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Chapter 3

He didn’t want John to think of him as just some pretty-boy up for a shag for the price of a burger and a room.

“Bloody hell, lad, cat got your tongue?”

“Oh—yeah, sorry, mate,” Aidan mumbled. He rallied. “So, going for the honeymoon suite, are we?”

John raised an eyebrow. “Packed your negligee, have you? Hope you’re not expecting champagne. Be wasted on a lad like you, any road. Half a glass and you’d be whining you’d rather have a lager.”

They pulled off the roundabout and drew up at the multi-storeyed brick box that proclaimed itself a Travelodge. “Bloody hell, I get stiff driving so long,” John complained, stretching out the kinks as he got out of the car.

“It’s old age, innit?” Aidan grinned. “Creeping up on you. Next thing you know you’ll be banging on about the good old days and wearing carpet slippers to the shops.”

John snorted. “And you can have a bit more respect for your elders and betters. Come on, or we’ll miss breakfast.”