“I’m not fun. I thought we were here to shit-talk Rhys.” “What are we going to say to him?” I ask, trying to contain my laughter. “Your physique is too much like Jason Momoa, Rhys,” I mock-shout with a hand cupped by my mouth. Rosie laughs. Tabby does not. Then Rosie follows suit. “The way you fill out those jeans is criminal, Rhys.” Then me. “Your hands don’t need to be that big, Rhys.” Then Rosie. “How dare you defend Tabby’s honor, Rhys? You piece of shit.”
