Page 60 of Connectio

I could kill her, outright murder her arse.

Carly bends down and tentatively reaches for my flip-flops, gagging as she lifts them and balances the shit on top like you would jelly on a plate.

“Don’t you dare spew on my cardigan,” I warn.

“Shut up! I’ll drop it. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m making you nervous?”

She ignores me, slowly pivoting toward the back door. “Open it. Quick! The stench is burning my eyeballs.”

I lunge for the sliding glass door and wrench it open, expecting her to walk through it and outside, when she stops and tosses the dog shit and my flip-flops onto the back lawn.

“Carly!” I stare at them.

“Phew.” She wipes her brow with the back of her hand and smiles with relief. “That was close.”

“But… my flip-flops!”

Inconsiderate Psycho Barbie swishes her hand. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Those were hideous anyway.”

“They were not.”

“They were.”

“Argh!”

“So back to Will asking you out….” Carly shuts the back door and casually takes a seat at the dining table, one foot propped on the chair, her knee pressed to her chest as if she didn’t just destroy my property.

Sasha lays at her foot, so Carly drops her hand to pat Sashy’s head.

“What about it?” I snap, turning my back on her to switch on the kettle. I need a tea, preferably one with chamomile to ease my elevated stress levels.

“What made you say yes to Will this time?”

I shrug. “He nearly died.”

She laughs. “So it’s a pity date?”

I consider that for a second and decide it’s not, or maybe it is. “I… I don’t know.”

“Well, do you like him or not?”

“I don’t not like him. I just….” Realisation that I now have to go out with Will hits me, and I rest both hands on the edge of the benchtop and hang my head. “What have I done? And why on earth did I say yes? I’m such a sucker. Sure, he was a hero today; he risked his safety to ensure Toby’s, but … but is that reason enough to let him take me out?”

“Yes.”

I turn to face her. “Of course you’d say that. Just waking up in the morning would be reason enough for you.”

“Hey!” She gives me a look that says “be nice,” soI adhere—sometimes, I step over the line.

Shoulders slumping, I pick at my nails. “We have nothing in common, and I mean nothing.”

“How do you know that if you’ve never been out with the guy?”

“I can just tell.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re”—she taps her head with her pointer finger—“psychic.”