Page 70 of Tricky Girls

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Grabbing one of her protein bars, she shoves her feet into her boots. ‘I was about to go on a walk. Can I join you to wherever you’re going?’

‘You’re in your pyjamas,’ I point out. Judging by her puffy eyes, it’s clear she’s just woken up.

Plucking one of Elly’s jackets from the back of the door, she shrugs it on. ‘There. Now I’m not.’

‘Bet you’ve got no underwear on. Gonna get breezy.’

Opening the door, she ushers me out of it. ‘You let me worry about breezes.’

The late autumn air is so crisp it hurts my nose when I breathe in its loamy, piney scent. There’s not a soul out in the cul-de-sac this morning; it’s like a ghost town.

‘Fresh,’ I comment, burying my face into my coat.

‘Yeah,’ Haz mutters, kicking at some pine needles. ‘Coat weather.’

‘Not a fan?’

She grimaces, hands in her pockets. ‘They’re just kind of ugly.’

I look down at my own winter coat. It’s black, warm. What more could I want? ‘Thanks, pal.’

‘Not you.’ She smiles, slugging an arm around my shoulders. ‘You’d look good in anything—and nothing. Just hate not being able to show off my babies.’ She flexes her other arm, swathed in denim.

I shake my head. ‘You’re full of it.’

‘Rather be full of you.’ She picks me up, swinging me around in a circle until my head spins. She seems to love doing that. I bite down on my scream since it’s still so early.

There’s a gentle fog sluicing through the forest, snagging on all the trees like that fake spider web stuff. I love it when it’s like this, as peaceful as it is spooky. That fateful afternoon poring over Hazelhurst’s prospectus, the forest had looked just like this in the pictures.

This early, some floodlights are still on, catching on the mist and making it swirl around us. ‘Reminds me of Halloween.’

‘Where our love story began.’

Something warm lodges in my chest at her words, banishing the pre-winter chill. She’s kind of right. Since meeting those two, my life has been infinitely better. I don’t think I could have weathered this breakup without them.

‘You’re alright,’ I allow.

‘Woah there, Tilda. I don’t think I’m ready for marriage just yet.’

‘Or ever.’ I peek up at her profile. ‘You don’t seem the marriage type.’

‘Then I’m not doing this right.’ She looks at me, eyes black in the dim of the forest. ‘One day, when I meet the right girl, I’ll be grabbing onto her so tight and never letting go.’

‘That girl will be lucky to have you,’ I tell her, feeling a peculiar pang of envy. Why can’t someone like me in that way?

Gay or not, I do wonder sometimes, in the dead of night with her in the room just opposite, what would happen if I decided to give in. To give into her.

Is she full of shit, like most of my exes, or would she remain true to her word?

I want what she offers. I want to be held so tightly I bruise, so fused with them that neither of us can let go even if we wanted.

With a snort, Haz rips into her protein bar. ‘Damn right, she will.’

Twenty minutes later we’re shuffling along the cobbled paths leading to the heart of campus. There’re more students here, probably taking advantage of the empty study rooms or having breakfast at the grand hall. I have vouchers for that place but the students who frequent it all seem fiftieth in line for the throne or something. Eating some cheapo salad pot in there just felt wrong.

Haz peers round as though she’s never seen the place before. ‘World’s weird this time of morning.’

‘You’re telling me you’ve never woken up early for a Hazelhurst sunrise?’

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