Now I was going to lose my jobandhave to sell all of my dad’s stuff.
I’d lost it all. Everything.
I just wanted a hug from my dad.
Because I couldn’t go back home to go to his grave with my mum and brother. Because even though I’d spoken to mybrother about it briefly, I couldn’t talk about it for long.
With the anniversary of my dad’s death, came another. Two events that had changed me for good.
And then, before I could even grab some toilet roll, I was weeping, body rocking with sobs, so hard my stomach hurt.
The girls chatting as they washed and dried their hands felt so far away. It was just the beat of the music, the drier and my slow thoughts as I wiped my tears. I needed a bottle of water and a loaf of bread.Mmm, a bagel and beans. Maybe even a whole English breakfast.
I wanted to go home.
“—Ivie!”
As the hand dryer stopped, I heard half my name and girls protesting.
“Livie, are you in here?”
God, was I drunk enough to start hallucinating? Sat there for so long, I was sure I’d sobered up.
I sorted myself out, pulled down my dress, and opened the cubicle door, only to see Nix standing amongst the sinks, talking to a group of girls. He was gesturing to the height of his shoulder.
The fuck was he doing in here? Could he not get enough women out there?
One of the club-goers pointed my way as I held onto the rail, going up the steps to the sinks. He turned and released a deep breath.
He was at my side in one stride, eyes wide in panic as he surveyed me swaying. “Livie, are you okay?”
“Need to wash my hands,” I said, pushing past him. I wasn’t cold, but the water was lovely and warm. Steam fogged the mirror, but not high enough for me to miss the reflection ofArmasstanding at my back.
“Are you okay?” he repeated, that infuriating look of concern still on his ridiculously attractive face.
God, he made me angry.
“Fine and dandy, as I said,” I told him, letting my hands soak up the warmth as the water rinsed away the soap bubbles.
“What is this ‘dandy’?”
I snorted, smiling to myself in the mirror with a slow blink. “I’m just fine.”
“Luca said you’re not.”
“Lucais a meddler.” With pure, good intentions. But still a meddler.
“You look like you’ve been crying,” he said.
I squeaked the tap off and turned on him with an incredulous look, brows down, eyes narrowed. I gestured around us. “And you look like a perv in the girls’ toilets.”
Almost as if the steam cleared and he realised where he was, he scanned the room. “Yeah, well, I was worried about you.”
“Gonna be front page news tomorrow. A new low for bad-boyArmas: doing coke in the girls’ toilets.”
He inhaled deeply. “Livie—”
“I’m going to dance,” I said, already walking down the steps back to the dance floor. “I wantSaliha.”
