LAYLA
There’s no response. I flick on the light, and my eyes land on a pile of torn pink wrapping paper and tangled silver ribbon spread haphazardly across the coffee table. It looks like someone was trying to wrap a gift in a hurry.
Crap. I sag in the doorway, suddenly remembering a conversation I had with Zack on Friday night. He told me that he and Luke were planning on visiting their families this weekend. I was knee-deep in emails about late postage, so I’d just nodded and then immediately forgotten. I guess the boys are all out tonight, taking their mums for extravagant Mother’s Day dinners, like good children. And here I am, standing in their flat in my undies, like an i***t.
Well. I guess it’s Netflix, a bottle of wine, and an early night for me, then.
I’m about to turn and lea
