MindReader stands up, his face in shadow in the early morning light.
“Can I have a shower?” he whispers, leaning over me. I roll over, marvelling at how surreal it is not to live with a boyfriend, for him to be a guest.
“Of course,” I say, watching him root around in my room. He looks on the back of my door and under my beanbag.
I see the towel he’s after, and point.
“It’s small and purple,” I say.
MindReader turns round slowly, a smile spreading across his features. “Sorry?” he says.
“Oh,” I say, blushing furiously. “Not that.”
