“Eyes still shut, I put out my hand, scrabbling about on the bedside table to find it. But by the time I had, it had stopped. I opened an eye. One missed call: from Dad. But then a text appeared. He was reminding me what day it was. Saturday: the Fox and Hound’s annual trip to the Cauldron pothole. I groaned and tried to sit up, only to collapse back onto the bed again. My head was thumping and my throat was desert-dry. Eventually I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. Once i...n the bathroom, I removed all traces of panda eyes with a cleansing wipe, and, ignoring the déjà vu, I cleaned my teeth, scrubbing hard at my dry, white tongue. I stood, looking in the mirror, mortified as I ran through the night before. How I’d openly flirted - no, thrown myself at Luke on the way home. What had I been thinking of? He was in his thirties for God’s sake. A fully-grown man having to look after a stupid, drunken teenager. I bet that impressed him. My only consolation was that he hadn’t witnessed my later behaviour, standing at that very sink.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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