Callan rolled his eyes as he turned to me. “It is a very comfortable sofa. And unlike some people, I don’t buy things because they cost a lot and look good.”
“Says the guy wearing Dior trainers.”
“I like her,” John told Baird.
Baird nodded in agreement.
I grinned, pleased on multiple levels.
“Don’t.” Callan gestured between us and repeated, “You are not friends.” He turned to me now. “You better go or you’ll be late for your facial.”
He was right. I was so running late for the food bank. “You should know that you are never going to get laid owning a sofa like that.”
“Hey, that’s exactly what I said.” Baird held his hand up for a high-five. I cracked my hand against his, spitefully enjoying how much my bonding with his friends was annoying Callan.
“I’ll have you know that I could be drenched in cat piss and I’d still get laid,” Callan announced with an arrogant tilt of his gorgeous face.
What the ever lovin’… “Ew.”
“I mean, he’s not wrong,” John agreed, “but weird choice, man. Weird choice.”
“But he’s not wrong,” Baird reiterated. “Some birds just want to shag a footballer.”
“Each to their own, I guess.” I grimaced. “But cat pee? Really?”
Callan shrugged.
“Well, I’m choosing to believe you’re wrong.” It made me feel better about humanity. “Anyway, all that to say, I’d still think about having the sofa reupholstered. My pseudo-grandmother is cooler than you, Captain.”
“Bullshit.”
“What’s a pseudo-grandmother?” Baird asked, eyebrows raised.
“Grandma Elodie. She’s not my real grandmother, but she’s like one and the only thing I have that comes close to a grandma.”
“You don’t have a real grandmother?”
I shook my head. Both my maternal grandparents had died when my mum was a teenager, along with her little sister, for whom I was named. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, and my paternal grandmother hadn’t been in our lives. Dad had gotten word she passed away a few years ago. My dad’s half sister, my aunt Ellie … her mum, Elodie, and stepdad, Clark, were the closest thing I’d ever had to grandparents. They tried to be as good as. But it wasn’t the same as knowing the people who had a part in making meme.
“Sad.” Baird pouted adorably, but his eyes were filled with genuine sympathy.
“I think so.”
“My gran would love you,” he decided. “You should meet her. Also”—he turned to Callan—“Gran’s sofaiswell cooler than yours, mate.”
“See!” I gave him anI told you sogrin.
Callan gaped aghast at us. “No. No, no, no. She is not meeting your grandmother, and I’m not reupholstering my sofa. It could change its comfort level. Now grab the fucking thing, and you”—he pointed at me—“go away.”
I curled my lip. “Cat pee. Really? Because I’m doubtful they’d touch you if you were slathered in Nutella.”
John chuckled. “I dunno. Nutella, dude.”
“I’d lick that stuff off my own hairy balls,” Baird declared.
Silence reigned as we processed the hilarious imagery he’d created.
And then all burst into laughter.
