Love on the Air by Ash London

Author:Ash London [Ash London]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2025-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

10

I did not feel human at 6 pm when Tom called to wake me up. It could have been January 2045 for all I knew, and after sleeping for six straight hours it took me five or six seconds to remember who I was and what was going on. With an hour up my sleeve to get ready, I stumbled to the bathroom and thanked baby Jesus that I’d had the wherewithal to get a mid-week blow dry, and the self-respect to cleanse and moisturise my face before I fell asleep at midday. Walking into the kitchen, I sang out to see if May or Billy were home but heard no reply. It was still light and balmy outside and I stared out the kitchen windows at the afternoon sun bouncing off the swimming pool. I loaded a coffee pod into the espresso machine, pressed the button and waited for the glorious shot of caffeine that would soon shock me back to life.

It felt important for me to attend tonight, and not just because Tom had told everybody the tequila was on me. We’d all worked hard to get the show live, and the past week had been a huge slog. It was important to celebrate. I suppose part of me also wanted people to know that, although I was now hosting the breakfast show, I hadn’t changed. I was still Alex. I was still going to come out and party and end up smashing a 7-Eleven sausage roll in a gutter at 2 am just like old times.

On second thoughts, I could probably do without the gutter sausage roll.

I put my favourite ‘get ready’ playlist on my Bluetooth speaker, and the opening bars of Lizzo’s ‘Soulmate’ came blasting out at me. Every killer night out starts with a killer outfit. And I knew exactly what the outfit was going to be.

The minute I’d laid eyes on the mini dress at Harrods I knew it had to be mine. I didn’t even need to try it on to know that it was going to look incredible. It was a shade of fuchsia that looked almost edible. I wanted to pour it on vanilla ice-cream and eat it for breakfast. I teamed it with a pair of Prada creeper brogues that gave me some much-needed height but kept it comfortable in case Missy Elliott played and I needed to really move. I put some light waves through my hair with my ghd, a bit of smoke on the eyelids, and after a nice thorough brush of the teeth I was ready to go with five minutes to spare.

Tom wolf-whistled as I made my way down the front path and through the gate, illuminated by the lights of the Uber. He was dressed head to toe in black, with a fresh fade that he hadn’t had when I saw him seven hours earlier.

‘I have two questions,’ I said as I slid myself onto the leather seat next to him.

‘Hit me.’

‘Are those pants

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