Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
But Sandra just giggles and tosses back another shot. “What? I’m just saying, dependable kettle-boiling is a rare quality in a man.”
I laugh, but it’s shaky. “Exactly. You get it,” I say, purposely ignoring her mocking tone.
“No,” Lucy cuts in firmly. “She doesn’t. And neither do you. Pips, he wasn’t your soul mate. He was your safety net. And now he’s gone, and you’re dangling, and it’s uncomfortable, but you’ll live. In fact, you’ll thrive.”
I slump against the back of my chair, pouting like a child. “I don’t want to thrive. I want George.”
Sandra and Lucy exchange a look over my head. That silent best friend conversation that I know too well. Then Sandra downs her shot, puts the glass down on the table, and claps her hands.
“Right,” she says, her tone brisk, decisive. “We’re done with Sad Pippa. New rule: no more talking about George tonight.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off by handing me another shot, which I swallow down.
“Nope. Not another word. In fact,” she says with a smirk, her blue eyes glittering with mischief. “We’re going to play a little game.”
Chapter Two
Pippa
“A game?” I ask, my suspicions up. I narrow my eyes at Sandra like she’s just suggested we all take up professional pole vaulting. “What kind of a game?”
Sandra grins like the proverbial cat who has just discovered the jug of cream and is plotting to drink it all herself. She slaps her hands on the table, making the empty shot glasses stacked on it clink together.
“The kind of game that guarantees you’ll finally stop whining about George bloody Parker,” she says.
I don’t think anything exists that can stop me thinking about George, let alone a game, but now Lucy perks up, already intrigued, and I see that I am outnumbered.
“I like this already,” Lucy says with a smile.
“Oh no. No way. Whenever you two start conspiring, I end up humiliated. Or drunk. Or both,” I say, with a groan, but I fear I am already too late now that Sandra has Lucy on her side.
Sandra points at me with mock severity. “Us humiliate you? You do a good job of it yourself.”
“That’s not comforting,” I grumble.
She ignores me and launches into her grand explanation of her game. “Ok, so it’s a pretty simple game. It’s called the truth blitz.”
Lucy raises an eyebrow. “That sounds made up,” she says.
“Of course it’s made up. All games are made up. What, you think Monopoly grows out in the fields and Scrabble is native to North America?” Sandra replies, making Lucy nod approvingly at her to go on. “Trust me, it’ll be brilliant. Here’s how it works. I will ask you some questions - ten in a row, rapid fire style. You must answer honestly, and without hesitating. If Lucy, our impartial referee, decides you hesitated or lied, you lose a point. If you answer quickly and honestly, you gain a point. If you refuse to answer, you lose twenty points. The same goes for me when it is your turn to ask me the questions. At the end, whoever has the most points wins.”
Lucy leans back in her chair, sipping her gin with an air of importance. “I can live with being the referee. And I’ll be fair. Probably.”
Sandra shoots her a look. “You’d better be fair. This is a high-stakes competition.”
I frown at them both. “What are the stakes exactly?”
Sandra’s grin turns wicked. “The winner gets to set a forfeit for the loser.”
I sit up straighter and shake my head. “Absolutely not. The last time we did forfeits, I ended up running around Hyde Park in a tutu while yelling that I was the woodland fairy.”
Lucy chuckles at the memory. “That was a good day,” she says dreamily.
“Maybe for you. For me, it was freezing and utterly mortifying,” I remind her. “And there was a man walking his dog who looked genuinely afraid for my mental health.”
Sandra waves away my protests. “Relax. It’ll be fun. Besides, I need something to amuse me since it’s my night off. Consider it entertainment value. And you never know. You might win and get your own back on me.”
I highly doubt that will happen. Sandra has very little in the way of a filter, and I am afraid she won’t hesitate to just blurt out the truth, no matter what I ask her. Me, I am a little bit more caged-off than that. They are both looking at me with eager, expectant smiles, though. God, I hate disappointing them. I groan into my cocktail.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope,” they cry in unison, both of them looking smug as anything.
Lucy adds sweetly, “Come on, Pips. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“Famous last words,” I mutter.
But Sandra is already rubbing her hands together like an evil mastermind. “Right then. Since I invented the game, I’ll ask the questions first.”