Page 64 of Reverb

The tiny voice that's suggested one day Bryn would call me for another date is silenced. Who am I kidding? He's a rock star. She’s a leggy blonde. They’re a match. I'm an idiot.

“I'm leaving,” I say firmly.

“Aww.” He pouts in an exaggerated manner and drops my hand. “Call me?”

Without responding, I head to my friends across the pub and grab my bag with shaking hands. “I'm going. I have things to do.”

“Was that—?” begins Ben.

“See you at the house.”

Before I'm assailed with twenty questions about Bryn or Ruby Riot, I hightail it out of the pub in case anything else disastrous or mortifying happens.