Don't Take Chances

Shit, shit, shit.

I had intended on going to the British Embassy bright and early this morning to sort out my visa.

After the quickest shower known to man I wriggled into a pair of black skinny jeans and pulled on a pretty chiffon blouse, my attempt at looking smart. I applied the bare minimum of make-up (foundation, eyeliner and mascara) and ran a brush through my short brown hair, looking just about presentable.

Wrenching open my bedroom door I was met by Andy.

"I'm coming with you," he informed me.

I blinked at him, I'd forgotten he had offered to come with me last night, "Move your arse then."

Hurrying down the hallway I shoved my feet into my ankle boots and shrugged on my wool coat, hoping the air wouldn't be as bitterly cold as it was yesterday. I wrapped my long scarf around my neck and grabbed my bag off of the floor before turning to see if Andy was ready, only to find him standing before me, jacket, scarf and shoes on, all set to leave.

"Ready?" he asked me.

I nodded hesitantly and walked out of the door.

We made our way down the hallway of Erica and I's apartment building to the elevator that would take us to the ground floor, the heels of my boots thudding against the tile floor and Andy's shoes scuffing along behind me.

"Come on, come on," I pleaded with the metal box as I furiously jabbed the illuminated button in the wall.

Andy stood next to me, his hands nonchalantly in his jacket pockets, "We've got plenty of time, a good few hours at least."

"Have you ever been to an embassy? You have to queue for at least a good few hours before you even get to talk to the receptionist," I informed him as I continued to jab.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure it'll be fine. Be positive."

I looked at him and raised my eyebrow, "I think you're still drunk from last night."

He smiled and the small ring in his nose glinted in the artificial light of the small space, "You could be right, those cocktails were pretty lethal."

"You're telling me," I sighed softly, my head suddenly reminding me that it was still attached to my neck.

There was a quiet ding and the scratched chrome doors opened to reveal a small, empty elevator.

"Thank God," I walked in and pressed the button for the ground floor before turning to scrutinise my appearance in the mirrored wall behind me.

Andy rested his head against said wall and looked at me, "You look fine."

"I look like I woke up thirty minutes ago after a night of drinking with my friends," I sighed as I attempted to flatten a flyaway piece of hair, "How come guys can just roll out of bed and look effortlessly cool?"

He shrugged and smiled toothily at me, "Comes with the rockstar status."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes at him, "You are too much sometimes."

"Hey, it put a smile on your face," he smirked.

I laughed at him and let myself relax a little, being tense as well as hungover wasn't going to help me feel any better. Letting my eyes slide over Andy in his well-worn Converse, second-skin jeans, fitted shirt and khaki jacket I smiled, he really did have the rockstar thing down to a fine art.

Looking at the lavender coloured v-neck he wore that showed off his chest tattoo and lean torso I frowned, "Is that my shirt?"