Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“We’re not joined at the hip, you know,” I retort, evasive, going to one of the IKEA bags and finding the box of mugs. “So where’s the next date with Hightower?”
Charley snorts as Abbie works the cork on the prosecco. “There’s one thing bothering me that I’ve not mentioned.” The cork flies out and hits the ceiling. “He still lives with his mum.” She pours into the mugs.
“I did until a few weeks ago,” I say. “Don’t be judgy. Did he give you any context?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No. Maybe on our next date. Cheers!” She toasts the air, going off to explore.
“Okay, what’s the priority?” Charley asks.
“The bed.”
She whips out an electric screwdriver and aims it at me. “Let’s do this.”
A few hours later, I have a bed, a bedside table, and a rail to hang some clothes on. We’ve stocked the kitchen drawers and cupboards with various kitchenware, and I even managed to get a Tesco Whoosh delivery for some essentials—tea, coffee, milk.
Charley’s made my bed, and Abbie’s hung some of my dresses up. It’s sparse, but it’s a start. “Thank you,” I say, so grateful, pulling them in for a group hug.
“I should get back.” Charley checks her phone. “It’s nearly ten.”
“Yeah, I have a trip to the wholesalers at the arse crack of dawn, so I’m going to shoot too.” Abbie pushes a box into the corner with her foot as Charley collects her tools. “Will you be okay on your own?”
“Sure,” I say, confident. Truth is, I’ve never lived alone. Before Nick, I was with my parents, and after Nick, I split between my parents’, Abbie’s, and Jude’s. This is new. A novelty. “I’m going to make a cuppa and snuggle up in my new bed.” Alone.
I see the girls out and spend a few minutes collecting bits of cardboard and stuffing them in a box before heading back into the kitchen to make that cuppa. “Fuck,” I mutter, realizing I’m missing something quite essential. A kettle. Pouting, I pick up the bottle of prosecco and hold it up to the light, seeing an inch left in the bottle. I shrug and tip it into my mug, sipping as I riffle through my bag for a fresh dressing before getting some warm, salty water. Then I spend the next fifteen minutes holding my breath as I clean around the wound. It’s red. Too red? I ponder that as I redress it, deciding I’ll give it a couple of days and get it checked out if it doesn’t improve.
Flicking all the lights off and following my feet to my bedroom, I strip to my underwear, pull on a tee, finish the last of my fizz, and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I’m spitting and rinsing when I hear a knock at the door. I frown and pop my brush in the holder, wiping my mouth on the towel before I go to the window, peeking past the blind.
Jude’s on the doorstep, hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders slumped, his head hanging. I feel my shoulders drop too, as I watch him waiting for me to answer the door. It doesn’t even cross my mind not to. Kicking a few bags out of the way, I go to the door and open it, and he looks up. Silent. Waiting for me to invite him in. I breathe in deeply and exhale, releasing the door handle and making my way back to my room, hearing him close it behind him. I’m too tired to debate his transgressions.
I climb into bed and listen as he moves around the bedroom, undressing, and a few moments later, the bed dips and he’s curling himself around my body. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my shoulder and slipping his hand under my T-shirt onto my stomach.
“You exhaust me.”
“I’m staying the night.” Pushing his lips into my hair, he breathes in long, his chest inflating against my back. And then he settles. And because he’s here, wrapped around me, I do too.
Chapter 19
Light floods into the bedroom through the slatted blinds, making me squint as I sit up and look around. I can hear noise coming from the kitchen, so I pull my hair into a ponytail as I follow the sound, finding Jude in his boxers opening and closing cupboards. He sees me by the door and smiles timidly. “I was going to make coffee, but I can’t find a kettle.”
“I don’t have one yet.” I pass him on my way to get a glass of water, but don’t make it. He seizes my arm and gently pulls me into his front, kissing me soft and slow. The smell of him and feel of him against me wakes up my senses, and I succumb to the energy between us, accepting his tongue in my mouth, pushing my front into his. “I’m not talking to you,” I mumble, my hands disappearing past the waistband of his boxers.