Chapter 3Angela
Paul was still talking.
I wasn’t listening to him. I hadn’t been listening for quite a while. He lost me somewhere between his antics at the Munich beer festival and his career plans. I suspected I was probably being rude, but then again, he hadn’t asked a single thing about me all night. He knew next to nothing about me, but no doubt would still fancy his chances of getting me into bed later.
What he did know about me was the bare minimum to keep the date alive.
He knew I drank pints of lager, but only because he had to ask the “what are you drinking?” question at the start of the evening. That surprised him, as he clearly assumed that as a girl, I should aim for some sort of fruit-based cocktail thing, or a white wine spritzer.
He knew I was from Scotland. He didn’t
