“Do you think we even should?”
“Why not?”
“Think about it, Jack. Think about everything else.”
There was a pause that spoke louder than any words exchanged between them as Jack digested the ‘everything else’.
“It wasn’t so bad,” he began slowly, avoiding Jake’s eyes because oh, he was lying. It was so bad. Bollywood. Napoleon Dynamite. Jenna Jameson. Jude law’s penis. Jumping off roofs.
“I’ll bet you two quid he’ll be quoting this at us for the next year.” Jake folded his arms and Jack watched the dark tattoo on his forearm shift with his muscles.
“That’s it? Can’t we up the stakes?”
“No. Because you owe me money. Putting you into further debt is not the aim.”
“Oi! I paid you back in full!”
“Blowjobs during breakfast don’t count, and I told you that at the time.”
Jack feigned a look of hurt. “You mean I did it all for nothing? You used me?”
“I told you before you even dropped to your kn—what the hell are you talking about? You love cock!”
Blushing, Jack wrinkled his nose. “Can we just try?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“No, I don’t mean that! I mean, let’s go watch the show with him.”
“Where is he?”
Jack listened very carefully to the silent flat. “Downstairs. Probably watching telly already! Let’s go, let’s go! Least it’s not the Wiggles!”
“You love the Wiggles.”
“Shut up.”
A blur of color streaked by the door belting out a song about princes and butterflies and glitter and scratch-n-sniff stickers. Jack looked over at Jake and opened his mouth to speak, but Jake pressed a long finger to Jack’s lips and shook his head.
“Go hide the DVDs.”
Jack did.