25. Not sweet, not little and not lies.

I am canoodling.

I am canoodling.

I am canoodling.

It's very strange.

"Jack? What are you doing?" I'm standing outside the football club clutching Toby.

I look up as he stands next to a very bemused Brandt. Brandt stops looking bemused as Aimee approaches.

"Ihavetogo." He blurts, his chicken legs taking him as far away as possible.

I snigger. "Jack?"


"Not that I'm complaining, but think maybe I can have my torso back? I kind of need it to walk."

"Oh. Sorry." I let go of Toby, no longer canoodling.

Aimee, having just received my text (who knew the words boyfriend and Toby could make her get here so fast?) "Thank Mecca! It took you so long to admit it, I wasn't sure if I was going to be eighty by the time you two hooked up or not."

I snigger. "Like you'd even get to eighty. All that alcohol...your liver would surely have given out by then."

She laughs sarcastically. "Haha. Very funny."

"I thought so."

Toby's arm, which is around me squeeze gently. "Hi Aimee."

Aimee squeals. "Boyfriend!"

I growl. "Not yours."

Toby laughs. Not funny.

"So," Aimee turns to me. "You and boyfriend?"

"Yeah. I think so."

Even though he should be used to this right now, boyfriend is clearly a little freaked. "You two understand each other a little bit too well."

I don't believe him.

I still don't believe him two hours later when we're watching the sports news. Toby is engrossed, me not so much. The sacrifices I make...

A thought occurs. "Oooh, tell me a story." I like stories. It's my wild imagination.

"Fine." Toby sighs, tearing his gaze form what I assume is a scintillating sports clip. "There once was a miserly old spinster..."

Aimee's head pops in from the kitchen, her second bedroom. "I love stories about me!" Aimee loves the idea. Aimee wants it published.

I disagree. "You suck at telling stories."

"Well, sorry if my story doesn't revolve around you and Jeremy Paxton getting it on! As your boyfriend," we both kind of grin stupidly at this, "and as the author I think I get a little say on who my girlfriend," again, we grin madly, "makes out with?"

I sigh sufferingly. "Fine then, who's my love interest?"

His smile is wolfish, blue eyes twinkling, "why me of course." He steals a kiss, ignoring my protest of, "No! Not in front of Aimee." I don't want to scar her for life. God knows she's scarred me enough, but really, Karma is a bitch. And it's not just because she stole my lunch the week before.

Aimee however, doesn't seem to mind, flopping in front of the TV and regarding us indifferently.

"Continue the story about me!" she demands. "Include a giant penguin. Go!"

"Hey, what about me?" I protest.

Toby sighs. "Fine, I'll make up a story about both of you."

We grudgingly agree.

"Jekyll and Hyde..." he begins, gesturing wildly at the two of us.

"Oooh, I love the story of Jekyll and Hyde." Aimee claps her hands together. "I'll be Hyde."

"Okay. I agree I'll be Jekyll then."

Aimee complains. "No, I want to be Jekyll." She pauses and thinks a bit. "Which one is the hot one? I want to be the hot one."

Toby dragged me to my room the instant those words pass her lips. "Yeah, we're going."

Shutting the door softly behind us, he pins me against the wall, butterfly kissing his way along the curve of my neck.

"Now, would you rather me or Jeremy Paxton do this?" his breath is hot, tickling my ear.

I'm unable to form a coherent sentence. "Umsdngdfgfd." He smiles, and I drag him in for another kiss.

We're running out of breath (damn respiring cells) when he whispers the hottest thing ever in my ear. "B squared is equal to c squared plus a squared minus two times c and a multiplied by cosine beta." I think my knees have turned to mush. The cosine rule is just so damn sexy. It's like, bringing sexy back. Big time.

I moan so to Toby, who only smirks, before whispering, "The offside rule has three steps – position, offence and sanction."

I freeze. That's not hot.

He however, seems to think the opposite, judging by his frantic kissing. "Um...that's engaging."

He laughs into my neck, still pinning me to the wall. "Sweet little liar." It's said tenderly, almost mushily in the way mushy peas are mushy. He laughs, as I blush at his nickname, burying my head in his chest and pulling his shirt so he's practically crushing me into the wall.

I like like him. And that's not sweet, nor little and it's most certainly not a lie.


Author's note.

Thanks for all your support!! Have a jacktastic day! ;)

If you have time, check out my new story, Dah Di Dum. It's got a ghost. A *famous* ghost. WHooOOOooo! Go to my profile and there's a link under my stories. It's as crazy as this, better written and OMG! has horses. How can one say no?

Also, I have another story, it's an awful lot like this one in terms of saneness (i.e. not at all sane) and peppiness and it's called Art's Etiquette. It's about a girl who enlists the help of a boy (hmm, sound familiar) to nab this other guy. I based the boy off Einstein, who I'm pretty sure on some level, I'm crushing on. I think it's funny. Or at least, it seemed very funny when I was high on coffee and writing it.

Also, there's an EPILOGUE, coming soon, so watch out.