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“Leah, talk to me,” he said, following me into the kitchen.
“I don't want to talk. I want to have a cup of coffee, and take a long shower.”
“That's it? You're not gonna tell me I had this whole weekend planned out, and that I knew exactly what I was doing when I came here?”
“Well, we both already know that’s the truth, so what would be the point in going over it?”
I wasn't sure what I’d been expecting when I looked into his eyes, but I hadn't anticipated seeing such annoyance.
Perhaps we’d both misjudged each other's reactions.
I changed my mind about the coffee. Instead, I wanted to hop straight into the shower to get away from him. When I attempted to walk past him again, he stood in front of me, blocking my way.
“Radleigh -”
“You can’t pretend last night didn't happen.”
“Don't tell me what I can't do,” I said, attempting to shove him out of the way. He grabbed my wrists to stop me and looked me dead in the eye until, with a sigh, I stopped struggling.
“I know we can't pretend nothing happened,” I said. “But that doesn't mean I don't regret it.”
“You don’t regret it. We both knew this would happen eventually.”
He was absolutely right. But the realisation only made me angrier. With him, and even more with myself. In a fit of temper, I flung his clothes across the room towards him. As I did so, his wallet and mobile phone fell from the pockets of his trousers and on to the floor.
His wallet.
The two of us dashed forwards to grab the item he claimed to have lost, but I got there first, flipping it open to reveal the key card to his hotel room tucked into one of the pockets.
I dropped the wallet back to the floor and sank on to the sofa, full of self-loathing. I’d fallen for his stupid lie, cheated on Miguel and jeopardised my career all in one night.
“I'm not sorry,” Radleigh said matter-of-factly. “Not at all.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Would it have made a difference?” he asked, “If I hadn't lied about losing my wallet, would you really have sent me back to the hotel?”
“I don't know.” I sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. I was drunk, and …”
“And we were having a good time.”
“A good time? You mean, me insulting you?”
“You were different. You were honest. I was too.”
I turned my head to look at him. For all the crappy things he’d done, even he’d managed to give me some truthful answers last night. Didn’t he deserve the same?
“What do you want to hear? That last night, I wanted you? Well, it's true. I did, but today, knowing I gave in to you makes me feel like hell.”
“Why? Why is this such a big deal to you?”
I could have launched into the whole story of my teenage years, and told hi
m the very idea that I’d gone back to the way I used to be made me want to vomit. But that was far more than he needed to know.
‘You haven't reverted back to anything,' I told myself. 'It was a slip-up, the only one you’ve made in years.’
“I've never cheated on anyone before,” I said. “Never. I never thought I would. It makes me feel cheap, and-”
