Do I need your keys for the house?” “No, there’s a keypad on the door. I’ll message you the code so you don’t have to memorise it.” I can’t help but smile when she tugs her glove off with her teeth, unzips her jacket pocket, and pulls out her phone. Only when she opens up Instagram does she finally realise what she’s just said. Her cheeks redden and her lips part as she stares, wide-eyed, at the floor. She knows she’s fucked up, and accidentally given away the fact that she has a way to contact me. “You don’t have my number,” I say eventually. I’ll let her slip-up slide. This time. “Give me
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