He jolted upright. “Dog or boy?”
I felt my eyes widen and put my hands on my hips. “Boy!”
He pointed his bony forefinger at me. “Do you fancy him? Does he fancy you? What’ve you been talking about?”
I started to smile at the accusations, just a little after so much anger. If I didn’t explain our friendship, Dad would panic when they met. Brodie would seem to be a stereotypical fit boyfriend: big eyes, dark brown hair without his mother’s red in it, elfish face, deep voice, and almost posh accent.