadley; expressing her boredom, complaining about old people being old, telling me what she ate for dinner, that there’d been a hot guy at the petrol station outside Ballarat… The list went on and I figured she must have been super bored – or maybe only just found decent internet again – to be sending it all at once.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I just put my phone on silent and slid it back into my pocket.
“Don’t let me keep you, Barlow,” Roman said, his tone teasing like he assumed my phone was buzzing with steamy booty calls. I doubted he actually believed it though.
“It’s just Hadley.”
“Ah. And, what is Miss Reynolds up to tonight? Or should I ask who?”
I hid a smile as I rearranged my legs and looked at my hands in my lap. “She and her parents drove to Melbourne today to see her grandparents.”
“So, her night will not compare to ours then.” His tone was completely matter-of-fact, no hint of sarcasm.
I snorted. “I think even she would prefer to sit on a cold lakeshore with you than be stuck at her grandparents’ house.”
He looked at me sharply. “You’re cold?”
I shrugged. “Not really.” Although, the way I burrowed into my jumper probably didn’t help convince him. It was as much the unfamiliar concern in his voice as the slight chill that had me burrowing, though.
“You can have my jacket.” He started pulling it off and I put a hand on his arm to stop him, trying not to take it personally that maybe there was a sweet side to him.
“I’m fine, Lombardi. But, thanks.”
His arms were still up, mid shuck. “You sure?”
I nodded. “You give me your jacket and I’ll be overheating and you’ll be freezing and I’ll feel guilty.”
He dropped his arms with a shrug. “Well. Can’t have that.”
“No.”
“Much better that I’m comfortable and you’re cold.”
“I’m only a little cold. I’m fine.”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Barlow. I’m a little cold, too. So, I’m bloody glad you didn’t take me up on it.”
I scoffed. “Oh, was that you being a gentleman again?”
He rifled in his pockets and was then lighting a cigarette. “Can’t be. I’m not a gentleman, remember?”
“I remember a lot of things about you.”
He chuckled as he blew smoke straight up and leant back on one hand. “Yeah, like what?”
I grinned as something hit me. “I remember the time in Year Four when Katie Morris kissed you on the playground and you cried.”
He spluttered smoke, sat up straighter and looked at me. “I what?”
“You cried and ran to Miss… Oh, what was her name?” I sighed in frustration.
“Miss Davies,” he replied as though I’d asked him for the time.
“Ha! So you do remember.”
He took another drag. “Not at all. I do not at all remember my first kiss on the playground and burying my face in Miss Davies skirts because I was petrified of girl cooties. No idea what you’re talking about, Barlow.”
I nodded. “Of course not.”
