Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
‘I do work out,’ I answer, taking a sip of my drink—one that isn’t working fast enough. Seems like heartache is immune to good whisky.
‘Your man here owns a fitness company.’ Will tips his glass towards me, flashing one of his trademark knicker-relieving smirks. He has his arm around Blondie’s wee pal, his fingertips resting on the curve of her hip. It occurs to me that his is dark haired while I’ve ended up with the blonde again. Is it because of Ella? Because he fancies her—especially after seeing her strip down to the equivalent of a couple of Band-Aids and a few bits of string?
‘What are ye looking at me like that for?’ he asks, mildly alarmed. ‘I told you, your place is too far away from where I live for me to get any decent sessions in.’
I don’t answer, but I think I may have growled.
‘And you’re both Scottish.’ Blondie’s hand touches my chest, lingering there for a beat more than I’d prefer. ‘I love the Scot’s accent. It’s so primitive.’
‘What is it wi’ people reducing others down to stereotypes? We’re either berserkers, raving drunks, or singing shortbread tins.’
‘So you’re only two out of three of those tonight?’ Will asks amiably.
‘I didn’t mean any offense,’ she says, looking up at me with her faux doe-eyed gaze. ‘It’s just, I mean, you’re so manly.’
‘Because I sometimes wear a skirt?’
By her expression, the irony is lost on her. On second examination, I realise she’s probably too drunk to grasp any fucking nuances. I take her hand off my chest, pat it in mine, and then return it to the high table between us.
‘Where’s Keir gone?’ I ask Will.
‘You know what he’s like,’ he answers with a shrug. ‘He’s away home.’
Bollocks. And Natasha’s right; that’s exactly what’s between my ears. It must be for me to come out tonight with Will. I’m still fucking angry with him. Lucky for him that I’m more fucking angry with myself.
‘What’s your favourite chocolate, Will?’ I ask, threading my arm around the waist of the blonde.
‘What, like a Twix or something?’ By his response, I’m not sure whether he’s confused or amused.
‘Nah. I mean, d’you like white or dark?’
‘Neither. I’m more of a savoury man.’
‘Lucky for you.’ My words directed at the dark-haired girl as I take her hand. ‘I like both,’ I purr, leaning in and whispering in her ear. She looks mildly shocked as I straighten but doesn’t pull her hand from mine.
‘What? What the fuck is this?’ Will complains as I begin to walk away, my arm around both girls. ‘It’s called payback, Willy boy,’ I call over my shoulder, his stunned expression warming my gut with some kind of sick satisfaction.
‘I don’t fuckin’ believe this!’
What becomes of the broken-hearted?
‘Go big or go home.’
32
Ella
The longer I sit, the more I wonder what I’m doing here. Five more minutes. I look down at my phone, repeating the same thing I’d told myself five minutes ago—ten minutes ago. Okay, an hour ago.
How long will I sit here, wondering? How long will I allow myself to wonder what he’s doing and with who? Or is it whom? Yes, it’s definitely whom.
I’d come here—come home—to speak to him. To make amends. To tell him I only sent him away to stop him from seeing my tears. As it is, it’s likely he’ll see the evidence of my earlier tears. I’ve washed my face and brushed my hair out and gathered it into a ponytail. But I haven’t changed—I’m still wearing the yoga pants and zipped hoodie I’d left the club in. I didn’t see much point in trying too hard as the evidence of my upset still lingers in my puffy eyes and Rudolph nose.
If he doesn’t turn up soon, he might see more than the evidence. He might see the real thing. And if he doesn’t come home, what then? Do I pack up my belongings and leave for good? No. I think I need to face him. Initially, it was to apologise for keeping things from him, but the longer I sit here, the less chance there is of this. Because, at almost two o’clock in the morning, it seems more and more likely that I’ll see we’re through when he walks through the door with a girl tucked under his arm.
The thought makes my stomach churn. Makes my chest ache. Makes my nails dig into my palms as though I’m considering slapping a bitch.
Five more minutes and I’m leaving. Five more minutes and I’m walking out of this door never to return. But even that’s not true. Even if I abandoned my belongings, I’d still need to say goodbye to Louis.
‘Fuck it,’ I say to the empty room. ‘This was a mistake.’ Uncurling my legs, I swipe my phone from the arm of the chair and head down against the deluge of memories. My vision is blurred as I barrel my way out of the room, when several things seem to happen all at once.