‘Bailey’s parents live in Speyside,’ he explains. ‘When we go up there, his dad likes taking us round the distilleries.’
Irritation sparks at the mention of Bailey. I don’t know why I’ve got such a thing against him. But I’m like that with people sometimes—I just dislike them immediately. Lewis seems cool, though.
A couple of shot glasses appear, and he pours clear liquid from a slender bottle. ‘I’ll go first.’ He taps his finger against his Cavill chin and surveys me thoughtfully. ‘You’re an only child.’
‘Errrr, wrong.’ Well, Violet technically is my sister.
‘Shit. I was sure about that. Your turn.’
I take a stab in the dark. ‘You’re anX-Menfan.’
‘Nope. Can’t stand those movies.’ He eyes his tequila shot like he really wants to drink it.
He tries again. ‘You’re not on any social media platforms.’
‘Huh, I’m not actually. How did you know that?’
‘I checked because I was going to follow you and ... nada.’
‘I’m not sure that counts. It’s prior knowledge.’
‘It still counts. Drink up!’
I toss back the shot, and it slides down my throat like burning citrus, making me gasp.
Lewis refills my glass. ‘Why not, by the way?’
‘Social media? Because it’s toxic and brain destroying. I’d rather read a book. And while we’re on the subject, what’s with not showing your face on Zoom?’
‘I don’t want my employees to be fazed by my looks,’ he says seriously, and I choke back a laugh. Oh, the arrogance. He nods at his glass. ‘Your turn.’
I’ve got to get one right. Well, if prior knowledge is allowed ...
‘You’re a foodie, and you like eating out at restaurants.’
‘Correct. A lucky guess.’ He narrows his eyes at me.
I silently congratulate myself as Lewis downs his shot. I’m so going to nail this game.
Chapter 4
I crack open an eye and slam it shut again as light filters through. Ow, that hurt. My brain starts sputtering to life like an old car. Ugh, I feel like shit. My mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. Something weird is also going on with my head. It feels constricted. Gingerly, I reach up and touch something crinkly. Tugging it off, I stare at the object in my hand. Why the hell am I wearing a shower cap? And why am I lying in bed fully dressed?
With an effort, I try to remember ... then see through blurry eyes the peacock duvet and the lounge area. Oh my god, I’m still at the hotel. Lewis! I swivel my head too fast, and a stabbing pain makes me yelp. The other side of the bed is empty and unslept in. OK, it must’ve gotten too late for me to go home; and I stayed the night, underneath the recycled bottle duvet ... No big deal. There’s no evidence of anything untoward happening. Or that Lewis even stayed here with me. I’m not naked. It’s all fine.
Groggily, I reach for my phone, but it’s not on the nightstand. Instead, there’s my glasses, which I put on, and a tumbler of water, which I chug down thankfully, still trying to piece together the events of last night. But they elude me, like someone’s dangling a prism in the sun and I’m attempting to snatch at dancing rainbows.
I get out of bed and discover I’m barefoot. Someone (me?) took off my boots, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Hobbling over to the lounge area, I spy my phone lying on the coffee table next to a nearly empty bottle of tequila and two upturned shot glasses. The scene of the crime. I creep back to bed, softly and hunched over, so I don’t make any jarring movements. Somehow, I think I’m better off being horizontal than upright. But when I’m back under the duvet and fully stretched out, my foot hits something hard. Reaching down a hand, I draw up a black object by its cord. A hairdryer? Why is there a hairdryer in the bed?
Something is off with all this. An eco-friendly shower cap and a hairdryer does not bode well.
My phone displays a bunch of missed calls from Andrea, which ceased just before midnight. Either she gave up, or she got lucky. I really hope she didn’t get together with that guy Bailey. We were well on the way to becoming friends, and ifhe’saround, that’s a no go.
I gaze at the shower cap and the hairdryer lying next to me on the bed, feeling uneasy. Then I look at my phone again. It’s just gone 9 a.m. If I was that drunk, why hasn’t Lewis messaged to check up on me? Unless he’s crashed out at his flat in a tequila-induced coma. A wave of nausea hits me even though I’m lying down. Then it occurs to me. Oh no, Crumpet! He’s probably wondering where I am—starving hungry and, if I’m really unlucky, pooping all over the carpet. I need to get out of here and see to him. If I can find my boots, that is ...
After finding my boots placed side by side in the wardrobe, I attempt to make myself look presentable and slouch back to my flat, feeling like I’m doing the walk of shame. Crumpet is beside himself with joy that I’ve materialised.
‘Sorry, buddy, last night was a write-off. We’ll go for a walk shortly.’If I don’t power chuck first.I feed him and nibble tentatively on a piece of dry toast to see how my stomach holds it. I can’t even look at the butter, and jam is out of the question.
