Page 50 of Single Daddy Scot
‘She’s a character.’
‘She’s all about the boaby, is old June.’
‘Come on now, I’m drawin’ the line. I don’t want to hear the words dick, cock, knob, or boaby.’
‘Limit the conversation, why don’t ya!’
‘I don’t talk pussy to you.’
‘You don’t. But you could.’
‘I don’t even talk about pussy to the fellas!’
‘That’s disappointing. I imagined you all sat around in your boxer shorts talking girls while helping each other... relax.’
‘For the record,’ I reply, ‘most men do not sit around talking about girls while wanking each other off.’
Natasha sighs. ‘In my daydreams, they do.’
‘Aye, well, I’ve got work to do,’ I answer gruffly.
‘Shite,’ Nat exclaims. ‘Me, too. I’ve got a client in the treatment room wearing a full clay wrap. She’ll have shrunken to the size of a six-year-old by the time I get back. Shite, I just rang to tell you—’
‘Christ on a bike!’ I move the phone away from my ear as an alarm sounds in the background.
‘Ah, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Nothing to worry about,’ she reassures hurriedly. ‘It’s all under control. And you can tell your sister that.’ The call cuts off.
As usual with Natasha, there’s no telling what’s amiss. But I don’t give it a second thought as I get back to wrapping up my internet purchases.
