Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Hey, what’s up with you?” Charley asks, breezing in as she unravels her hair from the hair tie. Abbie’s behind her, and both of my friends look at me questioningly.
“I just went in the steam room,” I say, needing to get this off my chest. “And someone joined me.”
Abbie’s eyes widen, and Charley is sitting beside me in a second. “The barman?”
“No, not the barman.” I laugh.
“The God?” Abbie breathes.
I nod. “He asked me out to dinner.”
“In a steam room?”
“No, outside the steam room.”
“In your bikini?”
“I had a towel on,” I mumble, mortified. “Until it fell off. Oh my God, he asked me to dinner while I stood there in front of him sweating my fucking tits off—and only partly because I was cooking in the steam room—red in the face, hair everywhere, while he dried his obscenely perfect, sweaty, hard body with a towel.” With a smirk on his face, and that tells me all I need to know. He’s a player.
“Hard?” Abbie asks.
“Yes, hard, cut, dazzling.” Fucking perfect.
“You can just tell if a man’s got a good body under his clothes,” Abbie says. “And I looked at him and knew there was something special going on under all those expensive threads.”
Charley rolls her eyes, even though I know she agrees. “What’s his name?”
I frown. “I don’t know.” But he knew mine.
“And you agreed to dinner, right?” Abbie presses.
“No, I did not agree to dinner.”
“Why?”
I stall, thinking. Yes, why? Because he shows all the signs of a player? But he also looks exactly like the kind of man who wouldn’t want anything serious right now. Like marriage and kids.
That’s perfect.
Isn’t it?
“Wise move,” Charley says, patting my bare knee and standing. “Because hot bod and a face like a god aside, we all know a fuckboy when we see one.”
I laugh half-heartedly, taking the towel to my hair and rubbing.
Dangerous. Fuckboy.
Avoid at all costs.
Chapter 4
Abbie and Charley permitted me to check my emails on the way home. Thankfully, there was nothing drastic that needed my attention, and Mr. Jarvis had, surprisingly, blessed me with only one brief note apologising for overreacting this morning. Rest assured, he wouldn’t apologise if he hadn’t seen for himself the market sitting steady all day and close out looking more positive than when it opened. Panic over.
As Abbie pulls into my parents’ street, I exhale, feeling the suffocation looming. I reach over and drop a kiss onto her cheek. “Thank you for today, it’s been so lovely.”
She smiles softly, sensing the despondency creeping into my bones. Because no thirty-year-old woman wants to be calling their parents’ house home. “You know you could come stay with me,” she says for the hundredth time since I left Nick. But I know she’s just being polite. Her apartment is on the smaller side of tiny, and I’d drive her nuts with the endless files I bring home from work.
“I know,” I say, returning her smile.
“Or me,” Charley chirps, grinning. “You can bunk with Ena.”
I laugh. I love Charley’s babies . . . once a week, when I pop in to make myself a cup of tea while she flaps around the kitchen clearing up toys, food, and clothes on repeat.
“This isn’t a permanent arrangement. I’m registered with all the agents, so I’ll be the first to know if something comes up in my price range.” I love my parents, of course, but living with them? Facing my father’s silent displeasure every day? I tolerate it, since they’re helping me out massively, but as soon as something comes up, I’m out of there. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hop out and wave as Abbie honks her horn, driving off.
Letting myself in, I drop my bag at the bottom of the stairs and kick my shoes off, following the sound of Mum in the kitchen. I walk in and find Dad at the table with the Financial Times spread out, and Mum at the stove stirring a pot of something. Soup, by the smell of it. Leek and potato if I’m not mistaken.
“Smells good,” I say, as Dad looks up over his glasses, smiling.
“Darling.” He ushers me toward him with one hand, taking his glasses off with the other. “How is it the first time I’ve seen you today when it’s your birthday?”
I smile as I bend, letting him kiss my cheek. “You were still snoring when I left this morning.”
He snorts his disgust. “The only person who snores around here is your mother.”
“Dennis!” Mum gasps, outraged. “I do not snore.”
Dad winks and pulls me closer. “It’s getting worse,” he whispers. “Heavy breathing, she says. How was your spa day?”
Not what I expected. “Lovely.”
“Did you stop off at work on your way home?” he asks, looking up and down my dress.
“No, I stopped off on the way. I had a panicked client go into meltdown because the FTSE 100 opened on the wrong side of okay.”