Unknown number: I know how old you are.
Me: Did you know that pedophilia is also illegal in all fifty states?
Technically, it wasn’t pedophilia. I was within the age of consent across the entire country for the most part. At least, as far as Devlin was concerned.
Unknown Number: Keep it up, Sydney.
Me: How do you know my name? Have you been stalking me? What kind of perv are you?
Unknown number: The kind that’s about to come over there and slap the shit out of you.
Me: Oh, so now you’re threatening bodily harm to a minor. Keep talking, buddy. The cops are going to love this conversation.
Unknown number: Jesus Christ, it’s fucking Devlin.
That only took me seven texts. Not too bad.
Me: Oh, hello fucking Devlin. What can I do for you?
A smile tugged at my mouth as I added his number to my contacts list.
Or should I say Twatwaffle.
Twatwaffle: You have five minutes to bring me your phone.
Me: I had five minutes like 2 minutes ago.
He should really make up his mind. Which was it, five or seven.
Twatwaffle: Four minutes and twenty-six seconds.
Me: Did you seriously just spell out the numbers? That’s precious seconds shaved off your five minutes.
Seemed like a waste of time to me. Technically, my long message wasn’t any better, but I just dropped a water balloon on a maid. Logic left this room a long time ago.
Twatwaffle: Don’t toy with me, Bréagán.
And again, another contradiction.
Me: How is a toy not supposed to toy?
Thought he was pretty smart giving me an Irish word for a nickname. It’s called Google, asshole.
Twatwaffle: Three minutes and fifteen seconds.
I glanced down at the band around my wrist.
Me: Actually, it’s seventeen seconds. You might want to get your watch checked.
Twatwaffle: Are you going to keep being smart, or do what you’re told?
Me: Oh man, that’s a hard decision. I’m gonna have to take some time to think about it. Ask me again in 2 minutes and 33 seconds.
That’s how you texted time.
Twatwaffle: Last chance, bring me your fucking phone!
Since he asked so nicely…
