𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐒 two years ago, my life changed forever. All it took was one night to alter the rest of my life. I wasn't sure about a lot of things however, there are two things that I was absolutely certain on: what I wanted to wear and who...
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Listening to Albie have the most rough, dirty-talking, intimate sex while lying in bed with George was not something I had on my bucket list but here we are.
"Is he normally this loud?" I ask George who lies on his back beside me.
"I've never heard him in my life," He sighs.
"Should we put the TV on?" I suggest. If I hear him call whoever it is a 'filthy slut' again I might just throw up.
"Yeah, I think we should," He pulls back the covers, walks over to the flatscreen mounted on the wall and turns it on, BBC News. How exciting. I think I'd rather listen to Albie now.
"Don't you think it's funny how all news reporters sound the exact same? Do you think that's how they talk in real life or maybe they have coaching?" I wonder, moving around till my feet are beside his head and my head is at the bottom of the bed.
"Never really thought about it, to be honest, but yeah, I suppose they do." Albie is still very loud outside and honestly, it is so awkward.
I don't know why he's doing this, probably to get back at the club thing when I kissed him. But he never does stuff like this. He's so proper, Albie. You wouldn't really think it but he is. He looks scary and all but you can't tell that he is actually bat shit. But with George, you can tell. He doesn't necessarily look it but there's just an aura he carries around that tells you he is a bit of a screw loose.
That and if you've read the articles, you'd know straight away. Forbes men all look the same.
George leans over, grabs something out of his bedside drawer and then pushes his Ralph Lauren Purple Label Oxford shirt I'm wearing over my bum. I look over my shoulder to see him rolling a joint on me.
"George?"
"Mmm?" He mumbles, looking at me as he licks the paper.
"These knickers are Kiki de Montparnasse, please don't get anything on them."
He smiles with the joint hanging out of his mouth, pings the waistband of the tiny thong against my skin, I give him a dirty look. "How much?"
"Uhh," I think about it for a second. "Four, four-fifty, I think?"
"Forty or...?" He trails off, looking at the piece of string I'm trying to justify buying.
"Obviously not. They were around four hundred and fifty great British pounds."
George pulls the most dramatic, dad-like face ever. "Fuck off, no way—for that? It's like tooth floss, Haysie. You're not very good with money, are you?"
I roll my eyes, blow a raspberry at him. "Okay, then, I'll just start buying really ugly granny knickers then. Actual knickers."
He sucks a breath between his teeth. "Might have to stop sleeping with you then."
