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)
A loud crash sounds from the kitchen, and I bolt upright.
‘Hello?’ I jump out of bed and throw on a T-shirt.
‘Damn!’ Micky’s curse calms me a little, but it also makes me wonder. What’s he doing here this early on a Sunday? I make tracks to the kitchen and find him kneeling on the floor, sweeping up coffee grounds. In his boxers.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, stepping over the mess to grab him the dustpan.
‘This is why I do Starbucks,’ he grumbles, looking up at me. His man-bun is no more, his shoulder-length blonde hair a messy mop. He narrows a suspicious eye on me from his crouched position, humming to himself. ‘What time did you get in, you dirty stop-out?’
I start to back away, stray coffee crunching under my feet as I go. ‘Um . . .’ I gulp and look over my shoulder, feeling and looking all kinds of guilty. ‘Who’s that on the couch?’ I blurt incredulously, seeing movement coming from under a pile of blankets in the lounge. I swing around to find Micky now looking as guilty as I expect I was a moment ago.
‘Ah . . . well . . . you see . . .’ He stands and points the dustpan brush at me, thinking hard.
‘I gave you a spare key for emergencies.’ I snap, annoyed. ‘Getting your leg over isn’t an emergency.’
‘I came here to make sure you got home safely!’ he fires back, puffy-chested. ‘So what time did you get in?’
I do a quick calculation in my head. I piled them all in a taxi at 12.30. It would have taken half an hour to get here. Micky and Lizzy were so drunk; I can’t imagine they were at it for . . .
My thoughts halt right there. ‘Lizzy!’ I screech, swinging around. Her head pops up from beneath the blankets, her hair a crazy mess, her eyes squinting.
‘Hey,’ she croaks, before quickly diving back under the covers to hide.
I grit my teeth and slowly turn back towards my slag of a friend, scowling hard at him. He looks sheepish. He should. ‘You arsehole.’
‘You didn’t care so much last night,’ he protests, throwing his half-naked body back to the kitchen floor and sweeping up some more grounds. ‘Because you were too busy being bent over a bar.’ He tosses me a disgusted look and I wilt on the spot, evading his accusing eyes. ‘Are you gonna tell me what time you got in or what?’
‘Two,’ I lie, stomping over to the cupboard and yanking it open, pulling down a mug – the biggest I can find.
‘I was awake at two.’
‘Three, then. I can’t remember. And I don’t think you’re in any position to pass judgement,’ I point out huffily, flicking the kettle on.
‘I’m a bloke, Annie. I can take care of myself. You didn’t have a clue who he was.’
‘I’m back in one piece, aren’t I? And I didn’t see you rushing to stop me. Oh no! Because you were too intent on getting your end away with Lizzy. Bloody Lizzy!’
‘Yes?’ Her head reappears from beneath the blankets, her eyes blinking back the sleep.
‘Nothing!’ we both shout, making her slink back under, her tail between her legs.
‘She’s just split up with Jason! A flirt, yes, but—’
‘We were pissed.’ Micky levels an annoyed look on me. I match it as I pass him and shut the kitchen door, my hand curled tightly around the handle of my empty coffee mug. I’m shaking, and now that I’ve stopped shouting, I’m hurting again. Everywhere. Aching like a bitch.
Micky’s annoyed look becomes concerned as his gaze skates up and down my body. ‘Are you okay?’
I fall apart. I slam the mug down on the counter and cover my face with my hands and blubber like a dramatic female. I never cry. Not ever. Not even when I know it would be appropriate for me to shed a tear, like at the end of the soppiest movies, or when my mum got all emotional when I left for university.
I. Just. Do. Not. Cry.
‘Whoa!’ Micky’s on me in a flash, his strong arms circling my shoulders and cuddling me. I don’t think he’s ever had to do this, except maybe once when we were fifteen and my rabbit died. ‘What’s happened, Annie? Tell me.’
‘Nothing,’ I sob, shaking my head into him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is utterly ridiculous, but I can’t shake the flashbacks, nor can I forget the incredible feelings Jack evoked. It’s crazy, and it’s so fucking frustrating.
Micky kisses my head a few times before pulling me out of his chest and looking down at my tear-stained cheeks. ‘Did he do something to you?’
‘No,’ I assure him. ‘It was just . . .’ I pause, not sure how to word it. ‘Intense. I don’t know. Some stupid connection. Chemistry. Whatever you want to call it.’ I brush my face off, sniff back my stupid, uncalled-for emotion and laugh. ‘Jesus, we seriously packed some alcohol away last night, didn’t we?’