Slicking on some lippy, I headed off to the Chinese restaurant where I worked as a waitress. I was only 16 but felt so grown up.
I’d moved out of home, lived with a mate and, thanks to this job, had my own money.
You could say I had an old head on young shoulders.
Which is why I was wary of Danny Barnett, the restaurant’s takeaway delivery driver.
With a gym-toned body and dark hair, he was a massive flirt, cracking jokes with the other waitresses.
I’m steering well clear of him, I thought.
I might have been young, but I knew a player when I saw one.
Sure enough, Danny, 23, soon tried on the charm with me.
It didn’t work.
‘I know your type,’ I laughed.
Danny…
