Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Well, you know, she left me this property in England. It’s a small house called Sweetbriar Cottage on quite a generous plot of land. I haven’t even seen it, and my original plan was to get an estate agent over there to sell it for me, but I have been thinking about it. A lot.”
“Holy shit, you’re moving countries?” she exclaims.
“Not moving,” I correct. “Just thinking about it.”
“So you’re not moving?” she asks.
“I don’t know. It’s a cottage in England. It probably has meadows and all that. I’m tempted, I mean, why not?”
“It could also be a total dump,” she says. “She must have been a nasty old lady to cut all contact with her only daughter just because she disapproved of the man her daughter wanted to marry.”
“Hmmm… I keep thinking… What if I went? Just for six months. See what it’s like. If it sucks, I’m back. If I love it…” I trail off, meeting her eyes.
She blinks, processing, then leans back with a sad smile. “Oh God, you’re serious.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I reach over, grabbing her hand, her skin warm against mine. “I’d miss you, though,” I say quietly. “You’re my best friend, Sandy, and I love you forever, but I’m drowning here. I need to try something different, or I swear I’ll go insane.”
She squeezes my hand back. “Yeah, okay. I can’t stand in your way of a better life for you, so I’ll just have to hope that you’ll stay for a couple of months and realize that country life is boring as shit and come right back to me. Maybe by then you’ll have gotten your fill of what you need.”
“Hopefully,” I say.
She nods. “Fine. I can survive a few months. But you better bring me stories. Like, filthy ones. English dudes, hot accents—be my Carrie Bradshaw over there?”
I snort, pulling my hand back to cradle my bottle. “What the fuck are you on about? I’m going to avoid men, remember? My life is screwed up enough. Last thing I need is another failed relationship.”
She smirks, wicked and unstoppable, and leans in close. “Oh, please. An English dick might be exactly what you need to unstick yourself. I hear they’re proper in all the right ways.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop it,” I say with a groan, but her riotous laugh pulls me in, and I start grinning. “You’re deranged.”
“I’m serious,” she says. “You never know. They might be packing more than our lot.” Her eyes light up, and she goes for her phone, nearly knocking over her glass. “Let’s find out. Science, bitch. We’re googling this.”
I roll my eyes, but wait curiously to hear her findings.
“Okay,” she says. “Average penis size UK vs US.”
I try, but can’t hold back the cackle that rises into my throat. “This is so dumb.”
“Got it!” Sandy crows, holding her phone up like a trophy. “UK—5.6 inches hard. US—5.1. Fuck yes, they’re bigger!” She’s loud, too loud, and the guy next to us, an older dude in flannel, shoots us a look, but we’re too far gone to care.
“No way,” I say, pulling out my own phone. I make my own research, and soon enough, I’m scrolling through my own results, squinting at the tiny text. “Shit, you’re right. And thicker, too? We’re a disaster.” I’m laughing now, full-on, my stomach aching as I slump against the bar, tears pricking my eyes.
“Yes, we are.” She grabs her glass, raising it high, gin sloshing over the edge. “I’ve changed my mind now. I support you wholeheartedly, so here’s to England. To cottages and big dicks, and you getting the hell out of this hellhole.”
I lift my bottle, the clink sharp and bright against her glass. “To chances,” I add, a thrill of excitement running through my veins. The beer’s flat now, but I drink anyway, and it hits me like a promise. That cottage, some crumbly speck in England, might be my lifeline. Green hills, black and white cows, quiet, a reset. Maybe an Englishman with gray eyes and a thick dick —fuck, where’d that come from? I shake it off, blaming it on Sandy’s dirty mind leading me astray.
The bar spins on, sticky and loud, but I’m somewhere else already. This could be it. My way out. My shot. Sweetbriar Cottage. It has a sweet ring to it.
I feel the blood rushing through my veins again, eager for what life has in store for me next. It’s a wonderful feeling, one I haven’t felt in forever and so I hold on to it with all of my might.
Chapter
Two
HUGH
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuTMWgOduFM&list
-I want to sleep with common people like you-
The engine roars beneath me as I gun my yellow Aston Martin down the winding countryside lanes, tires hugging the asphalt like a lover who won’t let go. It’s early April, my favorite time—spring clawing its way out of winter’s grip, wildflowers popping up in messy bursts of yellow and purple along the hedgerows. The air rushing through the gap in the window smells of new grass, rain, and damp earth.