Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 115885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Underwhelmed by my competition, I turn to Aurora and snap my fingers.
“In this lifetime, please. And bring a jacket. I write outside, and you’re notoriously more frigid than the iceberg that killed the Titanic.”
Aurora stomps toward the door.
“Don’t blame the iceberg. Blame the Irish people who built the ship…” she murmurs.
“It was fecking working when it left here for Southampton. We will not be blamed for shoddy workmanship.”
I bite down on a smile. Secretly, I can admit to myself that Aurora is not a total bore.
“Besides, what are you, exactly? Last time I checked, your father wasn’t a Viking.”
She opens her mouth, no doubt getting ready to verbally knee my balls, when the muppet interrupts us.
“Love?” Shiny Boyfriend calls behind her.
I positively loathe that nickname. Love. Something about uttering this word so offhandedly makes me want to jam his head into a bucket full of bleach.
Aurora turns around.
He hands her the camera on the nightstand. “Might want to take this with you.” He winks.
If possible, her blush darkens even further. Mortified and trembling, she snatches it from his hand.
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and you dropped the napkin you were so insistent on taking from the pub.” He crouches down, picking up a Boar’s Head napkin and holding it out to her.
Look, I have a reaction. Of course, I do—a hot-blooded, red, break-up-with-your-boyfriend-now-because-I’m-bored reaction.
I’m human, after all, even though I haven’t been feeling like one lately.
But I keep my face schooled, even as she takes the napkin, balls it in her fist, and throws it into the bin under the nightstand.
“That’s an odd thing to take from a pub.” I tap my lower lip, oh-so-interested in this unusual turn of events. “Did you catch the flu on the plane? I have tissues and Advil in the bathroom cabinet.”
“No, no.” Shiny Boyfriend chuckles, obviously delighted with my abrupt shift, playing right into my hands. “Rory is somewhat of a napkin connoisseur. She collects napkins everywhere she goes. It’s rather silly, really.”
“Rather,” I mimic his posh accent.
I still can’t believe she fecks this guy, who thinks collecting sentimental stuff is silly. That she hasn’t told him about our deal. Actually, that I can believe. She’s always been a lying mess.
“Care to elaborate about her fixation with napkins?”
She grabs my wrist, pulling me out the door. “Stop messing around. Let’s get it over with.”
“Oof, I don’t remember her that feisty. What’re ya feeding her?” I shake off her touch, smiling at Callum.
He laughs. He thinks we’re friends. Jesus Christ, the man doesn’t possess one functioning brain cell.
In the corridor, my resolve to be a cunt blunders. I slip and plaster her against the wall. She shoves me back, but her impact is non-existent. Our bodies are pressed together, close, rolling heat and hormones and history Princess Aurora cannot erase, no matter how many frogs she kisses.
I pin my chest to her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “Busted.”
Outside, I perch on the grass, my notebook open in front of me, pretending to write. The chance of me writing songs tonight is lower than my chance of becoming a blind, Italian nun. But if Rory is going to have sex under this roof, she is going to have it with me. Or not at all.
No gray area, I’m afraid.
“It’s dark.” She rubs her leather jacket-clad arms, her eyes roaming my backyard.
“You really are on top of your investigative game. Have you considered joining the CIA? A sharp mind like yours shouldn’t go to waste.” I place the pen behind my ear and frown at the blank page, not looking at her.
Doesn’t matter if I draw a dick with a bowtie on the notebook. It’s pitch black and neither she nor I will be able to see it.
“Suí síos le do thoil.” Sit down in Gaelic.
She ignores my party-pooper comment. “Sorry, I don’t speak dead languages. Wait here, please.”
Aurora dashes into the house and comes back with a plastic bag. She takes out two flashlights, loads of little candles, and a box of matches. I scan her coolly as candles drop from her delicate hands. She is flustered and struggles to keep it all together.
“Are you trying to summon your long-lost, non-existent soul through séance?” I wonder aloud.
She lets out a breathless chuckle. “I just remember how dark the night was in your backyard from when…” She turns the two flashlights on, placing one behind me and one in front of me, then shakes her head.
From when I unknowingly took your virginity because your ex-boyfriend couldn’t finish the job and in exchange gave you multiple orgasms. Yeah.
“Anyway, I’m going to drag some of your furniture out here so I’ll have somewhere to light these candles. I can’t take a decent picture with no light.”
“Cheers, Captain Obvious.” I watch her face, looking for crumbs of emotion.
Aurora doesn’t respond. When she enters the house again, I follow her. No matter how much I’m trying to be a dick—and, in my humble opinion, my efforts don’t go unnoticed—I’m slightly above watching her drag heavy furniture outside in the middle of the night by herself.