Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
‘How long have you given yourself off work?’ she asks, releasing me and collecting her bag from the floor.
‘Just the weekend.’
‘Wow, you’re pushing the boat out, aren’t you?’
I ignore her sarcasm. ‘I have to get some drawings finalised for my client’s new art gallery. No rest for the wicked.’
‘And no play, either,’ Lizzy remarks, grinning a little as she pulls her mobile from her bag. ‘Great,’ she mumbles, looking down at the screen.
‘What?’
She shoves it back in her bag and forces a smile. ‘Jason’s working late again. He was supposed to be picking me up’ – she glances down at her watch – ‘like, now.’
‘You can stay, if you like.’
‘Nah, I’ll get the Tube. You go to bed.’
She leaves me with a kiss on the cheek and an order to sleep well. I’ve no doubt I will. In my brand new bed, with brand new sheets and brand new duvet, I’m asleep before my head hits the brand new pillow.
I wake the next morning to hard, relentless banging on my front door. Sitting up, I spend a few disorientated moments blinking sleepily as I look around my unfamiliar surroundings.
Bang, bang, bang!
Then my phone starts screeching from under my pillow, followed by more banging, backed up by someone shouting my name. My palms come up to my face and scrub at my cheeks before I feel for my phone and pull it from under the pillow. Micky’s name flashes up at me. Then I register the time. ‘Oh, shit!’ I scramble from under my covers, stumbling my way out of my bedroom.
Bang, bang, bang!
‘Okay, okay!’ I yell, leaping over a box and crashing into the door. Swinging it open, I come face to face with a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Micky. ‘Seriously!’ I yell, my head drumming with bangs, rings and shouts.
‘Morning, treacle!’ He lands a kiss on my cheek and pushes his way past me, oohing and swooning as he starts to explore my new abode. ‘Nice place!’
I shut the front door and follow him in, frowning at the man-bun he’s sporting. ‘What’s happened to your hair?’ I ask, watching as he inspects every nook and cranny.
‘You like?’ he asks, reaching behind and feeling at the dark blonde bundle. ‘It’s starting to get in my way when I’m at work.’ He kicks a box out of the way and takes a slurp from his Starbucks as he hands me one.
I accept gratefully and head for my bedroom. He’s in his work uniform, namely shorts and a T-shirt. He’s a personal trainer. A very popular personal trainer. His waiting list consists of women. All women. ‘You working today?’ I ask, setting my coffee on my bedside table.
Micky follows me in and plonks himself on the edge of my bed. ‘Two sessions this afternoon.’ He squeezes my thigh as I pass him, and I yelp. ‘When are you gonna let me at you?’
‘Never!’ I laugh. ‘I’d rather shove hot pokers in my eyes.’
‘A few squats will do you good.’
I scoff at his suggestion and pull on some jeans. ‘You have plenty of squatting arses to admire without torturing mine.’
He grins wickedly. ‘Speaking of which, I just took on a new client.’
I fasten my jeans. ‘Married?’ I ask, pulling off my vest and throwing a U2 T-shirt over my head.
‘Nope.’ He grins. ‘You know I limit married clients to five at any one time. That’s an hour a day that I have to be professional. Five whole hours a week!’
I laugh out loud. The man is an outrageous flirt, but he’s also one of the best PTs in London. Women are lining up to be bent, stretched and manipulated into position by my oldest friend. For more reasons than achieving physical fitness. ‘Must be exhausting.’
‘It is when they’re tempting you constantly through each session. An innocent brush of my thigh here, an arse thrust in my face there.’
‘If it’s that challenging to keep your mind and eyes from wandering, you should just take on single women. Or men.’
‘I need a balance of clients. Besides, the married ones try harder,’ he says, and my eyebrows jump up. Micky rolls his eyes. ‘In training,’ he clarifies.
‘So you’ve never been tempted?’
‘Never!’ He shakes his head furiously. ‘I love my legs too much to risk an angry husband breaking them, thanks.’
Dragging my dark hair into a high ponytail, I chuckle and slip on my flip-flops. I’ve known Micky for centuries. We grew up together. Played mummies and daddies together. Romped naked in the paddling pool together. He even hammered a few nails into the rabbit hutch extension when we were twelve. Our parents were, and still are, best friends.
‘So how was your first night?’ he asks, patting down my bedcovers.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever slept for so long.’ It’s a good sign. ‘C’mon. Let’s get rid of some of this shit so I can start figuring out where everything’s going to go.’