On Knots and Unravelling - Chapter Twelve
For author's notes and thank yous, see chapter one.
‘Right. Right. Rightrightright. To recap, yeah,’ and Cook sways massively here, and has to grab hold of the bar to keep himself upright, ‘you, and Emilio muff monkey, going at it. You, Naz, decide not to tell Katie, so she doesn’t go off her tits. Then, Katie finds out, and is off her tits with rage.’
Naomi blinks several times, and then checks the empty crisp packet for the umpteenth time, just in case.
‘I guess. It was more...romantic though, I think. There was more...’ Naomi loses the point, and waggles her fingers vaguely. Cook’s eyes widen.
‘More fingering?’
‘What? No. NO. I mean, like, unrequited, bullshit. Drama. More fucking drama. She stole my fucking jelly babies, for a start.’
Cook nods, and then burps, and flaps a hand around, waving it towards Naomi.
‘Whoa, mate, sniff, you can smell those BBQ crisps.’
Dear god, he’s disgusting. Like, she could pass out, right now, and it wouldn’t be a disaster.
‘Cook! For fuckssake, you’re supposed to be brainstorming. Mindmapping. Thoughtshowering, yes, that one, with me, not fucking waving a burp in my face. Jesus.’
Apparently appalled at her less than favourable reaction, Cook picks up a beer mat, and wafts it around her face a few times to clear the air.
‘Sorry love, look, lemme buy you ‘nother one, yeah? We think better on the cider, I can tell that.’
--
‘So. SO. We need some chalk. Cook. Cook! Go ask the nice lady for some chalk.’
Brilliant idea of hers, the whole mindmap scenario. The wall of the pub is nice and smooth, like a white board only made of concrete. Naomi leans momentarily against it, and presses a fingernail to it. No, scratching won’t work, definitely need something to write with. But the night is warm enough to stand around in, and she has some more crisps, and a plastic pint glass for her Guinness and black, so the old malnourishment crisis has been staved off. And this wall is good to sit on, here, so that’s fine, and Cook is... where was he?
‘Cook! Fucking, nonsense. Terrible, unreliable, burping, nincompoop. Fuckssake. Shitting, shithead. COOK!’
‘OH! What the cock? Here, ain’t I? Stole the darts chalk.’
Ah. Naomi goes for a fist bump, but Cook’s well out of it, doesn’t even notice, so she overshoots, and ends up tapping him on the chest instead.
‘Right. Nice work. Not such a nincompoop. Come on, find me something to stand on.’
--
She ends up sitting on his shoulders, using her free hand to balance herself against the wall as she scrawls in chalk with the other one.
‘Shit, hurry up, yeah Campbell? Me fuckin...spine might telescope.’
‘Minute more....anyway, you shouldn’t hurry a lady. Not pissing gentleman-like, is it? You cock. Hang on...hang on... right. Okay, okay, you can put me down on that....Jesus!’
He had dropped her in a fucking bush. A fucking bush! The oaf.
Cook’s lying flat on the pavement, groaning like an elephant had just fallen upon him.
‘Oh...seriously. You’ve wrecked me, Omi-ohs. I’ll never walk again.’
Naomi scoffs. ‘Right, well, sorry. Least you aren’t impaled on a bush. Fucking, help me out, will you? I can’t find my arm.’
Cook staggers to his feet, and drags her out by her foot, till they’re both lying on the pavement, unable to move. Eventually Cook starts laughing.
‘Cook! This isn’t a fucking, matinee performance, right? This is serious. You’re supposed to be helping me with Katie, you useless cock.’
‘Nah, nah, Naomi, I can see your knickers from here.’
Oh for fuckssake.
--
They sober, slightly, by sitting on the pavement opposite and staring in silence at Naomi work, which is illuminated faintly by the streetlamps. Eventually Cook sits upright, and pats his stomach until he belches, massively. He flaps a hand judiciously, and then claps it onto Naomi shoulder.
‘It’s like, fucking beaut, Blondie, but how is that helping the predicament, exactly?’
Naomi mumbles for a second, and then inspects her fingernails.
‘Yeah. Um. I think I must have got sidetracked, or something. Altitude sickness, maybe.’
Cook guffaws, and then reaches round to clasp the small of his back again. Naomi thinks for a moment, and then presses her hand on top of his, rubs in small circles.
‘Sorry about your spine, and all that.’
He laughs again, and throws an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’ll live, I reckon. And, saw your knickers, so, not a complete disaster.’
She struggles for a moment, and then gives up, because despite him stinking of BBQ crisps and burp, he’s alright, really. For a tosser.
Eventually Cook sniffs, and reaches for his pocket, and pulls out a small joint. ‘Stole it from Freds...’ he mumbles, before fishing out a lighter and passing both over to Naomi to light. Whilst she’s cupping the flame and inhaling, he gestures at the wall of the pub.
‘Right, so, how did you think a mind-map that’s just the word ‘Emily’ in three foot high letters was going to help?’
She shrugs coolly, and passes the spliff over to Cook.
‘I dunno really. Just seemed a good idea.’
‘Right. Right. Cool. Coolio.’
--
‘I don’t even know what her problem is, really. Like, beyond the whole shagging Emily...thing. She’s being most unspecific.’
They were now lying on the grass that covered the roundabout opposite the pub, with Naomi’s head resting on Cook’s stomach. She can feel his muscles tense as he laughs quietly, and then pats her head. Well, her face really, but whatever.
‘Aw, man, I feel you Naomi-kins. I fuckin’ hate unspecifics. Needs to be all out there, you know? No, what...subtracts.’
Naomi frowns for a moment, and then comprehension dawns.
‘Subtext.’
‘Yeah! That’s the badger. None of them. Buggering arse pain, that.’
Naomi grins at the sky for a second, before passing the roach remains upwards. ‘Enough for one more, I reckon.’
Cook complies, she can feel his chest expand underneath her, and then he flicks it away. A car rounds the island twice, and beeps. Cook mutters ‘wankers’ once, before falling silent.
She could fall asleep, almost, barring the cool night air that’s creeping around her legs. Cook’s a marvellous creature, she hasn’t felt this chilled out since... well, she can’t remember, really. A long time.
‘It’s like, we’re in the same boat here, you and me, Nomes. Katie’s pissed off, and neither of us are getting any fanny action till we de-piss her.’
Okay, that was fairly horrible. Naomi struggles to sit up, but fails, so berates him from a horizontal position.
‘Fanny action? De-piss? That’s probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard, and it makes it sound like we’re both after the one fanny. Which we aren’t, can I just add.’
Cook sits up now, until Naomi’s got no choice but to fall sideways, and shift away from him. He’s grinning like a wonderful new idea has just dawned, and Naomi rolls her eyes pre-emptively.
‘Are you sure, though? Are you positive, like? Cos, if the only way to resolve this is for a three-way, I’ll happily adjudicate. Or, like, get involved, if necessary. For the Bentham, thing, you know, greater good.’
Naomi sighs. ‘Okay, one, Mill was greater good, not Bentham. Two, incest is not the way out of this. And three, stop being such a fucking boy, alright?’
Cook groans, and staggers to his feet. He then stretches with such enthusiasm that Naomi is surprised when his feet don’t leave the floor. He looks down at her, and then holds a hand out to her, dragging her skywards.
‘Me cock’s most disappointed in you, Naomi. Come on, let’s go find a shop that’ll let us pretend to be responsible adults.’
--
They end up on some park swings with a bottle of rum, and it is killing her, drinking it neat, but the burn blocks the rest of the world out most satisfactorily. She hiccoughs, once.
‘S’nice. We’re like...pirates.’
Cook laughs, and then stands up on his swing, and leans over her to scoop the bottle out of her hands.
‘Did I ever say congrats, Nome? For the whole lezzer thing? You make a cracking lesbian. Seriously. Top notch.’
If she had the energy, she’d be more outraged, because lesbian is such a ridiculous word, really. But instead she just grins up at him, and wags a finger.
‘Not completely lesbian, not got, like, a badge, yeah? Just, you know, Emily. Just eating Emily out, now and then.’
Cook snorts, and takes a swig of rum. ‘Right. Nice. Well, a top notch muff diver then.’
She squints up at him, before losing her footing and nearly falling off the swing. When he stops laughing Naomi glares at him.
‘Drink more, you twat. I prefer you when you’re more fucked than me.’
--
Later, on the seesaw, Naomi feels like she’s going to vomit.
‘I just...fuck. I want both of them, you know? I want to be able to be mates like we were, with Katie, and Emily... I just want her all the time.’
Cook’s sat on the middle of the seesaw, jiggling it vaguely.
‘Right. It’s a bit of a tall order, that. Dunno if you’ve spotted lately, but Katie thinks you’re a twat, recently.’
Naomi’s got nothing to say to that, and nods mournfully. Cook groans, and gestures at his crotch for a second.
‘Seriously Naomi, you’re like the biggest cock block in the world. I’ve gotten nothing since all this. Me balls are fuckin’ likely to explode if you don’t sort it out soon.’
Naomi bites her lip for a second before snorting.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. That’ll motivate me to fix this fucking impossible disaster scene that’s killing me. Concern for your balls.’
Cook grins at her, before tossing the bottle her way, which she only just manages to catch.
‘You know why she’s pissed, right? It’s like, zero to do with you fucking Emily.’
Naomi unscrews the cap, and stares at Cook whilst taking a slow gulp. Cook starts pulling himself along her arm of the seesaw, until they’re both at the end and Naomi’s knees are up by her ears. He takes the bottle from her once she’s finished, and pokes her cheek once, with his index finger.
‘Ow.’
‘It’s like, I’m not a fuckin, psychoanaliticalist, or what, but I reckon she could hack you and Emily. It was you fucking lying and hiding stuff from her, like her head would pissing explode if she knew.’
Aha, but, there’s an obvious flaw in this, and Naomi pokes him in the chest, as a retort.
‘Yes, thanks, but her head pissing well did explode, didn’t it? So, no, you aren’t a... one of those.’
Cook grins toothily at her, and reaches over, pats her face whilst he shakes his head.
‘Nah, Campbell, you ain’t listening. She’d have been fine, I reckon, with you and Em doing the nasty, if you’d have fuckin’ mentioned it. Or mentioned anything, yeah? It was a bit of a blinder, finding out you’re a gay, you’re fucking her sis, and you’ve been lying for ages. You should have, like, staggered it, a bit.’
Actually, maybe she is going to vomit. She stands up, and leaves him wobbling suddenly on the seesaw. There’s a bench, under the flickering street lamp, and she heads over towards it.
He gives her ten minutes before strolling over, bottle tucked in his back pocket. When he reaches her he offers a fag, but Naomi closes her eyes. He tuts, and sits next to her, lighting up on the second attempt.
‘You’ll be right, kid. Just a bit much at once I reckon. Sit quiet a bit more, yeah?’
--
After a while, once Naomi’s re-gathered her bearings, they start walking in the direction of home. Cook’s still swigging the rum, and Naomi can feel herself smiling, because surely any normal person would have died by now. She suggests as much.
‘Well, lots of practice, int it?’ He jumps up onto a garden wall, and walks carefully along it, one hand placed on Naomi’s head for balance.
‘Cook! Get off me, will you...’
‘It’s been fun, this. You’re like, my second choice for a date, in future. Though, you know, you don’t put out much. Black mark, babe.’
Naomi rolls her eyes, and feels slightly more sober, as she tugs him off the wall, before it turns into fence.
‘Well, you have the other one for that, don’t you. Plan dates with her, instead, not a mardy cow like me.’
Cook yawns hugely, and scratches his balls absentmindedly, looking both ways down the deserted street. ‘Right, yeah, that was the idea, her mum and dad’s away. But Katie’s too busy being constantly angry at you to give me any time, these days.’
Naomi feels a small flicker of irritation that Cook seems to know more about Katie’s life than she does, but represses it with a frown.
‘Oh. Didn’t know they were out of town.’
‘Yeah, couple of days now. Was expecting to get significant lovely time, but not a peep, so far.’
Naomi snorts, and then eases the bottle out of Cook’s pocket, because why the hell not?
‘My heart bleeds. Truly.’
Cook watches her drink for a second, and then frowns.
‘I reckon, Nae-kins, we’ve been going at this in the wrong way. We need to be, like, tactical, yeah. Plots, and that. Like. What’ve you and me got in common?’
Naomi casts an appraising eye over Cook, and shrugs hopefully.
‘You’d better be referring to our ability to stay cool while pissed, cos everything else is a massive insult, frankly.’
Cook shakes his head, and then slings an arm around her, transferring nearly all of his body weight over to her.
‘Nah, nah, wrong, Katie likes us both. And, you may have spotted this, but she don’t like many fuckers. So, stay with me here, why does she like me?’
‘Cos you’re funny?’
‘Ha! Yes, Blondie, but wrong. She likes me because I’m a tit. Tit works.’
Naomi doesn’t like the sound of where this is going, and attempts to frown at Cook, before realising that he’s only millimetres away, and trying to frown at him would probably end up with her just head butting him. He breathes all over her, and the fumes could kill a moose, really.
‘So, I’m saying, we need to up the tit levels. You and me. Woo her, using tit-itude. Not like, woo, woo her, in your case, save that for the lesbot. But like, we need to be more dickheaded.’
Naomi squints at the sky, and it may be the alcohol, but there’s an odd kind of logic, there.
‘I am good at being a twat,’ she concedes. Cook grabs her by the shoulders, laughing now.
‘There you go! Perfecto. Well said. So, like, we go over there, tit about, and maybe I’ll get some.’
He’s off before she can really process what he’s just said, and, oh god, not now, surely?
‘Cook! Cook!’
She forgets the bottle, and has to return for it, and Cook’s gotten far too big a lead for her to consider catching him now.
--
She finds him crouching behind the bush outside Katie’s next door neighbours. He waves her over frantically, like they’re fucking commandos, or something, and Naomi trudges towards him, waggling the near empty bottle in his face.
‘Cook. Think we’ve had a bit much of this to go for the romantic option, maybe?’
‘Never, Nomes. Tit works, remember that. Now then, I figured, you make distraction times, while I’m up that drainpipe.’
Naomi crouches next to him, and holds his face still with two hands, so he has to look at her. She speaks as clearly as she can manage.
‘Cook. Stupid idea. Firstly because they have a perfectly good door bell, and secondly because that’s the wrong fucking house.’
He squints at her, and then looks at the house behind him.
‘Really?’ Naomi nods, and points a finger at Katie’s window.
‘That’s their house, you moron.’
Cook blinks a couple of times, and then fucking well rolls across the Fitch drive, so he’s stationed outside their window now. Naomi tries to remember that he’s a retard and that she’s morbidly depressed, but gives up after a moment, and succumbs to giggles, before standing up and traipsing after him. He’s frantic, flapping a hand at her.
‘Squat, at the very least, love. This is supposed to be a stealth op, can’t be having you snorting everywhere.’
‘Oh, fucking hell Cook, this the most retarded plan ever. How the hell is us turning up like a pissed swat team going to help anything?’
Cook taps the side of his nose, and then taps hers for good measure.
‘Tit, isn’t it. Right, find me a pebble. Scrap the distraction, you’re clearly not up the task.’
Naomi scrabbles about on the floor for a moment, muttering as she does so.
‘Oh I’m so sorry, ‘scuse me for not whipping out a trombone the second you demand a fucking distraction.’
Cook chuckles momentarily, and inspects the jumble of stones Naomi hands over, before freezing entirely when he hears a window open. Naomi has to resist the urge to fling herself flat on the pavement when she hears Emily’s voice whispering sharply.
‘What the hell, Cook? We can hear you from a mile away. Fuck off, will you.’
Cook appears to take a second to weigh up his options, before springing to his feet with his arms outstretched.
‘Emilio! My second favourite lesbian! Grab your sis, yeah? I need to be romantic at her, before my balls explode.’
Naomi can hear the sigh, and teeters dangerously on her toes, trying to avoid falling over and breaking her cover. She can imagine it, Katie budging Emily to one side and leaning out of the window.
‘Cook. Babes, you look a fucking state. Go home.’
Cook laughs massively to himself, and staggers around a bit for good measure too. ‘Nah, wait, wait, I need to think of something, I’m sure I heard something good that’d go here. Right. Babes, you are my home. Like, you’re, um, somethin’ somethin’, my heart is yours, bollocks. So, lemme in, yeah? Need to see your tits.’
Naomi represses a snort, and it clearly didn’t go as well as he’d planned, judging from his next line.
‘Aww, don’t be like that babe. Katie! Katie! Need to see your tits, like, asap. Pronto. Sharpish... Nae, what’s another one, another...’
He grabs for her shoulder, and great, that’s her cover blown. She thinks for a second. ‘Post-haste?’
Cook squeezes gratefully, before bellowing at the window again.
‘Nice. Hear that, ladies? Post-haste! Post-haste, for the tits, yeah?’
Naomi hears the window being slammed closed and stands up, sheepishly, after a moment. Emily’s up there, looking down at her, and she waves once, hopelessly, before smacking Cook on the shoulder.
‘Fuckssake. Worst plan you’ve ever had, I’d say. Tit doesn’t work at...’ she glances at her watch, and her eyes widen slightly, ‘half two in the morning.’
Cook grins at her, and nudges her around with his elbow. ‘Nah, Omi-ohs, give it a second, yeah?’
Katie’s standing in the door way, looking mightily confused. She appears to consider just shutting the door, just ends up just fiddling with the lock, instead.
‘Oh. Right. You’re here too.’
Naomi opens her mouth, and aims for witty.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not after the tit show.’
Fucking hell Campbell, at least a bit of thought, before words, maybe? Cook has to lean on her, he’s laughing so much, and then bounds over to Katie, who wavers for a moment, before smirking.
‘Babe. Like, seriously. We been bonding, me and the blonde. Talking about how shit it is, when you’re ignoring us. And like, you can sort out her another time, but how about a little time with me, yeah? Been missin’ you, an stuff.’
Katie snorts, and leans away from him, in a move that Naomi now recognises as breath evasion. She smiles slightly, and taps him on the chest.
‘That’s... almost sweet, James. But Jesus Christ, please go brush your teeth before you come any closer to me.’
Naomi’s not even sure Katie’s thought that through, because Cook’s wrapping her up in a hug that looks tight enough to break, before saluting to Naomi and heading inside, leaving the two of them in the cold. Naomi looks at her shoes, shy suddenly.
‘Um. He might smell a bit of rum. Sorry about that.’
Katie fidgets a bit, and Naomi’s conscious of the window upstairs easing open slightly, and Emily watching them. Katie clears her throat awkwardly.
‘Right. Well, that’s standard, unfortunately. Are you the sober one?’
Naomi concentrates for a second, and rubs a hand over her face. ‘The sober...er, one, I think. Marginally.’
Katie grunts, and waivers for a moment, until she appears to make a decision, and sits down on the doorstep. ‘Okay. Well, most people are, to be fair. That bottle is probably more sober than him.’
Naomi needs something to sit on, and casts around, until she settles for the drive, and sits cross legged. Katie’s watching her oddly, and Naomi tries to remember if it’s her turn to speak.
‘Cook wanted to be romantic. He, um, nearly broke in next door, he was that keen to see you.’
Katie laughs a little, and then inspects her nails furiously.
‘Oh dear. Good save.’
It’s nice, pleasant, almost, sitting here, not feeling like Katie hates her. Naomi’s smart enough to know this is probably just a post-midnight cease-fire, but relaxes into the moment, anyway.
‘It is shit, Katie. Being ignored by you.’
Katie doesn’t look at her, just sniffs and pokes their catflap, distractedly.
‘Well, duh. Obviously.’
Naomi risks a grin, and tries to adjust her position, slightly, because good god, this is killing her backside. When she looks back at Katie, there’s half a smirk on her lips, almost.
Cook flings the bedroom window open wide again.
‘Oi! Romeo. Babe. You coming or what? Post-haste means exactly that, dun’t it? Also, Katiekins, I’m evictin’ Ems for the night, cos like, I’m all for her watching, but I reckon you might have a couple of issues.’
Katie sighs, and stands up abruptly, craning her neck to speak to him.
‘Cook, you can’t just fucking, throw Emily out, for the night. Where the hell is she going to sleep?’
Cook laughs for a second, before gripping the sill and leaning out dangerously far, grinning at the both of them.
‘Shit, yeah, massive issue that. Who the fuck would want Emily in their bed. Right puzzler. Thoughts, either of you? Naomi?’
Naomi flips him off, even as she’s grinning back. ‘You’re a twat, Cook.’
‘You love it. ‘Sides, Emily’s clearly got a plan, she’s practically out of the door. Keen, I’d say, Nomes. Brace yourself.’
Emily’s downstairs now, and tugs on some trainers before stepping past Katie and swearing at Cook.
‘Shut the fuck up, Cook. This is a favour, right?’
Cook snorts, and does something disgusting with his tongue. ‘Right, Emily. Lucky me.’
Naomi is staring at Katie, who’s gone oddly still, even as Emily goes to pulls Naomi up to her feet. Emily pauses when Naomi doesn’t move, and turns to look at Katie. There’s a moment that stretches, until Katie throws her hands up in the air.
‘Ugh. Whatever. Don’t like, tell me about it tomorrow Emily, unless you want me to vomit on you.’
Naomi murmurs a thanks in Katie’s direction, but she’s already shutting the door. Emily reaches for her hand again, and this time Naomi lets herself be hauled upwards. She glances up at the window for the last time, and Cook’s got both thumbs up.
‘Naomi, feel free to tell me all about it tomorrow, okay? Don’t hold back, not for my sakes.’
She flips him off again, but that could have gone worse, really.
--
Later. In a different place.
It’s the softness, that gets her, every time. More so than the girl, or the Emily, or the movements under Naomi’s hands. The softness, and the way Emily flexes and gives, just before she comes, that leaves Naomi breathless with need, all over again.
There’s a bed, and a door that can close, and it’s enough, she decides, while murmuring wow into Emily’s skin. Emily would be enough. Wanting more would just be selfish.
(She does though. Can’t avoid aiming for a perfect outcome, rather than the purely satisfactory.)
--
It’s a lovely way to wake, this, with Emily’s fist curled up loosely on her chest. Naomi blinks carefully, and then reaches around with her free hand, to brush the stray hair away from Emily’s face. Emily mumbles softly, and presses her face closer into Naomi’s skin, and Naomi can’t help the grin that she’s wearing, because, well, really?
Gradually, Emily shifts again, and then reaches up blindly, pressing a kiss to the underside of Naomi’s jaw. Naomi smiles at the ceiling, and must move in a certain way, because Emily’s eyes flick open then, and she adjusts until she is completely on top of Naomi. She bites her lip once, before pressing a more certain kiss to Naomi’s mouth.
‘Hey.’ Her voice is incredibly raspy this morning, and Naomi has to use all her will power not to roll them, and start all over again.
‘Hey. You all right?’
Emily nods once, but when she speaks it is even more of a croak. She stops, startled, before sliding away from Naomi to the glass of water on the side, and god her skin is just everywhere, and Naomi can literally never imagine a day when she’d be sated of Emily, could do this forever and never have enough.
Instead of declaring all this she sits up suddenly, mindful of the dangers of morning breath, and the pack of Polos she now keeps on the side, and its then, then, that the hangover hits.
Jesus Christ.
--
It kills the entire mood, and Cook could have whacked her around the head a few times with a mallet and she’d be in less pain.
After nearly an hour of horror, Emily leaves her to it, and returns shortly after with a round of toast and some orange juice. Naomi almost claims sudden nausea, but Emily just sits on the edge of her bed, and stares at her, until Naomi caves and risks a massive brain haemorrhage, in order to push herself upright. Emily hands over a piece of toast, and she’d look great in a nurse’s outfit, a small part of her brain thinks, until the rest of her brain catches it. She snorts slightly, and then claps a hand to her head, because ow, no sudden movements, ever again. She blinks at Emily,
‘I think the Cook mentality may be catching.’
Emily blushes slightly, even as she rolls her eyes. ‘Well, unsurprising. You were quite the double act last night.’
Naomi takes a solitary bite out of the toast, and rests it on her plate again, careful.
‘Oh god, Ems, you wouldn’t believe. Cook had this ridiculous idea...’
As she retells events, or at least those she can remember, in approximate order, Emily shifts around, ensconces herself once again under the covers. When Naomi starts recounting the part when Cook was yelling up at their window, Emily laughs, and lays a gentle hand on her forearm.
‘Nae. I was there, from now on, I remember.’
Oh yeah. Naomi grins, and then takes a swig of juice. Emily rubs her hand up and down, for a second.
‘He may have a point though, Cook. Don’t tell him, he’ll be insufferable, but he’s right.’
Naomi laughs, and sets the drink down on the side, before turning back to Emily. ‘What, that tit works?’
‘No,’ Emily shakes her head firmly, and then continues, ‘but you know your entire friendship is based on you both being idiots, sometimes?’
Naomi frowns, and then corrects. ‘On being twats?’
Emily sighs briefly, and removes the final corner of toast from Naomi’s plate, popping it into her mouth.
‘Yes, if you want. She likes the fact that you’re a twat.’
She’d never really considered this before, but now, on reflection, it probably makes alot of sense. Naomi risks a grin at Emily.
‘Like you do?’
‘No, Naomi, I’m the one who prefers you when you’re not being a twat. You follow?’
Naomi thinks about this for a second, before breaking out into a bigger grin.
‘So, I believe the phrase you are searching for here is; everyone’s a winner?’
Emily looks at her stonily for a moment, and then takes Naomi’s plate from her. ‘Better?’
Naomi nods. ‘Much.’
‘Good.’ Emily reaches a hand out to the back of Naomi’s neck, and tugs her down on top of her.
Tit works.
--
Chapter Thirteen