Page 5 of Prove You Wrong

Ella: Sharing my location with you. Has the taxi gone AWOL? Tell my mum I love her and my sister that she can have my beanie bear collection.

I’m mostly joking. Mostly.

Josie: Can I have your little black dress?

Ella: No, I’m wearing it. If I’m ever found, you won’t want it. It’ll be soiled with a thousand tears from my anguish of missing cocktail night.

It’s hard to make out anything through the window. Where has Josie sent me?

Josie: I see you on the map. It’s all good, only a couple of miles to go.

Ella: I thought we were going for drinks in town?

Josie: Change of plan. Tell you more when you get here. I’ll wait at the bar.

The driver makes another turn, and suddenly I know exactly where we are. The road I drove only a few nights ago, dazed and confused and soaked through. This is Hot Guy’s road.

Shit. Am I going to his pub?

The taxi slows and indicates to turn into the pub car park. My heart starts to pound. This must be a coincidence as I haven’t told Josie about that whole ordeal yet.

What if he’s there?

A torrent of panicky questions tumble through my brain until I’m momentarily distracted by the taxi pulling up next to a line of motorbikes. My brow creases — I hope she knows what she’s doing — she did choose this place after all.

Despite the bikes, this place seems welcoming, cute even, compared to Halloween night. Now, the building is lit with fairy lights wound through the climbing ivy. Festoon lighting is drizzled over the patio area, and a very familiar heater is glowing a warm orange.

Shaking, I climb out of the cab like a foal being born, instantly regretting the skimpy dress and hot pink patent stilettos.

Deep breaths. Long and steady.You’ve got this.

It’s probably best I didn’t know where we were going tonight as I may never have left my house through indecision over what to wear. You can’t help first impressions, but second impressions, they can be carefully managed and manicured into whatever you need them to be. Kind of over-dressed wouldn’t have been my first choice of appearance but at least my lucky LBD accentuatesallmy positives. And, is a damn sight better than the poncho.

Trying to find a silver lining, I realise I haven’t spent any time over-thinking absolutely every possible iteration for how tonight might go, so, yay me. As it is,ifHot Guy is here, which is really unlikely, then he absolutely won’t recognise me because I don’t look like a wet bin bag. As I head inside, I try to convince myself this sort of fluke doesn’t happen in real life.

Palpitations. Sweating. Why is my body betraying me? Gah! Even if he was here, I wouldn’t let anything happen.

I never do.

I’ve got no time for boyfriends or the inevitable breakups, and I’ve worked too long and hard on helping to bring my little sister up, I can’t risk bringing a bad influence into her life.

But the vision of him standing in the downpour is burnt into my memory. Tattoos glistening, droplets of rain on his buzz cut. Hot Guy is the poster boy for being a bad influence. And I’m not buying.

Chapter 3

Nate

‘You sure it’s okay I leave early tonight?’ Enzo asks, as he fidgets with a bar towel.

I survey the bar. My flatmate and best friend, Chunk, is in the corner with some old buddies, there’s a group doing a pub crawl, a couple of regulars scattered around and a redheaded newbie who keeps checking her phone.

‘We’re hardly rushed off our feet. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll make the time up.’

‘Seriously, it’s what?’ I stretch my neck from side to side as I think. ‘Half an hour early? And you don’t want your wife walking home in the dark.’

‘Thanks, man. I owe you one.’

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