"Where are we gonna do this?" I asked. He was staying in the hotel across from the multiplex. "I'm in room 306. I'll go ahead and you follow. I'm trus...ing you not to do a runner." He turned and crossed the road, going in through the revolving door. I could just run, I thought, his fault for trying to pick up a stranger. I lit another cigarette, smoking it down to the filter. Could I do it? Fuck it. My mind made up, I stood up, and entered the hotel. I could feel the stares from the staff as I. Those six words were sufficient to make her pause in her headlong rush back to Hampstead. She thrust fifty pence into the hand of the eternally amiable newsvendor, telling him to keep the change, then continued on her hurried way to the platform.As usual, at the highly inconvenient hour she finished work, (much the same time as everyone else!) the station was heaving with other commuters, all anxious to be home slumped moronically in front of the television to watch whatever puerile. I'd skipped the decorating just long enough for a haircut and to add a few additions to my wardrobe. My hair, or what is left of it, had remained unsuitably long for too many years. My casual clothes were modern enough, given my age, but work wise, I always stuck to dark suit, white shirt and plain tie. It was on the latter outfit that I'd splashed out; buying half a dozen brighter shirts, each with a matching tie. I'd ditched the suit, selecting a pair of smart casual trousers and the most. Amber sensed it herself. ‘Are we okay?’ Amber asked. ‘I hope so,’ I said, ‘I really couldn’t handle you despising me.’ My mouth said it before my brain could rephrase it. It should have been more subtle and never included the word despise. Amber stopped and looked at me. I watched her eyes go from surprise to confusion to pity to passion in the blink of an eye. She dropped her bag on the ground and pinned me against the car with my arms tied up with bags. Her lips didn’t despise me at all..