"This is entirely your fault," Frances says, laying her hands on the table and leaning forward. We're out together for breakfast as a deflection from my leaked photos with Alex.
The bowling date. We have spoken about her clingy tendencies in public but I guess it's too late now.
Ganda mo, D. (You're quite the catch, D.)
I roll my eyes at the ceiling of the restaurant. It's elegant, French-Mediterranean and has a three eight-foot-high neon sign. DIRTY, says one and AMOUR, reads the other. I couldn't afford this on a normal day and it's nice that the company was paying but I wish I was anywhere else right now.
This was our detention for being stubborn and careless. If I was with Alex right now this wouldn't be the case, it wouldn't feel like a punishment. It would be dreamy... romantic.
