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)
We head into the lounge and I start slapping yellow Post-it notes on everything that I don’t want to keep while Micky follows me around, placing it all to one side of the room. ‘Hey, I’ll have that.’ Micky swipes the Post-it off a miniature set of drawers that used to sit on my dressing table in my old bedroom. ‘I need somewhere to put my hair-ties.’
I laugh and carry on slapping Post-its on what needs to go. ‘Your man-bun looks cute,’ I say as Micky fondles his new friend with a smile. Truth be told, Micky could shave his hair off and look cute. The man is just cute full stop. His light brown eyes are constantly laughing and his jaw is constantly peppered with stubble. He’s hot, but he’s just Micky to me.
‘Thanks.’ He bats his lashes.
‘Hey, we’re going out next Saturday for drinks. You coming?’
‘Of course,’ he replies quickly. ‘Lizzy and Nat coming?’ He waggles a suggestive eyebrow.
‘Don’t even dare. Both know you’re a tart.’ He just can’t help himself. Me, Nat and Lizzy are the only women in London who are immune to Micky’s charm.
‘Ouchy!’ he sniggers, getting me in a headlock.
‘Get off, you twat!’ I wrestle out of his hold and straighten myself out, batting him away when he starts dancing around me, fists held up in front of his face.
‘Yoo-hoo!’ My mother’s voice sails into the room, followed by the sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floor.
I give Micky a quick jab in the biceps, and he yelps playfully. I follow the echo of Mum’s call until I find her shimmying past the boxes lining the corridor, being careful not to catch her pleated skirt on any of them.
‘Oh, look at the high ceilings!’ she croons. ‘And the picture rails!’
I rest my shoulder on the doorframe and watch with a smile as she shuffles towards me. Micky joins me, his chest meeting my back.
‘Michael!’ she shrieks, picking up her pace to make it to us. ‘Give me a hug!’ She virtually knocks me off my feet to get her hands on him. ‘Let me see your handsome chops.’ She squeezes his jaw fiercely, and I laugh. ‘Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks!’
‘Working hard, June.’
Mum smiles at him, releasing his face. ‘When are you going to make an honest woman of my Annie?’
Micky looks across to me, just as I roll my eyes. ‘As soon as she’ll have me.’ He grins wickedly, knowing exactly what he’s doing, as he always does when my mother goes off at a tangent about our friendship.
Micky doesn’t want to date me. He’s too busy being a slut, and I’m too busy building my career. Our relationship is purely platonic – something we’re both happy with. There’s never been anything more than friendship between us. No sparks. No chemistry. Nothing. I often wonder whether any man will ever stir anything within me, because if Micky Letts hasn’t, then it’s possible no man will. He has women falling at his feet with just a hint of his disarming smile. Me? I feel nothing. I think I’m abnormal.
Mum tucks her bag neatly in the crook of her arm and produces a carrier bag loaded with cleaning supplies. ‘I’ve come to help!’
‘Dressed in that?’ I ask, taking in her cream blouse, pleated skirt and heeled shoes.
‘Always look your best, dear.’ She sniffs. ‘Your father will be here soon with his tool box. Now, where do we start?’
‘I’m out of here,’ Micky says, grabbing a box with a yellow sticker on it before dropping a peck on my mother’s cheek and marching out of my door, hands full. He blows me a kiss as he passes.
I grin and turn to find my mother armoured up with some yellow rubber gloves and a bottle of cleaner.
‘Let’s get scrubbing,’ she sings excitedly.
Chapter 2
My nails are shot to bits – the result of a week’s worth of scrubbing and manual labour in between keeping on top of my clients, my e-mails and my designs. But my new flat is now a sparkly new flat. Everything has a home and every room has been painted. All of my reference books have been loaded onto the shelves in my studio, my computer and printer set up, and my desk placed in the window. I bloody love it. And now I am more than ready for a night out with the girls to let my hair down.
My iPod is cranked to the max and I’m dancing around my bedroom in my towel, the windows flung open, while I sing at the top of my voice to Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ and sip wine.
After making my eyes all smoky and smudged, slipping on a little black dress and the highest black heels I own, and pinning my hair into a mess of a low bun, I grab my bag and head for the door, hearing Lizzy knocking as I’m on my way.