‘What, you don’t think I’m a bad boy?’ He was trying to be playful, mock-dismay on his face now. ‘I’m wounded. Maybe I need to go punch a wall and light up a cigarette to prove it to you. Race off on my motorbike and pick a fight with someone. Go … I don’t know, go kick all the potted plants outside over. My mom would hate that. Seriously badass.’
