Ex in the City by Portia MacIntosh

Author:Portia MacIntosh [MacIntosh, Portia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

21

I grip the sheets below me with both hands, squeezing so hard I feel my nails dig into the mattress.

I have woken up to the feeling of the world spinning around me. Hangovers in your thirties are really something; a cruel reminder that your body isn’t as resilient as it used to be. I’ve had bad hangovers before, and the usual suspects are all there: the relentless headache, the desert-dry mouth, and the feeling that my stomach is trying to turn itself inside out. But this hangover has a few fresh tricks up its sleeve too. The bad back I’ve woken up with is just such a nice touch, honestly, I’m loving all of the little reminders that I’m getting older.

I wince as I dare to lift my head. My back actually feels like it’s on fire. Worse than that, though? I’m not even sure where I am. Panic creeps in, adding another layer of misery to my already pounding head. I sit up in what appears to be a large, unfamiliar bed. I look around with my bleary eyes, trying to find something that tells me where I am but there’s nothing. It’s a nice room – a hotel? No, not a hotel, I can’t see any of the usual things you would expect to find. This is definitely a bedroom.

‘Hello?’ I croak out.

I clear my throat and try again, my voice louder this time. Of course, then it hits me, that the last thing I should be doing in a random house is calling out, alerting people to the fact that I’m here. I should be grabbing my things and sneaking out. Better to sneak out quietly than find myself running for my life later.

I turn my head and spot my phone on the bedside table. It’s charging and within arm’s reach. There’s a glass of water next to me too. The chances I’ve been kidnapped are looking slimmer by the second, but I still don’t know where I am.

The door creaks open. I quickly look, to see who it is, pulling the covers up to my chest and only now noticing that I’m wearing an oversized black Burnouts T-shirt from their 2012 tour.

Dylan walks in, wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms, clutching what appears to be a bowl of cereal.

‘I thought I heard you,’ he mumbles between spoonfuls. ‘Good morning.’

‘Oh, it is not a good morning at all,’ I complain. ‘I have the hangover from hell, and I woke up with no idea where I was, I was in such a panic until you walked in.’

Dylan shrugs, seemingly unfazed by my suffering. He’s a picture of perfect health this morning, despite our wild night out last night. He plonks himself down on top of the bed next to me.

‘You don’t recognise your old room?’ he says with a laugh.

I rub my temples and squint around, only now realising that I’m at Dylan’s house.

‘I do now that you mention it,’ I admit. ‘You’ve redecorated.’

‘Yeah,’ he acknowledges. ‘I fancied a change last year, so I redid every room.

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