That’s why I decided I was going to forget all about them. So, why was I now following Dexter like some kind of creepy stalker lady down streets I’d never been before and most definitely wouldn’t recognise again if I got lost, when it was getting dark? Why was I hiding behind corners like some dodgy detective when I was absolutely crapping my pants about getting lost, raped, murdered… or caught by Dexter? And why oh why couldn’t I just summon the courage to ask him outright who the bloody hell he’s been talking to? When I rounded what must be the fifteenth corner I was grateful that it’d become clear Dexter was walking to his secret destination – because God knows what I’d have done if he’d jumped in a taxi… probably gone back to the hotel and cried like an idiot. I felt a light drizzle dampening the roots of my hair and when I looked up I saw Dexter pulling the hood of his tan leather jacket up over his head. Unfortunately I was too preoccupied being Crazy Jealous Stalker Girl to remember to bring a jacket - I wasn’t even wearing long sleeves - so I saw some serious drenching in my foreseeable future.
