Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Logan reaches the exit at the end of the hall then turns back for a brief moment. Our gazes lock again and he smiles, but I barely catch it before I duck swiftly back into the doorway, praying he didn’t notice how lovesick I looked watching him leave.
“Did he see?”
“The drool? I’m afraid so.” The au pair frowns.
Just my luck.
Chapter Two
Candace
I haven’t got Logan out of my mind in days. As soon as the last student left my classroom on Thursday, I fired off a long text to my flatmates.
CANDACE: KAT & YASMINE! DO NOT DALLY! Come straight back to the flat after work. Kat, don’t take the long route from the subway station just so you can pass by Cute Hot Dog Guy. This is important!
I’ve had THE BEST DAY. You won’t believe it. There I was in my preschool classroom, washing a bit of poo out of some trousers (you know how it goes…), when this absolute babe came to collect his nephew from my class.
Truthfully, I thought I’d blacked out for a moment when I first saw him. He was a proper hunk with glorious brown hair that had a bit of wave to it, he was quite tall, and he had these arms. Are muscly arms supposed to make you damp all over? I’m panting just thinking about them.
Anyway, he told me he’s a professional foosball player. At least, I think that’s what he said. The tots can get quite loud near pick-up time.
YASMINE: Foosball? What are you on about, Candace? Have you gone mad?
KAT: Oh sod off. So what if I like to have a good look at Hot Dog Guy’s arse on my trek home after a hard day’s work in the city? It’s called self-care.
CANDACE: Kat, I’m ignoring that. Yes, Yasmine—foosball! Y’know, the sport with the tiny ball you toss around the table? I suppose it’s a big thing over here in the States. We must investigate and learn everything we can.
By the way, he’s called Logan.
Logan + Candace. I think that sounds quite nice! I can hear the wedding bells now. Dum, dum, dah-dum.
YASMINE: Oh good grief. I suppose we can do some snooping when I get home. I’ll grab wine on my way.
KAT: I’ll grab hot dogs.
As soon as we all arrived back at home, I droned on about him for hours.
“Did I already tell you about his arms?”
“Loads of times,” Kat said, quickly holding her hands up to her ears in case I decided to start in on it again.
I yanked them away so she could hear me properly. “And the hair? That dark brown color…like velvet. And just the right amount of curl! More like a wave. Do you know what I mean? Should I pull up an example on Google again?”
Yasmine swiped my computer off my lap before I could pull up my previous search.
“Please spare us. I’m sure he was hot, but who cares? It sounds like he’s way out of your league.”
I pulled a face like she was absolutely insane. “Out of my league?!”
I stood up to show her all of what I have to offer, confident she was selling me short. Though…as stray popcorn bits fell from my lap onto the floor, I realized maybe she did have a point. The TV remote fell out of my lap too—right on my toe. I winced and did a good bit of yelping and hopping around until I felt I had my pain better under control.
“Yasmine, look at me,” I finally said, walking to the end of our tiny living room then posing like I was at the end of a catwalk. “There isn’t a man on earth who’s out of my league.”
“You’ve got a bit of wine on your pajamas there,” Kat noted, deadpan.
I looked down at my oversized t-shirt, which matched the ones they were wearing. We grabbed them in a gift shop on Coney Island as a total joke. It stretches all the way to my knees and features a caricature of a woman’s body in a bikini top and bottom. The way it’s cut, it makes it look like it’s my body.
“I don’t see it.”
“There. Right near your left boob.”
Ah yes.
I dabbed at the stain with my thumb, but it didn’t budge. Old, probably.
“Chocolate too, just there,” Yasmine joined in. “Does anything actually make it into your mouth?”
I smiled wolfishly at them. “Oh yes.”
This is when—and I’m not proud of it, per se—I mimed a sort of blow job bit. They both rolled laughing, knowing I was totally full of it. Just like my nether regions, my mouth hasn’t seen any action in quite a while.
“Anyway, ladies, I feel bad—I do. I’ll have to break my lease when he whisks me off to some fairytale island to have his wicked way with me, but do send on my mail, won’t you?”