“Let’s see…she’s thirty-two.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” I say, jumping up immediately.
“I talk to people, nicely. I don’t chase them into toilets.”
“This again? Seriously?”
“She has a sixteen-year-old son, and probably an ex who broke her heart, who she will always compare you to because, whether or not he’s a bastard, he’s the father of her son and she hasn’t forgotten. She runs a business, she’s a busy woman, but she knows what she really wants. And what she wants is not a spoilt little boy with a tendency to treat her like shit.”
“Do you want to tell me what the fuck any of this has to do with the fact that I’ve invited her son to a stupid match?”
“Nothing, Ryan. Absolutely nothing,” he says, before picking his sandwich back up.
I hate him.
“I’ll take him,” he says, as if he hadn’t just loaded all this pressure onto me. “Give me the address.”
