Page 11 of To Hell With It

And I wish I could tell you that I remember him kissing me and how it had felt but I can’t. I just know that I’d held my lips afterwards like they’d been kissed by some kind of god. Which they had by the way, because when I got back I’d looked up Jack’s name and that was exactly what it meant.

God.

ChapterSeven

That Saturday morning (the one with Jack in my bed).

When I’d finally got myself downstairs, and after three attempts of counting them, a whole heap of penises, and a million trees, I opened Una’s text.

Did you go home with him?

I stared at her words and wished it was her upstairs not Jack. I mean I didn’t do that. I didn’t sleep with random men. I typed my one-word reply.

Yes.

Fuck! What was it like? Does he have a big cock?

I don’t know.

What do you mean, you don’t know?

I don’t know if he has a big cock because I don’t know what happened…

Oh shite, you were quite pissed.

That’s your bloody fault.

I didn’t make you drink the shots!

You brought him over to our table…

Did you see Carmel’s face? :D. She was fuming, silly mare. What are you going to do now then? Is he still there?

He’s asleep upstairs. Bloody hell, how do I get him out?

Just wake him up and ask him to leave…

I can’t just go and wake a naked man up in my bed and make him leave!

He’s naked?

Yes.

So you must have slept with him!

I told you, Una. I don’t know.

Check the bins.

What the hell for?

Condoms.

Oh fuck, he’s coming downstairs, I’ve got to go.

There was no time to compose myself. Jack was stood at the bottom of my stairs with an amused look on his face.

‘Everything OK?’ He grinned.

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