i know you've always been
“Ugh, I am never going to be clean again,” Angelina groaned, letting the hot water of the shower run down her back, easing the ache of her left shoulder. She’d overextended during the game against Ukraine and it was continuing to bother her. An ice pack was in her very near future. “I never thought I’d say this, mates, but I think hate Brazil.”
“Oh buck up, Johnson,” Cunningham retorted from the next shower head over. The beater was scrubbing a bar of soap over his shaved head and trying not to look like he was flexing for her and the other female teammates’ benefit. “We just killed Greece.”
Angelina snorted and traded looks with Katie over the partition that separated them and maintained some sense of modesty between the team, much to Cunningham’s dismay. “It was a mercy killing, Cunningham.”
With an eye roll, Katie ducked her head under the shower head to wash the last bit of conditioner out of her hair. Aside from the usual aches that came with playing a long match, she was feeling good. Tired, but good and optimistic about their chances. They'd soundly handled the Ukraine five days prior, and Greece had hardly proved a challenge. If they could defeat Argentina on Saturday, they would place first in Group D and have a better seeding for the second round.
Jerking her head back, she ran her hands over her face and back through her hair, shaking off the excess water. "Think you can manage to keep the bludgers off us against Argentina, Cunningham? You let that slide a bit today." And the blossoming bruise on her side was evidence of that.
He shrugged apologetically. “A wizard can only be in so many places at once, Bell.”
“Not if I start removing bits,” Angelina interrupted, temper flaring. “You could be all over the pitch then.”
"I doubt the tip of your prick can handle a beater's bat," Katie commented lightly, quirking a brow at him over the barrier. "Best not try it."
“Whatever, Johnson,” Cunningham sneered as he rinsed off. “Jones would kill you for looking at me cross-eyed.”
Angelina rolled her eyes, knowing that Cunningham had her. Gwenog would kill her but she liked to think the woman would understand why Angelina had done it. Cunningham was a pig and an idiot with his only redeeming features being a burly right arm and the ability to aim a Bludger with uncanny precision. “Just do your job, Cunningham.”
The ache in her should had abated so Angelina turned to face the shower spray, groping for the soap and thus missed Cunningham craning his neck over their shared partition.
Katie's lips thinned into a hard line, and she had to restrain the urge to chuck her shampoo at him. Cunningham was a damn good beater-- Ballycastle was lucky to have him-- but he was also a chauvinistic arse. She was thankfully this was the only time she'd have to play semi-nice with him.
"And doing your job does not mean sneaking peeks at Angie while her back is turned," she said evenly, fixing him with a hard look.
Cunningham glared back. “Ain’t nothin’ I or the rest of the league haven’t seen before, Bell. Including Ackerley.”
She stiffened, angry brown eyes narrowing at the tosser. Stewart hadn't seen Angie naked, Katie knew that, but she also knew she hadn't been the only one to see them leave together that night...had it really been two years ago? She didn't like to remember what had almost happened; Katie knew herself, and she knew that if they had slept together, she'd have never taken a chance on Stewart.
"Cunningham," she said slowly, her tone icy, "unless you really want your bits sliced off with a dull blade, you'll shut your fucking mouth. Got it?"
Scowling, Cunningham didn’t reply, just turned the water off with a snap and grabbed his towel before leaving, his usual cocky swagger dampened.
Angelina looked at her friend with wide eyes. “And they say I’m the one with the temper.”
Katie took a deep breath, trying to summon any little bit of calm she might have left. Closing her eyes, she continued her breathing cycle and said, “You have the temper. I’m the ice bitch, remember?”
“Well, my money’s always been on you to be the one to snap and take out a pitch full of players,” Angelina teased, reaching for her own towel. “The world will be shocked.”
The brunette snorted, summoning her towel. “Says you. The rest of the world will probably say they’d been waiting for it all along.”
“The world’s filled with sods that will say they knew the moon was about to drop from orbit.” She pressed her braids light with the towel, hoping she wouldn’t have to take them out and redo them once they were dry. “Though absolutely no one will be surprised when I beat that bastard with his own bat at morning practice.”
“Let me steal Gwen’s and I’ll join you.” Wrapping her towel tight around her body, Katie flip-floped her way out of the showers and into the-- thankfully deserted-- dressing area. As she reached her locker, she snagged her knickers and bent over to shimmy into them, keeping a tight hold on her towel.
The lack of chatter next to her was practically deafening. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked back at Angie, hovering in the doorway. “You do know I’m not upset at you, right?”
Looking up from rummaging through her locker, Angelina gave a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, I know. Awkward is all. Doesn’t happen often that I’m not guilty of sleeping with a bloke.”
And for that, Katie was grateful. “Yeah, I know. Let’s just forget about it.” Letting the towel drop, she grabbed her tank top and slipped it over her head, pausing to pull her hair out from underneath her shirt before she reached for her shorts.
Angelina snickered, not being able to help herself as she wiggled into a cool jersey dress. “Stewie certainly has.”
"Has he?"
Pausing a moment to consider it, Angelina shrugged. “Actually, I’m not sure but he hasn’t mentioned it to me. He was completely arsed.” She collected her things from her locker, her wand and a small purse. “You ready to hit the town? I’m famished.”
He hadn’t mentioned it to Katie either-- but that wasn’t exactly pillow talk, mentioning nearly sleeping with your girlfriend’s best friend.
Shaking the thought away, Katie grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder before she cast a quick Drying Charm on her hair. “I could go for some pão de queijo, maybe some coxinha. I’m starving.”
“I hope that woman with the bean concoction is still around. Acaraje.” Angelina let the syllables roll of her tongue, savoring the foreign word. Between games and practices, she, Katie, and Stewart had taken to wandering the makeshift village that had sprung up around the stadium. Vendors and Quidditch fans from all across the Wizarding world had collected in the Brazilian rainforest, braving the heat and wildlife for the event. The Quidditch players were bound and determined to try every last food stall before the end of the Cup.
“Stewart coming?” Angie asked as she followed Katie out of the locker room.
“I haven’t seen him since the showers,” the younger woman said, pausing in the hallway to let Angie catch up with her. “I think he said something about meeting his parents after, but I’m not sure.” She shrugged and gave her best friend a grin. “If he wants to find me, he’ll find me. If not, we’ll see him later.”
“You mean I get to be alone in Katie Bell’s presence?” she teased, bumping Katie’s shoulder good-naturedly. “I’m honored.”
“Oh, shut it,” Katie said, swiping half-heartedly at Angie’s arm. “We’re seeing each other, not attached at the hip, and you damn well know it.”
The other Chaser leered. “Not attached at the hip during the day, you mean.”
“Not attached at night, either. At least for the past month. You would know.” Since arriving in Brazil, they’d been on a strict ‘no sex’ policy-- and not by choice, either. Team rules. The most they’d indulged in had been a heavy snogging session on the beach in Ipanema one evening on their off day.
“Don’t bloody remind me,” Angelina groaned. She’d been trying to forget about that rule. “I was not meant for celibacy, Kates. You wouldn’t believe the dreams I’m having lately.”
Katie snorted in amusement, gaze shifting to look at her friend out of the corners of her eyes. “Oh, I’d believe them. You talk in your sleep.”
“No!” Angelina exclaimed with a burst of laughter, embarrassment rolling off her like water off a duck--it just didn’t stick. “So you heard last night? With the Hufflepuff?”
"Oh, yes," Katie affirmed with a snicker. "The Hufflepuff. You moaned his name quite lustily once or twice." Her voice took on a higher pitch, and Katie put a hand to her chest as she scrunched her face up. "Justin! Oh, yes, Justin!"
Angelina swatted at her friend. “I don’t even know where that one came from. We snogged once.”
“A secret desire, maybe? I mean, he’s quite the departure from your normal type...”
Snorting, Angelina leaned against the push bar of the stadium exit and made a face at Katie. Stepping out into the fading light of the fair way, she was immediately jumped on by a pair of waiting wizards, Quidditch fans that camped out around the team entrances in the chance of an autograph.
“Johnson! Johnson! Brilliant Porskoff Ploy today! Blimey, can I get yer autograph?”
The Chaser grinned, taking the offered pen and photograph. “Of course. Who do I sign for?”
“Wilbert, Miss,” the fan replied. “Wilbert Haversham.”
Nodding, Angelina signed the photo with a flourish, her messy scrawl taking up half the picture. “There you go, Wilbert. Keep cheering for us, yeah?”
Wilbert nodded vigorously. “Always, Miss Johnson! Much obliged!”
“Don’t inflate her ego, eh chaps? She’ll be a nightmare to live with,” Katie quipped with a snicker as she watched the other fan nearly attack Angie for her autograph.
While a wide-eyed Angelina tried to be cordial to the much more dedicated fan, Wilbert leaned around her to see what other star was coming out. Seeing Katie, he grinned widely and nearly bounced to her.
“Cap’n Bell! Puddlemere for life!”
Katie’s snicker turned into a genuine laugh. “Finally, a man after my own heart!” she said, gladly accepting the other photo Wilbert thrust at her.
“Thank you, Cap’n,” the nervous little man bobbed gratefully. “Could you sign that to ‘Wilberta’? My daughter’s a huge fan. She’d be chuffed to have your autograph!”
"Absolutely," she said, signing her name with a flourish. She privately hoped the girl went by a nickname-- 'Wilberta' was an awfully unfortunate moniker, but she obviously shared a close relationship with her father.
Passing the photo back to Wilbert, she gave him a grin. "Here you go. Bring her round to Puddlemere this autumn, I'd love to meet her. How old is she?"
“I’ll hold you to that, Cap’n,” he promised with wide eyes. “She’s ten next month. Coming here was an early birthday present from her mam and I.”
Ten. Katie remembered that age well.
"She's a lucky girl," she told him, eyes bright. "Thanks for all your support."
“Just go win that Cup for us, eh?” With that the man wandered off, supposedly to find his wife and little girl.
Angelina, who’d been watching the exchange since she’d shooed off her admirer, sidled up to her friend. “Nice bloke. Wilberta is a horrible name though.” She conscientiously didn’t mention Katie’s watering eyes.
"Awful name," she agreed, rapidly blinking away the moisture that had sprung forth. "So, food?"
“Food.”
The promise of delicious calories compelled them forward through vendors and fans, a chaotic array of sights and sounds representing the nearly three dozen nations competing for the Cup, along with anyone else in the Wizarding world inclined toward Quidditch--which, not unreasonably, was nearly everyone. People came even if they didn’t have tickets for a game, hoping for scalpers or even just a chance to meet an international player they admired. Some just came for the party, Angelina noted enviously as a boisterously drunk group of young men passed them by, slurring through what may have been the Ukrainian team’s fight song. Defeat apparently hadn’t lowered Ukranian morale.
Angelina and Katie navigated the crowd, waving off men selling omnioculars and searching for the food carts that they’d come to love.
A flash of white in a sea of eye-searing color caught Angelina’s eye. “Found Iara!” she exclaimed, sliding between a chatting couple to get to the woman beyond. Iara sold Angelina’s favorite Brazilian treat: acaraje, a deep fried bun made of black-eyed peas, split in half, and then filled with mysterious sauces, salad, and shrimp.
[Angelina and Iara converse with Angelina’s stilted toddler level Portuguese that i am going to google translate/word reference and Angelina gets a sandwich. More to come later.]
Food in hand, Angelina turned back to Katie with a wide grin.”I’m set! Your turn.”
“Already got mine,” Katie said, holding up her little fold of coxinhas with a smile. While Angie had been engaged with the three or four words of Portuguese she knew-- not that Katie could throw stones; she spoke Italian, not Portuguese-- she’d slipped three vendors over to pick up her little fried balls of chicken and cheese deliciousness. “Stimulating conversation as usual?”
“Our mutual appreciation for fried food transcends petty things like language,” Angelina explained wistfully before bringing her food to her nose and inhaling deeply. “I take it back, I love Brazil. I will stay just for these.”
Katie snorted and took another bite of her food, chewing thoroughly before she swallowed. “You say that now. But every night, you bitch about the humidity and the bugs and the rain and the sweat and the lack of decent Indian food and...”
“Alright, alright, fine,” Angelina interrupted. “For supposedly being paradise, this is my hell. There’s not even a beach. What’s the point of being in Brazil if we’re not near a bloody beach?”
“We went to Rio last week. Last I checked, Ipanema was a beach.”
“Don’t ruin a good location hate with logic, Kates. And all you did that day was try to eat Ackerly’s face.”
The brunette rolled her eyes, then fixed her friend with a pointed look. “For one, you had wandered off. For two, as many times as I’ve watched you try to do a body cavity inspection on some random bloke with your tongue, you can keep quiet on seeing me kiss my boyfriend.”
Her little proclamation finished, she poked her tongue out at her best friend.
Angelina rolled her eyes and swallowed her bite of food. “Please, I have to capitalize on the moments when you do have your tongue down someone’s throat. You leave me with a truly minuscule amount of material to lord over you. Lucky for me, you’re making up for it with this true love of yours.” She flashed a teasing grin then took another bite.
“Remind me again why I even mentioned that to you?”
“I’m your best friend, dearie. You’re a little dumb about me.”
“There are times when I forget why.”
“Oh buck up, Johnson,” Cunningham retorted from the next shower head over. The beater was scrubbing a bar of soap over his shaved head and trying not to look like he was flexing for her and the other female teammates’ benefit. “We just killed Greece.”
Angelina snorted and traded looks with Katie over the partition that separated them and maintained some sense of modesty between the team, much to Cunningham’s dismay. “It was a mercy killing, Cunningham.”
With an eye roll, Katie ducked her head under the shower head to wash the last bit of conditioner out of her hair. Aside from the usual aches that came with playing a long match, she was feeling good. Tired, but good and optimistic about their chances. They'd soundly handled the Ukraine five days prior, and Greece had hardly proved a challenge. If they could defeat Argentina on Saturday, they would place first in Group D and have a better seeding for the second round.
Jerking her head back, she ran her hands over her face and back through her hair, shaking off the excess water. "Think you can manage to keep the bludgers off us against Argentina, Cunningham? You let that slide a bit today." And the blossoming bruise on her side was evidence of that.
He shrugged apologetically. “A wizard can only be in so many places at once, Bell.”
“Not if I start removing bits,” Angelina interrupted, temper flaring. “You could be all over the pitch then.”
"I doubt the tip of your prick can handle a beater's bat," Katie commented lightly, quirking a brow at him over the barrier. "Best not try it."
“Whatever, Johnson,” Cunningham sneered as he rinsed off. “Jones would kill you for looking at me cross-eyed.”
Angelina rolled her eyes, knowing that Cunningham had her. Gwenog would kill her but she liked to think the woman would understand why Angelina had done it. Cunningham was a pig and an idiot with his only redeeming features being a burly right arm and the ability to aim a Bludger with uncanny precision. “Just do your job, Cunningham.”
The ache in her should had abated so Angelina turned to face the shower spray, groping for the soap and thus missed Cunningham craning his neck over their shared partition.
Katie's lips thinned into a hard line, and she had to restrain the urge to chuck her shampoo at him. Cunningham was a damn good beater-- Ballycastle was lucky to have him-- but he was also a chauvinistic arse. She was thankfully this was the only time she'd have to play semi-nice with him.
"And doing your job does not mean sneaking peeks at Angie while her back is turned," she said evenly, fixing him with a hard look.
Cunningham glared back. “Ain’t nothin’ I or the rest of the league haven’t seen before, Bell. Including Ackerley.”
She stiffened, angry brown eyes narrowing at the tosser. Stewart hadn't seen Angie naked, Katie knew that, but she also knew she hadn't been the only one to see them leave together that night...had it really been two years ago? She didn't like to remember what had almost happened; Katie knew herself, and she knew that if they had slept together, she'd have never taken a chance on Stewart.
"Cunningham," she said slowly, her tone icy, "unless you really want your bits sliced off with a dull blade, you'll shut your fucking mouth. Got it?"
Scowling, Cunningham didn’t reply, just turned the water off with a snap and grabbed his towel before leaving, his usual cocky swagger dampened.
Angelina looked at her friend with wide eyes. “And they say I’m the one with the temper.”
Katie took a deep breath, trying to summon any little bit of calm she might have left. Closing her eyes, she continued her breathing cycle and said, “You have the temper. I’m the ice bitch, remember?”
“Well, my money’s always been on you to be the one to snap and take out a pitch full of players,” Angelina teased, reaching for her own towel. “The world will be shocked.”
The brunette snorted, summoning her towel. “Says you. The rest of the world will probably say they’d been waiting for it all along.”
“The world’s filled with sods that will say they knew the moon was about to drop from orbit.” She pressed her braids light with the towel, hoping she wouldn’t have to take them out and redo them once they were dry. “Though absolutely no one will be surprised when I beat that bastard with his own bat at morning practice.”
“Let me steal Gwen’s and I’ll join you.” Wrapping her towel tight around her body, Katie flip-floped her way out of the showers and into the-- thankfully deserted-- dressing area. As she reached her locker, she snagged her knickers and bent over to shimmy into them, keeping a tight hold on her towel.
The lack of chatter next to her was practically deafening. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked back at Angie, hovering in the doorway. “You do know I’m not upset at you, right?”
Looking up from rummaging through her locker, Angelina gave a tight lipped smile. “Yeah, I know. Awkward is all. Doesn’t happen often that I’m not guilty of sleeping with a bloke.”
And for that, Katie was grateful. “Yeah, I know. Let’s just forget about it.” Letting the towel drop, she grabbed her tank top and slipped it over her head, pausing to pull her hair out from underneath her shirt before she reached for her shorts.
Angelina snickered, not being able to help herself as she wiggled into a cool jersey dress. “Stewie certainly has.”
"Has he?"
Pausing a moment to consider it, Angelina shrugged. “Actually, I’m not sure but he hasn’t mentioned it to me. He was completely arsed.” She collected her things from her locker, her wand and a small purse. “You ready to hit the town? I’m famished.”
He hadn’t mentioned it to Katie either-- but that wasn’t exactly pillow talk, mentioning nearly sleeping with your girlfriend’s best friend.
Shaking the thought away, Katie grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder before she cast a quick Drying Charm on her hair. “I could go for some pão de queijo, maybe some coxinha. I’m starving.”
“I hope that woman with the bean concoction is still around. Acaraje.” Angelina let the syllables roll of her tongue, savoring the foreign word. Between games and practices, she, Katie, and Stewart had taken to wandering the makeshift village that had sprung up around the stadium. Vendors and Quidditch fans from all across the Wizarding world had collected in the Brazilian rainforest, braving the heat and wildlife for the event. The Quidditch players were bound and determined to try every last food stall before the end of the Cup.
“Stewart coming?” Angie asked as she followed Katie out of the locker room.
“I haven’t seen him since the showers,” the younger woman said, pausing in the hallway to let Angie catch up with her. “I think he said something about meeting his parents after, but I’m not sure.” She shrugged and gave her best friend a grin. “If he wants to find me, he’ll find me. If not, we’ll see him later.”
“You mean I get to be alone in Katie Bell’s presence?” she teased, bumping Katie’s shoulder good-naturedly. “I’m honored.”
“Oh, shut it,” Katie said, swiping half-heartedly at Angie’s arm. “We’re seeing each other, not attached at the hip, and you damn well know it.”
The other Chaser leered. “Not attached at the hip during the day, you mean.”
“Not attached at night, either. At least for the past month. You would know.” Since arriving in Brazil, they’d been on a strict ‘no sex’ policy-- and not by choice, either. Team rules. The most they’d indulged in had been a heavy snogging session on the beach in Ipanema one evening on their off day.
“Don’t bloody remind me,” Angelina groaned. She’d been trying to forget about that rule. “I was not meant for celibacy, Kates. You wouldn’t believe the dreams I’m having lately.”
Katie snorted in amusement, gaze shifting to look at her friend out of the corners of her eyes. “Oh, I’d believe them. You talk in your sleep.”
“No!” Angelina exclaimed with a burst of laughter, embarrassment rolling off her like water off a duck--it just didn’t stick. “So you heard last night? With the Hufflepuff?”
"Oh, yes," Katie affirmed with a snicker. "The Hufflepuff. You moaned his name quite lustily once or twice." Her voice took on a higher pitch, and Katie put a hand to her chest as she scrunched her face up. "Justin! Oh, yes, Justin!"
Angelina swatted at her friend. “I don’t even know where that one came from. We snogged once.”
“A secret desire, maybe? I mean, he’s quite the departure from your normal type...”
Snorting, Angelina leaned against the push bar of the stadium exit and made a face at Katie. Stepping out into the fading light of the fair way, she was immediately jumped on by a pair of waiting wizards, Quidditch fans that camped out around the team entrances in the chance of an autograph.
“Johnson! Johnson! Brilliant Porskoff Ploy today! Blimey, can I get yer autograph?”
The Chaser grinned, taking the offered pen and photograph. “Of course. Who do I sign for?”
“Wilbert, Miss,” the fan replied. “Wilbert Haversham.”
Nodding, Angelina signed the photo with a flourish, her messy scrawl taking up half the picture. “There you go, Wilbert. Keep cheering for us, yeah?”
Wilbert nodded vigorously. “Always, Miss Johnson! Much obliged!”
“Don’t inflate her ego, eh chaps? She’ll be a nightmare to live with,” Katie quipped with a snicker as she watched the other fan nearly attack Angie for her autograph.
While a wide-eyed Angelina tried to be cordial to the much more dedicated fan, Wilbert leaned around her to see what other star was coming out. Seeing Katie, he grinned widely and nearly bounced to her.
“Cap’n Bell! Puddlemere for life!”
Katie’s snicker turned into a genuine laugh. “Finally, a man after my own heart!” she said, gladly accepting the other photo Wilbert thrust at her.
“Thank you, Cap’n,” the nervous little man bobbed gratefully. “Could you sign that to ‘Wilberta’? My daughter’s a huge fan. She’d be chuffed to have your autograph!”
"Absolutely," she said, signing her name with a flourish. She privately hoped the girl went by a nickname-- 'Wilberta' was an awfully unfortunate moniker, but she obviously shared a close relationship with her father.
Passing the photo back to Wilbert, she gave him a grin. "Here you go. Bring her round to Puddlemere this autumn, I'd love to meet her. How old is she?"
“I’ll hold you to that, Cap’n,” he promised with wide eyes. “She’s ten next month. Coming here was an early birthday present from her mam and I.”
Ten. Katie remembered that age well.
"She's a lucky girl," she told him, eyes bright. "Thanks for all your support."
“Just go win that Cup for us, eh?” With that the man wandered off, supposedly to find his wife and little girl.
Angelina, who’d been watching the exchange since she’d shooed off her admirer, sidled up to her friend. “Nice bloke. Wilberta is a horrible name though.” She conscientiously didn’t mention Katie’s watering eyes.
"Awful name," she agreed, rapidly blinking away the moisture that had sprung forth. "So, food?"
“Food.”
The promise of delicious calories compelled them forward through vendors and fans, a chaotic array of sights and sounds representing the nearly three dozen nations competing for the Cup, along with anyone else in the Wizarding world inclined toward Quidditch--which, not unreasonably, was nearly everyone. People came even if they didn’t have tickets for a game, hoping for scalpers or even just a chance to meet an international player they admired. Some just came for the party, Angelina noted enviously as a boisterously drunk group of young men passed them by, slurring through what may have been the Ukrainian team’s fight song. Defeat apparently hadn’t lowered Ukranian morale.
Angelina and Katie navigated the crowd, waving off men selling omnioculars and searching for the food carts that they’d come to love.
A flash of white in a sea of eye-searing color caught Angelina’s eye. “Found Iara!” she exclaimed, sliding between a chatting couple to get to the woman beyond. Iara sold Angelina’s favorite Brazilian treat: acaraje, a deep fried bun made of black-eyed peas, split in half, and then filled with mysterious sauces, salad, and shrimp.
[Angelina and Iara converse with Angelina’s stilted toddler level Portuguese that i am going to google translate/word reference and Angelina gets a sandwich. More to come later.]
Food in hand, Angelina turned back to Katie with a wide grin.”I’m set! Your turn.”
“Already got mine,” Katie said, holding up her little fold of coxinhas with a smile. While Angie had been engaged with the three or four words of Portuguese she knew-- not that Katie could throw stones; she spoke Italian, not Portuguese-- she’d slipped three vendors over to pick up her little fried balls of chicken and cheese deliciousness. “Stimulating conversation as usual?”
“Our mutual appreciation for fried food transcends petty things like language,” Angelina explained wistfully before bringing her food to her nose and inhaling deeply. “I take it back, I love Brazil. I will stay just for these.”
Katie snorted and took another bite of her food, chewing thoroughly before she swallowed. “You say that now. But every night, you bitch about the humidity and the bugs and the rain and the sweat and the lack of decent Indian food and...”
“Alright, alright, fine,” Angelina interrupted. “For supposedly being paradise, this is my hell. There’s not even a beach. What’s the point of being in Brazil if we’re not near a bloody beach?”
“We went to Rio last week. Last I checked, Ipanema was a beach.”
“Don’t ruin a good location hate with logic, Kates. And all you did that day was try to eat Ackerly’s face.”
The brunette rolled her eyes, then fixed her friend with a pointed look. “For one, you had wandered off. For two, as many times as I’ve watched you try to do a body cavity inspection on some random bloke with your tongue, you can keep quiet on seeing me kiss my boyfriend.”
Her little proclamation finished, she poked her tongue out at her best friend.
Angelina rolled her eyes and swallowed her bite of food. “Please, I have to capitalize on the moments when you do have your tongue down someone’s throat. You leave me with a truly minuscule amount of material to lord over you. Lucky for me, you’re making up for it with this true love of yours.” She flashed a teasing grin then took another bite.
“Remind me again why I even mentioned that to you?”
“I’m your best friend, dearie. You’re a little dumb about me.”
“There are times when I forget why.”