Brady, No.

Her phone begins to vibrate violently, echoing a loud thunder on the wooden table. She looks at the phone it reads, "Message from Brady." (CHANGING TENSES HERE)

He's a lush, yet I hate the fact that I'm still intrigued by him, there's some thing almost novelty about him in so many ways that I keep him at arms lengths. She lays back on the bed thinking, Brady is the biggest dick in a bottle except the bottle has a million cracks in it. To many break in case of emergency cases, but not a big enough emergency... yet.

She kneels over the table, flips her phone and reads the message:

Please come out and play, please? I miss you.

My eyes roll up and then back at the floor. Its always the same thing every time that bottle touches his lips. The phone starts to vibrate again. I don't have time for this.

Prove to me that you like me come to me!

Again the classic eye roll now followed by a few signs and a hand on the waist. I wish I knew a way to slap the bottle from his hand. Apparently there are new and emerging problems every day at the disadvantages of texting.