He was bitching about never having any time for himself anymore. He worked over at Mickey D's three afternoons a week to help pay for his car expenses... The manager there didn't let employees spend any time with their friends who came in to eat or hang out there. Between the part time job and his chores at home, he claimed he didn't get many chances to make progress with Brenda. Just as a joke, I offered to help him out."With my chores?" No, dude, with Brenda." As if. Man that chick is so hung. He chuckled and didn’t let go. ‘Fucking hell, mate. Fucking hell.’ He shifted, and his arm brushed where I had stitches. I jolted and he pulled back. ‘Are you okay? You got shot?’ ‘Fuck.’ I pushed myself up and rubbed at my eyes, then looked to the door. ‘Mum and Dad not with you?’ ‘They want to come, I think they’ll be here at some point. Mum’s having to deal with the company and Dad’s dealing with some shit with the police.’ His eyes searched my face while I was drowsy and slow. ‘Dave. I’ve. More

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