He spent most of the evening in Rachel’s flat watching TV with her and criticising her taste in actors until his phone rang.
“Boyfriend,” he said, flashing her the caller ID, and then, “Hey Jayden,” before he’d even gotten off the sofa.
“Night, Darren,” Rachel called after him; he waved over his shoulder and closed the door of his flat behind him as Jayden asked who he’d heard.
“Rachel. Neighbour,” he said. “How’re you?”
“I have like four essays already.”
“It’s been a week!”
“I know!” Jayden whined. “I have four essays, I don’t even know what the last one means because I swear, Darren, I swear that if you’re going to call Shakespeare up for misogyny, Othello isn’t the play to do it in because there’s like one scene of banter and then all the other issues come forward, and…”
Darren d
