Drunk and rational did not apply to Sophia. “Baby, you know I do, but when Jennifer Lawrence has her inevitable non-straight meltdown you know I nee... to ditch you, right? What other girl is going to go to town on that ass if my face is plastered all over it?” “Bitch.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay if I can't get you on my butt, then can we get matching tattoos, please? They can be little ones. Just wee teensy ones no one will ever see.” I grinned. “Well then what's the point? If it's not. A quick distraction from the shattering noise of a heavy glass falling to the floor was enough for me to miss noticing the old lady leave the café – as well as someone dropping a note on a neatly folded tissue into the pocket of my counterfeit Burberry trench coat. How had she...? Never mind, I thought opening the folded handkerchief to find a handwritten note and a lipstick mark. The note read: “I couldn't help notice your interest. Call me.” and a landline number was added. The handkerchief. More

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