When deciding to go to Comic Con this year dressed as Wonder Woman, with a very short skirt and tiny corseted top, I had not factored in the possibility that we would end up in a meat market of a club afterwards. I tug down at my skirt, which seems to have become even shorter in the few minutes since I last pulled it down, before I squeeze through the dance floor, fending off bum pinches and guys trying to grind in my direction. Ugh. To think I’ve been wearing this outfit all day and I didn’t have one unwelcome advance. And yet, I’ve been in this club less than an hour and I’ve been slapping hands away left, right and centre.

I didn’t really want to come, but my friends dragged me here and I’ve only gone and lost them. Neither of them are answering their phones, so I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching the different floors, which are so dark and full of sweaty bodies, trying to find them. You’d think that dressed as the Incredible Hulk and HawkGirl they’d be easy to spot. It’s late and it’s been a long day, and if I can’t see them on my final scan of the upstairs dance floor, I’m going to call it a night.

I look over at the people standing around the tables at the edge of the dance floor and my heart almost stops. Standing at one of those tables is Max Voss – my best friend Rachel’s brother, aka my teenage crush. I haven’t seen him in years, but he is every bit as gorgeous as he was when we were younger, perhaps even more so. I can’t stop staring. I feel like I’m 15 again, trapped in his power.

It’s one thing to be a gormless 15-year-old with an embarrassing crush; it’s quite another to be behaving the same way at the ripe old age of 28. Yet, I can’t help it. This is exactly why I don’t meet up with Rach at her parents’ house if I know he’s going to be there.

He must sense me staring at him as he looks up and our eyes meet. I expect him to quickly turn away – I doubt he’d recognise me with my hair this long and without the trademark thick glasses that I wore until I was in my early twenties – but to my utter surprise he starts furiously waving at me. I look behind, expecting to see some leggy blonde, but no one behind me is paying him any attention. He points at me again and, thanks to the rum and Cokes I’ve been drinking, I’ve got the confidence to go over.

‘Hey,’ he says, beckoning me closer and shouting in my ear. ‘You’re here.’