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“No, no, no, no, no,” Miguel insisted as we began to make our way up the steps. “There is no way in hell McCoy will come between you and your friends. Besides, in a few months, you might even be over him!”
As much as I wished Miguel’s words were true, I knew my feelings wouldn’t fade so quickly. It had already been a couple of months and Radleigh was still the last person I thought of every night, and the first person I thought of every morning.
Seeing him had set me back even further, and my mind wouldn’t relax. I tried watching TV, reading, staring at the ceiling, but nothing worked. At a little after three a.m I was startled by the sound of my mobile alerting me to a new text message. I reached to pick it up with a grin, thinking it was probably Freya complaining that she had thrown up in her hair.
When I checked, it was Radleigh's name on the screen and I clicked to open the message. Are you awake?
For a second, I contemplated ignoring it. After all, he’d been ignoring me all evening. I shook my head, telling myself to stop being so stupid. One of us had to be the first to stop playing stupid mind games, so I simply typed back, Yes.
Good. I'm outside your room. Let me in?
He was outside my room? At three fifteen in the morning?
I heard a gentle knock and swore to myself under my breath as I climbed out of bed. Pulling on my dressing gown to cover my underwear, I ran to the door.
.
Chapter 24: Would You Like A Shovel?
“What are you doing here, Radleigh?”
It was the only question I could think of. His call had surprised me and his appearance hadn't given me time to think. I knew my hair was sticking out at weird angles from where I’d been tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep, but it was too late to worry about vanity.
“Are you going to let me in?”
I opened the door a little wider, allowing him to step inside. A shiver ran through me at being disturbed from the comfort of my bed, and I wrapped by dressing gown more tightly around me, then stopped to fully take in his appearance.
In spite of it being the early hours of the morning, he looked kind of … gorgeous. He wasn't groomed to within an inch of his life like usual. His jeans were crumpled, and his hair was tousled from being in bed. It made him look vulnerable.
“I want to show you something,” Radleigh said.
He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small rectangular piece of paper and dropped it on the bed.
“Take a look.”
When I realised what it was, my mouth dropped open.
A plane ticket from London to Newquay, departing on Friday morning.
I looked up at him, astounded.
“You … you were coming to see me?”
“Yes,” he answered coldly. “But like always, you were one step ahead of me.”
Weird. I’d always felt like he was the one who was one step ahead.
“Why didn't you say so earlier?” I asked.
“Because you wouldn't stop yelling.”
A blush began to creep over my cheeks. “I'm sorry.”
He shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I just wanted you to know.”
The idea that he, Radleigh McCoy, had intended to get on a plane to Cornwall and attempt to find me was huge. He had been thinking about me.
My softer side wanted to go to him and erase the look of unhappiness on his face, but a meaner, more antagonistic part of me still didn't think he’d suffered enough yet.
