Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Not anymore.
Josh steps out of the tiny bathroom with a towel around his waist.
“Went ok?”
“Went better than ok. Orla is amazing.”
“Great stuff, I knew she would be.”
I shuffle up so he can sit beside me, and run my fingers down his wet abs.
“I tell you what else will be amazing,” I say with a grin.
“What’s that?”
“A double shower.” I pick my phone back up. “Let’s get looking for a new Airbnb. It’s time to move on.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’m still unpacking my case when there’s a knock at the front door. I quickly hang up the dress I’ve got in my hands and dash on through the living room of our new Airbnb, grinning like a schoolgirl as I fling the door open to find Tiff waiting there. I’ve been so excited to see her.
She looks absolutely amazing as usual with her cascade of scarlet hair in freshly styled waves, always her gothic diva self in catflicks that rival mine. She was my icon at The Agency when I first started. Creamgirl. The most hardcore of the hardcorers. Now she’s one of the greatest friends there could ever be. To me, as well as Josh.
He’s waiting behind me as I wrap her in my arms, swaying from side to side as both me and Tiff squeal in delight. And then it’s his turn. I feel the warmth as he holds her close, landing a kiss on her perfectly contoured cheek. She’s such a plus sized dream, proud and self-assured. Confident to the max.
Pride, self-assurance and confidence were qualities that left me in the dust at Cannes airport. Thank fuck they are slowly being resurrected. Growing a little more solid every day.
“Hey, guys!” Tiff says, then lets out a nice as she steps past us and scouts a look around our new surroundings.
This Airbnb is much fancier than our secluded one-bed in the shadows. We’re in a three-bed townhouse on the west side of the city now. Still secluded, sure, but with infinitely more presence, with its incredible kitchen and huge living room. It has high ceilings with intricate coving, and a huge fireplace as a centrepiece. Hardly the modern, designer finesse of Belgravia, but it’s good. Really good.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” Josh says to his best friend, and heads on through to the kitchen. “Got your favourite white in, Tiff.”
“Thanks, babes!”
Tiff flops herself down on one of the huge plush sofas, and nods with approval. Her voice is loud enough that Josh will be able to hear her, too.
“Jesus, this is way, way better than the pics you sent from before! Fuck, you guys were holed up in a pigeon coop. I’d have barely fit my butt in that shower room, let alone the shower itself.”
“I didn’t mind being pigeon cooped up with Ells,” Josh says, poking his head through the door. “It was cosy.”
“Cosy?! Yeah, sure,” she replies. “Very, very cosy.”
I laugh. “You’re right about the shower room. It was tiny. No way we were fitting two of us in there for any shower play. Not a chance.”
I adore her cackle.
“Not surprised. Like I said, I doubt I’d have fitted the one of me in there. My clients wouldn’t have been too happy with my lack of personal hygiene, that’s for certain.” She winks. “Take that back, actually. Some of them would have been very happy about it. I could have charged extra.”
She laughs again and pats the seat next to her and I plonk my butt as close to hers as I can. We have another hug, and she whispers a so, so, so pleased you’re alright into my hair.
“So am I,” I tell her as I pull away. “I didn’t think I would be, honestly. All I felt was doom. I thought my days at The Agency were gone.”
Josh returns from the kitchen with a bottle of wine and three glasses.
“And what did I say, huh?” She looks right at me. “I said there was no way they’d let you go. No way! You’re a hardcorer. The best of the best. An asset.”
My cheeks burn in fresh awe of her. These days I have a weird sense of imposter syndrome when it comes to the power crew. My achievements feel so far away.
“I’ll never be the best of the best, Creamgirl. The competition is too damn stiff for that.”
“Whatever,” she says. “You need to check out your five stars. Get some of your horny mojo back.”
Josh hands us both a glass of wine. We raise a toast to us, and Tiff wants to know how we’re doing. How we are, face to face, rather than over video call. And I get it. I feel the same. It’s a whole other league of closeness in person. We’ve spoken plenty on video and been pinging back on forth on messages constantly, but her presence was missing. Her energy didn’t boom through the room and set us alight like it does now she’s here.