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Thankfully, Noah’s already there when I arrive because I’ve turned off data roaming on my phone so I don’t get slapped with a huge bill.

“Pint?” Noah asks by way of greeting.

“Sure.”

Noah peels himself from the uncomfortable-looking airport chair and grabs his backpack from the floor. He must have already clocked the bar he wanted to go to because he makes a beeline for it.

In true Noah fashion, he shamelessly flirts with the cute guy behind the bar.

“Going somewhere nice with your… friend?” he asks Noah in a thick French accent.

“Cousin,” Noah replies, smirking. I collect my beer from the bar and find a seat in the far corner so Noah can presumably get a random French barman’s phone number. I should probably have stayed and taken notes because, lord knows, I don’t have any game myself.

It’s not that I’m trying to blame my dead mother or anything, but her dying suddenly when I was sixteen really put a dampener, on the whole, being a horny teenager thing. Nobody wants a guy who might accidentally start sobbing in the middle of a handjob. True story: this actually happened.

A month after she passed away, my cousin Mikey took me to a house party where I downed half a litre of vodka and was fumbling around with a cute boy from school in a coat cupboard. It was all going surprisingly well, right up until I suddenly smelled the same perfume my mum wore clinging to one of the coats. I burst out crying with his hand still wrapped around my dick. Mortified, I legged it home and didn’t get out of bed for three days.

Sadly, that tragic handjob was pretty much the pinnacle of my sexual exploits.

“Get his number?” I ask as Noah joins me at the table with his drink.

“Yep. Although I was mostly in it for the free drinks.” He grins at me and holds his pint of lager up to cheers; I gently tap my own glass against his and chug a few large gulps. The cold, slightly fizzy liquid goes down easily and tastes a lot like freedom.

That’s also the main reason I invited Noah along on this trip. I’m not great at relaxing, whereas I’m not sure Noah is evernotrelaxing. I spend most of my time overthinking and worrying about what everyone else will think, and Noah tends to live his life not giving a fuck about anyone else's opinions. I’m envious of it sometimes.

“So, don’t be mad, but I’m gonna ditch you for a couple of days when you’re in Oregon,” Noah says.

“Where you gonna go?”

“There’s a witch’s coven not far from there I want to visit, but rumour has it they aren’t very ‘wolf-friendly’, so it’s best I go onmy own.” I shrug, not especially bothered. I’m looking forward to visiting Oregon; it was one of my mum’s favourite parts of her trip. We’ll have been travelling for over a month by then as well, so I think we’ll probably be ready to kill each other.

“What’s so special about this witch’s coven?”

“Are you still a virgin?”

Having taken a sip at an inopportune moment, I choke on the liquid and begin coughing. Noah hands me a paper napkin.

“What the fuck?” I ask when I can finally catch my breath.

“I thought we were asking each other questions that aren’t our business.”

“Those two questions aren’t even in the same ballpark, Noah!”

“I’ll take that as a 'yes' then.” He smirks, his pale blue eyes glittering with amusement. It makes me want to punch him in the face. I can feel how red my cheeks must be; even the tips of my ears are warm.

“Fuck off,” I reply, flicking a beer mat at his head, only missing when he bats it away, cackling like a hyena.

Who’s great idea was it to spend two months travelling with their snarky cousin? I’m blaming my mum. I bet Siobhan never gaveherthis much shit.

Chapter Two

New York City, NY

Noah and I are both dropping off after a full day of travel. It’s one a.m. back home, but only eight p.m. here.

“I need a drink,” Noah declares when we step onto the street, having just left the subway station. The subway was not dissimilar to the tube in London, primarily filled with commuters who don’t make eye contact. This turns out to be preferable to the people whodomake eye contact—rather intensely—and look like they may, in fact, be ghosts who died in one of these carriages fifty years ago and have been haunting them ever since.

I follow Noah, who navigates his way over to a little hole-in-the-wall bar.