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1. have you tried tinder, calum?
"Ashton, please," I urge, trying to hide the fact that I'm slightly out of breath. Keeping up with his fast walking pace is difficult. The way Ashton is racing home makes it seem like he wants to get rid of me. "Wait up!"
Ashton doesn't slow down on my request. And with a beer already in my bloodstream, another six-pack cradled in my arms and carrying a plastic bag of frozen pizza, I'm not exactly inclined to speed up. My mind has done enough running; ever since I saw her in the crowd, my brain has been on autopilot with her as its destination.
The festival ended two days ago. My body is aching and I still feel a bit hungover. How ironic that I'm trying to cure it by drinking.
"I can't help you with this." Even with the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, Ashton is uptight. He's not always been this way, but while I lived my wildest years at uni, Ashton had settled down.
Our walk through the mild London evening seems shorter than ever; we reach Ashton's flat in no time. It's quiet for once, the oven buzzing as it heats up the only background noise. Usually, it would be old school rock or cheesy jazz, with a blonde asking for it to be turned down.
Funny. It used to be the other way around. But a different song, different girl.
"Why won't you do it? I just need her number, that's all I'm asking," I whine, frustratedly running my hands over my face and through my hair.
I sit down on the sofa - my home away from home, although it causes a lot of back pain. Since finishing my music degree, and having nowhere else to go, I've been staying here.
"I've done you enough pointless favours. Stop whinging."
It's true. In the past year, Ashton has not only allowed me to stay in his flat, let me borrow shirts whenever I run out but also picks me up from bar gigs when I've had a couple of pints too many.
"It's important this time."
"Why is finding some girl you fucked at a festival so important?" Ashton asks, searching the kitchen drawer for a bottle opener. "Just let it go."
"We didn't fuck."
"Even less reason to care, then," he shrugs, opening two bottles and holds one out for me.
"I can't let it go," I say, reaching for the bottle of Corona. Taking a slow mouthful of the room tempered drink, I let it all sink in. "It was Hayley."
It's silent for a rbrief moment, and then Ashton coughs. He's choked on his drink. "As in your ex?" he manages to say through coughs.
"Well," I say, scratching the back of my neck, "yeah."
It only takes me another three drinks to get to the point where I'm telling him all about my recent festival experience. I've never been good at keeping things to myself when drunk. This is evident now. Without asking for it, Ashton gets the full version of a story that could have been told in less than three seconds. I almost hooked up with my ex girlfriend at a festival.
