I watch his movements and my thoughts turn briefly back to Rae and Becks, who will by now be presuming I've sneaked off with Brett to indulge in some mandatory, third date s*x.
Or as Jane so eloquently put it, 'mad shagging'.
The irony is almost unbearable.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
Without even so much as giving me a kiss goodnight, he lays a blanket down and settles himself into the space between the drawers and the bed.
He has a second one to put over him and one pillow folded in half, which looks about as comfortable as using a sack of potatoes to rest your head on.
"D'you want the light off?" He asks, and then his expression changes, which makes me realise I've been staring at him without meaning to.
"You don't have to look at me so strangely, Sammy. I don't intend
