“I’m Michael,” I said, extending my hand. But instead of accepting the handshake, Sonya raised her blade, taunting me:“You wanna try again? Wh... knows, you might get lucky.”I DID get lucky. Not in the next match, mind you (she kicked my ass again, just as thoroughly as she had before), no, I got lucky later that night, after she invited me back to her dorm room to watch the big swordfight from Scaramouche.We hit it off so well, we wound up hardly paying any attention to the movie. I couldn’t. Didn’t want him to catch his death or nothing. He’d been delivering my paper for the last six months and to be honest, I was also getting a bit of a kick doing this. The thing is, I secretly fancied him. He was well fit. Drop dead gorgeous he was. Yeah, so I carried on rubbing his hands, loving the physical contact.Then I thought: if his hands are cold then his feet must be cold as well. He was only wearing a pair of trainers.“I bet your feet are the same.” And before he could say anything I. More

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