“Can I use your shower?”
“Of course. Use anything you like. Do you have clothes?”
I nod—I packed for today.
“Maybe we should go out once you’re ready, get breakfast or something? Get out of the house, away from them.”
My first reaction is to refuse in my need to go running home and lock myself in my bedroom. But then I look into her kind eyes and realize she needs the time out as much as I do.
“Okay. I’ll shower then we’ll go for food. You can tell me all about your night.” I wink at her, and she blushes.
“I can’t believe I saw Nico getting—” She slams her lips shut, her cheeks only getting brighter.
“Head? Don’t worry, he woke up with two naked girls on either side of him. It got worse.”
“Oh my God. How am I related to that dog?”
Laughing, I leave her to her mortification in favor of her shower.
I sigh in relief when I find that it looks completely different to the one in the basement. It’s certainly a girl’s bathroom, and my back straightens a little. I’m safe in here.
Turning the shower on as hot as I can, I strip out of Theo’s shirt, drag my bra, garter and ruined stockings from my legs and step under.
The water burns, my skin rejecting the temperature, but I force myself to stand there, to endure the heat that will help wash last night, them, him, from my body. It’s just a shame that I can’t get all of them out of my head quite so easily.
I make the most of Calli’s fancy shampoo and conditioner that I’ve never heard of, and I don’t step out until every single part of my body has been scrubbed within an inch of its life. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was one patch that couldn’t handle that kind of treatment, a part I refused to even look at. If I ignore the existence of those two little letters, then maybe they’ll disappear as if they never happened.
Yeah, nice thought.
By the time I step out, dressed in fresh clothes and with my wet hair hanging around my shoulders, I feel a little like the usual me once more.
“Here, I snuck out for coffee.”
“Oh my God.” I race over and take the mug she offers me, hugging it to my chest as I breathe in the scent of the freshly ground beans. “It’s good stuff, too.”
“Of course. Only the best in the Cirillo house, you know.” She puts on a prissy English accent. I have no idea who she’s mimicking, her mom maybe, but it’s funny.
“Drink that, dry your hair, then we’re out of here. I’m taking you for a real breakfast. None of the pancake and bacon crap you’re used to.”
“Crap?” I ask, faux offended.
“There’s only one way to deal with hangovers, and that’s the British way.”
* * *
An hour later, I find myself sitting across a table from Calli in a backstreet London café. It’s not where I was expecting her to bring me, but after the night and morning I’ve had, hiding here couldn’t be any more perfect.
I didn’t even bother looking at the menu when we arrived, I just let Calli handle it. She seems to know what I need to fix everything that’s gone wrong in my life over the past twelve hours, so she can have at it.
“Look what I’ve got,” she says excitedly, slipping a screwed-up piece of paper across the table.
I stare down at the scribbled phone number and my brows pull together.
“Whose is that?” I ask, a proud smile tugging at my lips.
“The guy I was dancing with before we went to the basement. I had no idea until I took my dress off and found it in my pocket.”
I’m not sure what I’m more surprised about—that he did it or that the dress she borrowed from me had fucking pockets.