Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
They look me up and down. “What’s up?” they say in unison.
“Nothing.” I pass them aimlessly, not knowing where the hell I’m going but hoping I can cool my flushed cheeks before they get close enough to see them. “I’m ready to be wrapped.” Lucky body wrapper. I stop and search for a sign that’ll point me in the right direction.
“Maybe a mimosa first,” Anouska suggests.
“Oh yes, a mimosa first,” Charley chirps.
“Let me show you the Library Bar.” Anouska motions toward the bar, and my heart flutters. It bloody flutters. My heart has never fluttered, not even for my ex, and it’s in this moment I realise, after weeks of examining our breakup, it wasn’t just talk of babies that scared me off. It was this missing feeling. Except I didn’t realise it was missing, because I’ve never felt . . . this. And what is this? Insane attraction? Not just attraction, but the crazy, knee-knocking, heart-pounding kind.
I watch Charley disappear into the Library Bar, Abbie and Anouska following, and I stand there staring, a little breathless, a lot wobbly. Abbie looks back at me, an unsure smile on her face. “Are you coming?”
Am I? My legs don’t seem to be working. I clear my throat, take in some air—and confidence—and force my feet to move. No sashay in sight.
I breach the entrance and immediately find him still at the bar. “Oh God,” I whisper to myself, accepting the glass being handed to me by the waiter. “Thank you”—I read his name badge—“Clinton.”
“Drink first, wrap later?” he asks, smiling.
I take a long swig, practically polishing off the whole glass in one glug. “Looks like it.”
“I’m around all day, so let me know what cocktail takes your fancy and I’ll rustle one up for you.” He tops me off and gets back to rearranging the back shelf.
“Oh my,” Abbie whispers, her glass at her lips as she watches the barman work. “Someone’s sweet on you.”
My eyes naturally fall to the end of the bar. He’s lost on his mobile. “Behave,” I say, absent-minded.
“Clinton is an award-winning mixologist,” Anouska informs us, pulling the cocktail menu over. Charley places her glass on the bar and helps herself, filling up, shrugging when I throw her a look. “All of the Arlington Hall specials are his creations, except for this one,” she says, pointing to the one at the top. “That one was created by the woman behind Arlington Hall.”
I crane my neck to see the menu. “Hey Jude,” I muse.
“Yes, she named it after her son.” Anouska smiles. “And the Beatles track, of course. It’s very popular.”
“Is that the woman in the portrait in the lobby?” I ask.
“That’s her. Evelyn Harrison. Absolute style icon.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Was,” Anouska says, her voice lowering to a whisper. “She passed away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You should try Hey Jude. You’ll love it.”
“You won’t have to ask me twice.” Charley perches on a stool. “So, does Arlington Hall often give away spa days for next to nothing for mere commoners like us?”
“Speak for yourself.” Abbie laughs. “This is right up my street.”
I smile, looking to the end of the bar again. He’s still on his phone.
“It was a promotion for our fifth anniversary.” Anouska plucks the bottle out of Charley’s hand before she has a chance to fill up again. “Not too much alcohol before spa treatments.”
She pouts. “I’m child- and husband-free, Anouska. I have to make the most of my freedom.”
Anouska smiles wide, revealing pearly whites past her poppy-red lips. “Shall we make our way to the spa now?”
We all place our glasses down, Anouska leads on, and I pick up my feet, nearly walking into Charley when she doesn’t move. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open. I don’t need to ask her what’s up, especially when Abbie elbows me in the side.
“Lord have mercy on my soul for admiring another man,” Charley whispers.
“Mercy granted,” Abbie breathes. “Fuck . . . me.”
I close my eyes and swallow, turning to face what has their attention. Or . . . who. I’m wholly unprepared for the impact of him, despite knowing it’s faint-worthy. But this time, he’s standing, swinging on his suit jacket. His rough, bristly face has that cheeky sideways smile again. A dimple on his left cheek. His hair is so unperfect yet perfectly perfect. He’s irritatingly flawless. And tall. So tall.
“Hi,” Charley breathes.
“Hi,” Abbie squeaks, and I’m pretty sure they both melt on the spot as he passes.
My senses are further invaded when I catch a waft of something dizzyingly manly. Like sex in a scent. He stops and looks back over his shoulder. Eyes on me. They’re the colour of the sea. A beautiful, muted teal.
“You should definitely try Hey Jude,” he says quietly.
“Okay.” I’m breathless.
And he leaves.
My entire body starts trembling, and it’s totally out of my control. I’m not sure what the others are doing. Mopping up their drool?