23
Dex stood outside Nick’s building and breathed on his hands to warm them against the chill of January wind. He had no idea what he was doing or why he was doing it. He just knew that all the crap that he’d been feeling over the holidays had boiled over into something he could no longer contain.
He had, at least, been able to wait until Friday before his feet took him here seemingly of their own accord.
On Monday, just as he had been blearily pouring coffee into a mug, Izzy sneaked up behind him and delivered the news that Nick was back.
Turned out, Nick hadn’t received any of Izzy’s messages at all until he got back to London. Something about his SIM card. Dex didn’t care. He had yet to receive any response to his texts.
No. Nick was still avoiding him. And it was crap, because Dex
