Had he said nun? He was sure he'd not said a bleeding word about a nun. He didn't get a chance to say a word about that before she was talking about being fair and then she was on him about a untucked shirt and less than clean clothing. His face screwed up in flat out consternation.

"An untucked shirt? Maybe if I were wearin' a pair of jeans that might as well be skin or...or, hell, Lizzie...an untucked shirt? It's nothing even close to the same," he argued, and he'd stand by that. Showing skin versus untucked shirts, no competition. "I'm not gonna let any girl I date walk about letting anyone think she might be loose," he pointed out, sandwich in hand before he took a bite.

And that's all there was to it. She could say what she liked on that subject, but he was the one who knew the talk that went on in the boy's loo and it wasn't untucked shirts and unwashed trousers they talked about; it was tits and legs and arses. And girls who let that cat out of the bag, so to speak, were the ones talked about in ways that often had Tucker leaving the loo. He'd rather they think he dated the world's most prudish girl than a whore.