Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I haven’t got much force with the punches though, and he folds his arms.
“Do it, Ells, give it some grit. You’ve got this.”
“Alright.”
I summon some fuel to spur me on and get my blood flowing, and that’s easy peasy. I picture Connor’s pity-me face when he told me he was leaving me for Carly. His outrageous justification as he proudly declared that little redhead Carly had contacts in the music industry. What an absolute prick. I’m glad I never met her, flirty little redhead. I imagine their two smiley faces together and then I punch the air like I mean it this time, stretching my arms right out as I step into the footwork. Take that, assholes. Take this one right on the chin for flinging your I’ve got contacts hooks, cow. And a side hook for you, you worthless wanker.
“What a U-turn,” Josh says. “Go steady, Ells, or you’ll do your triceps in.”
I puff out a breath. “I’m using Connor and the lying little bitch he left me for as inspiration.”
“In that case, definitely take it easy. You’ll do in your shoulder rotator cuff as well.”
“Maybe I was a boxer in a past life, huh?” I shoot him a couple of fake punches.
“Yeah, might be a good skill to have, since you’re being fake abducted for a living.”
I flash him a grin. “Not sure User 706 would have found it quite so horny if he’d dragged me out from under the bed and got a left jab and right hook.”
I see his eyes light up, and I wonder then if Amy was a talker, not a listener, just like Connor was.
“I like this,” I tell him. “Will you be my personal trainer? I’ll pay you by trying to take a boot in my pussy.” I laugh. “Actually, that’s a lie, that’ll be my pleasure as well as yours.”
“I’ll be your personal trainer all day long for free. It’s nice to share it with someone. Tiff hates it, she gives me the side eye if I ever suggest it, then slaps her ass, saying she wouldn’t want to ruin her assets.”
I can see her tongue poke in my mind. Hear her cackle.
“Let me do something for you, at least,” I say.
“Sing the Rocky theme when I’m on the treadmill, how’s that sound?”
“It’ll sound bloody awful,” I laugh.
“Go on… I bet you can really sing.”
“No, no. Last time I sang, the RSPCA turned up, searching for a dying cat. I want to do something serious.”
Josh laughs again. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
I wrack my brain for a moment, then remember how attentive he was when I got back home last night, knackered and hungry. I was grateful beyond words for the breakfast he made for me. I could cook for him today… or I could try. An actual meal, not some pasta with a stir in sauce, or a microwave heated pizza.
I remember Daddy’s delicacy. Chicken casserole. It can’t be that difficult. I pick up my phone and search for a recipe as Josh resumes his exercises.
Nope, doesn’t look that hard at all.
“Be right back,” I say. “Just nipping to the store.”
“The store? There’s plenty of stuff in the cupboards.”
“How about celery, thyme and parsley? Are they in the cupboards?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You might have me there. What do you have up your sleeve?”
I tap my nose. “A surprise.”
His eyes light up again, his grin so beautifully genuine.
“You’re going to cook for us?”
He sounds surprised, and I don’t blame him. I’m hardly chef material, and he’s done all the cooking so far. I’ve only chopped a bit of garlic.
“Yeah, I’m going to cook for us. I want you well nourished for your proposal later.”
He looks like he’s shocked, and I get it. My chicken casserole might be shit, but I can practice. Mum’s a great cook, so maybe I’ve inherited some of that talent as well as my looks.
“Amy never cooked,” Josh says. “I always made the meals, and first of all she was grateful, giving me all the yum, you’re the best ever while she munched away, but after a while it got standard. She’d scroll through her phone while I was cooking, and scroll through her phone while she was eating, too.” He pauses. “It’d be lovely to have a meal made for me, thank you.”
I want to hug him so fucking bad, selfish cow.
It only spurs me on. I take a quick shower and throw on a t-shirt and leggings, then I’m off to the local store. At least I know how to navigate one. Chicken, carrots, celery, parsley, mushrooms, butter, cream… all in my basket. Lemon. Thyme. Garlic. Flour. I check the recipe to make sure I’ve got everything. Yep, got it.
I’m going to make the best meal for him I possibly can.
“Don’t watch me,” I say when I start preparing the meal. “I want to make it a surprise.”