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“You’re going to the GAA pitch. I’m going to the GAA pitch. We can keep each other company on the walk.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“Oh, yes I am.”
Joey stared at me in horror, walls shooting back up at a rapid rate. “In what alternative universe did I give you the impression that I would want you to come with me?”
“How about the universe where you quit pretending that my mere presence irritates you and admit that you adore the ground I walk on.”
His mouth fell open. “I do not.”
“You do, too.” Smiling up at him, I patted his shoulder. “Friend.”
“I’m not your—“
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”
Swiftly clamping his mouth shut, he swallowed. He stared at me for the longest time before growling, “You have five minutes and then I’m leaving.”
Grinning in victory, I patted his chest before stepping aside and moving for the shower. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Ten,” he bit out, swinging the bathroom door open. “Or I’m leaving without you.”
“Twenty,” I called over my shoulder as I dropped my towel and climbed into the shower. “You can wait in my room.”
The bathroom door slammed behind him, and then I heard him say, “Fifteen and that’s final.”
“Twenty,” I crooned, thoroughly enjoying his agitation.
“You’re a pain in my hole.”
I laughed.
CLASH OF THE ASH
SEPTEMBER 1ST 2001
JOEY
I was beyond agitated,and the worst part was knowing that it had very little to do with the slating we had taken in the first half of our match, and everything to do withher.
My annoyance didn’t stem from the fact that Molloy had, once again, inserted herself into my life by tagging along to the pitch with me.
Nor did it come from the play-by-play she had given me on the walk over of the day trip that she had taken with Casey earlier this summer, to the Aqua Dome in Tralee.
Yeah, apparently, Molloy deemed me to be a good enough friend of hers to subject me to a detailed account of her misadventure with a rogue tampon string.
Much of the conversation had consisted of the perils of swimming pools, unexpected periods, and skimpy white bikinis, and had left me feeling slightly disturbed and eternally grateful to possess a dick.
The driving force behind my agitation was the fact, when he had arrived at the pitch, she had allowed that piece of shit boyfriend of hers to talk down to her like she was a child.
When we rocked up to the GAA grounds, Ricey had all but shit pebbles.
He didn’t want her anywhere near me. I wouldn’t have blamed him for feeling that wayhadhe treated her even remotely good enough.
