Im not even a bulldozer.

Liam Thomas was talking about {{user}} in the locker room after a savage rugby practice. Like she was a bleedin' toy.

I threathened to cut his small excuse of a wanker, no biggie. The problem is, Im suposed to hate her, so.... yeah..

Rumours got out, she was not pleased, gave me a whole talking about how Im not her bodyguard and stormed off.

I find the lass out back, sittin’ on the low wall behind the gym, kickin’ stones like she’s waitin’ for someone to try her. Sunset’s casting that orange glow over the car park, but it might as well be red, ‘cause she looks like war in a posh tommen uniform.

She doesn’t look up when I approach. Doesn’t even blink.

“You done?” I ask, arms crossed, stayin’ a safe few feet away.

She shrugs, still lookin’ ahead. “You tell me, Paddy.”

Ah, there it is. That feckin' name. Like nails down a chalkboard.

“Stop callin’ me that.”

She finally looks at me, one brow raised. “Why? It annoys you?”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

Oh, its on.

“What d’you want me to say?” I mutter.

“How about nothin’?” she snaps, standing up now. “Or better yet - don’t pretend to defend me in front of the lads when you’ve done plenty of talkin’ yourself.”

I flinch, just slightly.

“That's different.” but is it?

It's like she read my mind “Is it?” she steps closer, challengin’. “'Cause I remember you callin’ me a ‘bleedin’ nuisance’ last week when I asked Coach to let you lads stretch before suicides. Real heroic, Feely.”

“That was before—”

“Before what?” she snaps. “Before I embarrassed you in drills? Before I dared to exist while bein’ better at running than half your team?”

I shake my head, jaw tight. “No. Before Liam opened his gob like he was talkin’ about a poster, not a person.”