"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?”

“Or anything. But half the time you look like you dress in your sleep.” It was only fair: if he was allowed to decide what she looked like, she should have the same input.

“It's nothing even close to the same,"

“It is for me!”

"I'm not gonna let any girl I date walk about letting anyone think she might be loose,"

Lizzie folded her arms and scowled. “Oh, yer no going tae let me are ye? And you think that’s entirely up tae you is it? What I wear? Well, that’s where yer wrong, Tucker me lad. I choose what I wear, not you!” She slapped her had down on the table causing her cup to rock.

“Now, bein’ as yer my boyfriend, and I chose ye, I’ll take what you say under advisement. And if I agree with you, I’ll act according, but not because you, or any other boy makes a comment! It’s no my fault of yer brother’s got a filthy mind. I am who I am, Tucker, and you either take me as such or you look for some other girl! And why shouldn’t I have the right tae ask you tae tuck in yer bloody shirt tails, for Merlin’s sake? If you can tell me tae hide my natural assets, I can ask you tae buck up and pull yer socks up. All I’m asking is ye don’t look like a slob, and you take on like it’s the Spanish Inquisition! Do you understand what I’m sayin’ here, Tucker? If you get tae criticize me, expect me tae come back with the same. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the bloody gander, and don’t you forget it.”

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