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“What have you got?” Miles asks, leaning over my shoulder to try and get a look.
“One cheese, one pepperoni,” I say. “I thought I'd keep it simple.”
“Nice,” he says, reaching in and grabbing a slice to shove in his mouth. I can’t help but laugh at him. It's times like this, these little moments when he lets his guard down, that I remember he’s human. “So what do you want to do?”
I reach into my handbag to pull out a large bottle of tequila. “Since your plan was probably to go out and get smashed, I thought why not do that, but from the comfort of your own home?”
His face lights up at the sight of the bottle. “I'm starting to like the way you think,” he says with a grin.
“Finally,” I huff, pretending to be mad about it. He shakes his head at me like a lost puppy.
I think for a second that he’s about to say something else playful, but then he stops. I’m relieved — because I definitely can't have a conversation more heartfelt than this without some drink in my system.
He wanders over to a cupboard and grabs two glasses.
“How civilized,” I say as he puts them down next to the pizza.
“I'm not sure we know each other well enough to share a bottle quite yet,” he says, winking, and there's that stupid flutter again. That little feeling that I’ve trained myself not to acknowledge. That tiny stirring inside me trying to tell me what it wants. But what it wants is Miles. I can't want Miles. I don’t want Miles. I can't stand the idea of it.
“Cheers,” he says, holding a full glass out to me.
“Cheers,” I say, taking it with a nod and tapping it carefully against the side of his so they ring.
“You know, I just finished unpacking today—” he starts.
“Took you long enough,” I interrupt.
Miles chooses not to reply to my comment, instead carrying on with what he was saying. “And I found a shitload of video games. What do you think? Fancy a challenge?”
My face splits into a huge grin. Little does he know that he’s looking at the ninth-grade queen of video games. “You're on,” I say. I finish off my drink, tipping it down my throat, then refill it. “But be warned — I won’t go easy on you.”
He grins in return. “Bring it on.”
CHAPTER 8
MILES
I wake up slowly, the kind of awakening where nothing feels real for a second, like you can't quite remember how to be a person yet, and you also don't quite want to be. My head's throbbing in the kind of way that’s yelling hangover, but my bed is empty in the kind of way that tells me nobody stayed. My memory is still fuzzy, but I'm sure I can remember talking to someone last night and having someone over.
I’m pretty sure it was a girl. I'm pretty sure she was hot. Not that I would invite someone over who wasn't attractive. I only let pretty girls into my life.
Then there's a sharp knock on the door, and I jump bolt upright as reality suddenly snaps tight like an elastic around me. I wish my memory would hurry up and tell me what happened.
But reality hits in the most horrible of ways as the mystery door knocker doesn't wait for an answer before she barges in.
“Olivia?” I mumble, wiping my eyes as I try desperately to think of a reason why she might be in my house. I'm struggling.
“Get up,” she demands far too loudly and harshly for my alcohol-addled ears to cope with.
“What?” I stare blankly at her, trying to figure out what’s going on and what she’s talking about.
“Get up,” she repeats, as if that’s the question I’m really asking.
“Why are you here?” I slur, rubbing my puffy eyes and wishing with all my being that I could go back to sleep.
But her stern face doesn’t change. “Don’t you remember last night?”
“Huh?” is all I can manage.
