"You and Lars, then."
"He has a moped."
Sophie stole the fag from where it rested between my fingers. She always got drool on the butt, so I let her keep it and fished another one out from the pack in the pocket of my jeans. The embers glowed orange, and I could see how Sophie's blood-red lipstick clung to the end of cigarette.
"He looks a bit like James Dean, don't you think?" I turned towards her, so I was on my side. She answered me with a crooked smirk and looked towards the midday blue sky.
Sophie used her nail to knock off the ash, and slowly sat up straight. She shrugged and moved back to rest on her arms. The strap of her dress slid down over the sun-kissed shoulder.
She threw away the now almost burned out cigarette, and it ended right next to me. I put my cigarette-butt down next to hers and put out both of them with my hand. It burned. Sophie laughed and rolled her eyes at me.
"He can swing by tonight, if you want?" She said and got up. The grass had made marks on the skin of her leg. I ran my finger across her thigh, feeling the dips that the grass had created. She shook her leg and went over to the place, where our bikes were.
I pulled out some grass, rolled it up and stuffed it down the back-pocket of my trousers.
When I came home I had to wash the green from the grass of my fingers. Lars came by later that night, he pulled me outside, into the garden. He kissed me deeply and took my hand while he laughed and said that I smelled like the countryside.
I could hear Sophie's clear laughter from inside the living room.