Page 187 of Falling for You
She holds up her drink at me, raising her eyebrows. I roll my eyes and she laughs again.
‘And let me guess …’ she says, leaning closer to me. ‘Then you’d take me somewhere to go dancing to shit music, with sticky floors and sweaty strangers.’
I run my fingers through my hair. She’s so close to me now that I can smell her perfume. It’s sweet and floral. It’s lovely. Everything about her is lovely.
‘Fine,’ I say, holding up my hands. ‘You’ve got me. This is the perfect date.’
I glance down at her lips and then back at her eyes. Then, before I can think about it too much, I pull her in and kiss her.
If I thought I felt sparks before, that was nothing compared to how I feel now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Annie
‘Penny, Penny, Penny, Penny. Tanya, Tanya, Tanya, Tanya!’ I cry, running in between their doors and knocking wildly. ‘Wake up!’
Tanya appears first, her eyes wild with alarm.
‘What is it? Are you okay? Is it the mouse?’
I beam at her. I can’t help it. I’ve been grinning like a madman since last night, since I realised that I’d actually managed to find him.
‘What the fuck?’
I turn to see Penny, her eyes barely open. She looks like she’s just come out of hibernation. ‘Annie, it’s like eight in the morning.’
‘That’s not early.’
‘It’s a Sunday!’
‘I need to talk to you both,’ I say, the words falling out of my mouth. ‘I’ve made us all a tea. It’s in the living room.’
As we walk through, Tanya eyes me suspiciously. ‘What time did you get in last night? I didn’t hear you. Who was that guy you left with? Your message was so mysterious! Are you okay?’
‘I’m great!’
Penny stumbles past us, immediately crashing onto the sofa. ‘I’ll listen with my eyes closed,’ she mumbles as I bounce after her.
Tanya picks up her tea and I drop down into the beanbag, which swallows my body at once.
‘Okay …’ Tanya says slowly. ‘You’re weirding me out a bit. What’s going on?’
‘Guess who I saw last night?’
‘Peter Andre,’ Penny says, her voice muffled by her pillow.
I roll my eyes. ‘No.’
‘Oh!’ Tanya sits up a bit straighter. ‘Rod Stewart?’
‘Boris Johnson?’
‘No and no.’
‘Our landlord?’
‘No!’ I cry, swatting away their guesses with my hand. ‘American Boy.’
