Page 130 of The Import Slot
She heads back into the bathroom and slips into bed a few moments later as I take my turn to get ready.
“Please say you’re doing roast potatoes for Christmas?” I ask as I slide in next to her.
“Of course I am.”
I scoop her up and breathe her in. There’s no fucking way I’m going home, though, not unless she comes with me.
Chapter 33
Jenna
Myphonevibratesonthe bedside table, waking me up. Ryan is breathing steadily next to me, and I wriggle free, trying not to wake him; it’s not quite seven yet.
“Vicky?”
“Jen. Can you come home?” she says, her voice thick with a hangover.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes. No. I mean, just come home.” She hangs up, and I climb out of bed, trying not to wake Ryan.
“Who was that?” Ryan asks, rubbing his eyes.
“Vicky. She wants me to go home. It sounded quite urgent.”
“Should I come too?” he asks, grabbing his phone from his table. “Shit, Johnny’s been calling and messaging. He says Liam didn’t make it to his place last night.”
Ryan puts his phone to his ear, but then tosses it back on the bed a few moments later.
“I’ll be back soon as I can,” I say to Ryan, pecking him on the lips.
He pulls me onto him. “Oh no, you don’t.”
Only when my phone rings again do I tug myself away and get dressed.
“I won’t be long,” I say, dashing out of his bedroom and heading for the front door.
Both the stairwell and the lobby are silent. It’s only on the street below that I see signs of life. The coffee shop across the street is open, and I decide to run in and grab a few brews before heading to my building.
“Thank god,” Vicky says, grabbing one drink from me as soon as I make it home.
“What’s going on?” I ask her, taking my cup out of the paper tray.
I toss my phone down on the counter and properly look at Vicky. To be blunt, she looks like shit. Her makeup is smudged, and her hair could make an excellent bird’s nest. She’s wearing an old pyjama set and her fluffy pink slippers.
I press Vicky for a response.
“Liam Preston is in my bed,” she says, tears forming in her eyes.
She flops down on the sofa and hugs a cushion.
“Aww, Vic, why are you crying?” I put my arm around her, and she sobs.
“I said I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I can’t keep doing this to myself, Jenna. And now he’s in my bed.”
“Did you—?”
“No! We just cuddled, but that’s worse, surely?”
