I groaned. ‘Is this all you two can think about?’
Seriously, when was the last time we’d talked about something other than my bullshit relationship?
‘It just looked like you were having a good time, that’s all,’ my twin answered, and I couldn’t deny it.
I was starting to have a good time. With Patrick.
Was the room really hot, or were these drinks super strong? ‘He’s just – Patrick is – I like him.’
I did. There was no point arguing against it when I’d spent all morning looking at the photos from the previous night. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at me like that. Like there was nothing else in the world but me. Did Patrick know what his face was giving away? Or maybe he was just that good an actor? I had seen first-hand the mask he pulled over his face for the cameras.
Maybe this was all just part of his performance. Maybe none of it was real.
It didn’t matter. It was already starting to feel real to me.
‘Like him? Oh girl, just admit you want inside his pants!’ Brushing her box braids away from her eyes, Anna reached into her handbag, grabbed the tequila she always brought on a night out, and tipped a far too generous measure into my margarita.
‘Down it!’ She grinned. ‘For tonight, let’s try to forget guys, forget work and forget dating apps that take up way too much of your time –’ Anna threw a pointed look at Laura.
‘Hey!’
‘– and let’s just hang. We’re only young once!’
‘Young and hot,’ Laura corrected as she lifted her glass of wine.
‘Young, hot and famous,’ I said with a grin, lifting my own, now intensely alcoholic, margarita.
Anna raised her glass and tapped it against ours. ‘Clink, clink, bitch!’
And … the rest of the night was a blur.
WHEN I WOKE UP, face down in my pillow with last night’s make-up crusted around my eyes, the low moan I uttered earned nothing but silence from my hotel room.
‘Arrghhh.’ I tried to force myself to sit up, but my tongue felt like velvet and my shoulder ached.
When the fuck had I hurt my shoulder? What was I, fifty?
I tried to recall the rest of my night with the girls, but only snippets came to mind. Hopping from bar to bar … stumbling back to the hotel … picking up my phone to message –
Oh, shit.
Scrabbling to find my phone in my rumpled duvet and eventually locating it in my right sandal by the bedroom door, I scrolled down the messages I’d sent last night.
Oh, shit shit shit –
Paddy
So, we’re on for eleven tomorrow, right?
Jessy
Anything for you, king!
Paddy
What?
Paddy
