Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I hugged my pillow, fought the urge to let out a squeal.
See you then, I replied.
I’ll be seeing you, he said.
Yes, he would. He’d be seeing me, alright, lumpy-bumpy bits and all.
I pulled the bodywand box from under the bed.
The girls’ bedtime seemed to take forever.
I’m not tired! Mia whinged. Daisy doesn’t even have a bedtime on the weekend! It’s so unfairrrr!
You can read a book in bed if you’re not tired. No phone though, Mia, I bloody mean it! Give it here, please. Give it here! Yes, I’m a horrible, mean parent, whatever, just give me the bloody phone and brush your teeth!
Lord Almighty.
It was all quiet by the time I’d finished in the bathroom. A smoother shave than I’d had in years made my legs feel tingly and naked – the other parts, too. The soft fabric of the babydoll felt risqué and luxurious against my skin, hidden from view under my new scarlet tunic. I slipped on my black jeans, and my ridiculous heels after them, then did a full 360 in the mirror to make sure there was none of the negligee poking out.
I crossed Nanna on the stairs on my way out. My makeup was heavy and my hair was slick and styled, my steps only slightly unsteady as they adjusted to the killer heels.
“Oooh!” she said. “You look lovely, Jo! Really lovely!”
“Just popping out with Tonya,” I said. “Is that ok?”
She waved me off with a smile. “You go on, love. Have a good time.”
“It’s just for a few hours,” I said. “I’ll be back long before morning.”
“I’m sure I’ve still got my wits about me enough to tip some cereal in a bowl, my girl.” She gave me a wink. “Go, have fun. Meet yourself a nice man.”
If only she knew.
“Nanna!” I said. “You’re a bad influence.”
She waggled a finger at me. “I was quite a dish before your Pop Pop, I’ll have you know. Oh, to be young again. I’ve met many a nice man in my time.” She laughed to herself as she climbed the rest of the stairs.
At least now I knew where I got it from.
I was grinning as I eased the door closed behind me.
I should have brought wine. Why didn’t I bring wine? Or even vodka. I should definitely have brought vodka.
It was too late for that now. My nerves were jangling as I skirted the river towards the fish and chip shop. I prayed that for once Trent wouldn’t be smoking outside his front door. That spot would put him in prime position to observe my less than sterling negotiation of the bumpy path in stupid heels.
I should never have worn these heels.
I should have worn bloody flip flops or something instead. Anything rather than risk jabbing a heel in a rut and toppling ass over tit. There’s nothing sexy about a twisted ankle, that’s for sure.
Sexy. Oh my life.
I was going to have sex.
Real, proper open your legs sex.
I paused for a moment before Trent’s place came into view. Was I ready? I smoothed my hair. As ready as I’d ever be.
My mouth was so bloody dry, my knees weak and pathetic as I walked the final strait. I kept my eyes away from the steps up to his, making out I was busy rooting in my bag, just to avoid any eye contact that might be lurking if he was outside waiting for me.
As it turns out, he wasn’t.
My heels clacked against the stone as I ascended the steps, and I noted with interest that there wasn’t a cigarette butt in sight, not a single one. The bucket at the top was empty, too.
I’d never known it empty.
I breathed deeply outside the closed front door, leaning back against the railings and trying to reach my Zen state.
Yeah, right. Like my life was ever Zen-like.
I gave myself a pep talk, told myself this was no biggie. Just sex, just like we’d said. We’d done it enough times before.
I tapped the door like a little mouse, then chided myself, gave it a decent knock.
I aimed for bright and casual with my smile, but I’m not so sure it held when he opened the door. An outsider would say Darren was dressed casually at best, but I’m no outsider. His jeans were faded but clean, and his t-shirt had an actual collar. We were hardly in tuxedo territory, but there was no doubt about it – Darren Trent had made an effort.
He stepped aside to let me pass, and he smelled shower fresh – that same cool blue stuff he’d been using forever.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said.
He stepped into the kitchen and I followed, backing myself against the sink to give him space enough to pull a bottle of wine from the fridge. Thank fuck.
“I got this,” he said. “Or I can put the kettle on? I’m not out to get you wasted.”