Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Remembering what Beth had said about my sofa, I asked, “If you’d seen it before we fucked, would we have still fucked?”
She let out a laugh. “Of course. Just not on your grannie’s couch.”
Glancing back at the couch, I scowled. I couldn’t see ugly. I’d sat on the thing in the furniture place after sitting on what seemed like five million sofas, and it was by far the comfiest of them all. That’s all I saw. Aye, maybe it didn’t match with the leather recliners and fancy pieces Baird’s sister had helped pick out. But it worked for me. Deal done.
“I seem to have everything.” She rummaged through her purse, checking.
“Great.” Taking hold of my training bag, I let us out of the flat.
“So … will I see you again?”
“Georgia, right?”
She smirked unhappily. “Right. I guess I should be flattered you remember my name.”
“I wasn’t drunk last night, so why wouldn’t I?”
“Uh, well, you didn’t seem so sure there.”
“I’m crap with names,” I lied.
Truth was, I’d woken up that morning to Georgia lying in my bed, and I’d had a moment of panic when I realized I couldn’t remember her name. And it really wasn’t because I’d been drunk when we came back to my flat. The season was about to start, and while I was training, I didn’t drink. Neither did any of the other lads. But Georgia had suddenly looked like every other woman I’d brought back to my place for a night of shagging. I’d been in my new place two weeks and she was the first woman I’d brought here, but that didn’t mean the one-night stands hadn’t been going on for a while.
In fact, my entire football career was a revolving door of one-night stands.
After eight years, it was starting to wear a bit.
The sex was boring. Maybe it was because there was no foreplay or banter running up to it anymore. I didn’t have to work for it because what I’d said to Beth Carmichael was true. There were women out there who merely wanted to shag a footballer … so they always came to me and made it very clear from the get-go that they wanted my dick. The dating app on my phone was like a waiting list. If that made me sound like a total arsehole, then so be it, because it was the truth. That shouldn’t be boring. That should be fucking tremendous. Most guys would kill for my dating life.
There had to be something wrong with me.
“Right.” Georgia walked toward the lift as I strode toward the stairwell. “Oh. Really?”
I shrugged. “You can take the lift.”
“Naw, naw, I’ll come with you.” She tottered over in six-inch heels that did great things for her legs.
“I had a nice time,” I forced out so she wouldn’t feel bad that I was rushing her away.
“Me too. Would you … would you want to repeat it sometime?” Her heels clattered loudly on the concrete stairs.
“Eh …”
She made a wee huffing sound at my hesitation, and I scowled. I would not be made to feel bad about not pursuing something with this woman. We both knew what this was when we swiped right on the hookup app.
“Again, I can’t believe how early you get up.” She hurried to change the subject.
I frowned. “It’s seven. Don’t you have work?”
“Aye, at nine. I work at an accountancy firm. But, I mean, you were up at five thirty.”
Not really sure what to say to that, I was saved from an inane answer at the sight of Beth Carmichael coming out of her flat.
My pulse jumped. In irritation, of course.
Baird hadn’t shut up about Beth since the day I moved in. I didn’t know if he’d developed a stupid crush or if he was only trying to wind me up.
I couldn’t believe my flat was in the same building as Beth’s, of all people. Aye, we’d been kids when we were friends … but she’d done damage at a time I was already pretty messed up. She’d left a mark. I hated that she’d left a mark.
Her tip-tilted eyes widened as she turned and saw us. “Uh, morning.”
Georgia waved her fingers in greeting while I glowered, mentally demanding she take the lift.
To my annoyance, Beth strolled toward us in a moronically tiny dress that made my skin suddenly roastin’ hot.
Okay, aye, it was July and we were having a hot summer, so the dress made sense.
It was also frying my brain.
It was a strappy, mini floral thing that would probably camouflage on my sofa. The cheek of her taking the piss out of me and then wearing that. I held back with Georgia to let Beth pass, and I tried and failed not to look at her long fucking legs as she strolled down the stairs in front of us.