“f**k,” Jude said.
It had been a bit grim overhead when they’d met at the end of Anton’s drive at two, and Jude had filched extra cash off his dad—apparently as a reward for his new date not being with someone called Natalie, whatever story was behind that—and suggested they go to one of the big cinemas in central London and then do the cheesy tourist thing or something after.
Only it was totally chucking it down in central London. As evidenced by the water running down the steps into Leicester Square station.
“We’ll drown,” Anton said, but he had no particular inclination to move. Jude’s arm was slung over his shoulders, and Anton had hold of the wrist—just in case Jude touched his chest and felt something, you know?—which dragged it down heavily. It was kind of like a sideways hug. An
