Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Who are we talking about?” I ask curiously.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lee cocks his head when the floor creaks above our heads. We hear quick footsteps followed by a hastily shut door. “Can’t tell me those are Jackie’s pitter-patters.”
Jamie, apparently speaking to his toast, shrugs. “Must be mice.”
A series of much slower, heavier footsteps trudge down the stairs. I soon discover they belong to a whole mountain of a tanned shirtless blond guy with stubble around his jaw and more abs than I have eyelashes. Jack, I presume. Though he could easily pass for Thor. Only thing missing is the big hammer.
Maybe he keeps that in his pants…
I swear I hear Eliza’s voice in my head.
“You know there’s a half-naked woman running around upstairs?” he drawls in a thick Australian accent, dropping down in the chair on the other side of mine at the breakfast bar.
As he reaches across me for the serving plate of eggs, he flashes a charming smile that knocks me right off my axis.
Holy smokes. I’ve never seen a more attractive man in person. Perfect square jaw and endearing dimples. Biceps the size of my thighs.
“There seems to be some confusion as to whether she’s several mice in a person costume,” Lee says, flaring a sarcastic glare at Jamie, who remains steadfastly committed to his breakfast.
Jack peers at me. “You’re not several mice in a costume, are you?”
I shake my head. “I’m Abbey. You can call me, um, Abbey.”
Oh my God.
Really? What the hell else would he call me? Susan?
His lips twitch with humor. “I’m Jack.” A beat. “Call me Jack.”
Lee snickers from the stove. I can only imagine how red my cheeks are at the moment.
Fortunately, Jack puts me out of my misery by breezing past my bout of insanity without further comment. “Right. So Abbey and I aren’t mice. Glad that’s sorted.”
His eyes are impossibly, mesmerizingly blue. So cosmic and glittery that I only realize I’m staring when he grins knowingly and winks, telling me I’ve been caught out.
Nice, Abbey. Subtle.
“I’m only worried for the poor girl.” Lee stands on the other side of the bar and starts picking at his breakfast but mostly daring Jamie to look at him. “Do you suppose she’s lost?”
“There isn’t any girl.” A stubborn Jamie salts his eggs, growing more indignant.
Jack has the wingspan of a 747. As he eats, his elbows bump mine, though he doesn’t seem to notice. “You suppose she crawled out of his wardrobe?”
Jamie leans in to speak softly at my ear. “Be a doll and change the subject, yeah?”
“Abbey…” Lee warns, his voice grave. “Remember who made you bacon.”
I am a sucker for the desperate and downtrodden, so I toss Jamie a lifeline. “So catch me up. How long have you all lived together?”
Lee rolls his eyes. “Typical.”
Jamie leans in and smacks a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a rose, Abbs.”
“We moved in here last fall,” Jack supplies as he chews.
“How’d you all meet? You’ve been friends a long time?” I ask.
He glances at the other two. “It was that holiday do, wasn’t it? At the Spanish place with the fucked-up heads on the wall.”
I lift a brow. “Heads?”
“There weren’t any heads,” Jamie tells him. “And it was before spring term. That girl Cara’s flat in Chelsea. You remember the one.”
Jack piles eggs and sausage on a piece of toast, folds it, and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. He gulps it down, then says, “I remember you nicked a shipment of crisps off a lorry.”
“I left him forty pounds.”
“How much do you think a bag of crisps costs?”
“You’re both wrong,” an exasperated Lee interjects. “The place with the masks on the wall was where Nate had his gig the night Jack showed up with that rugby bloke. The one who was put off when his girlfriend walked out of the loo with her lipstick smeared all over Jamie’s face.”
“That’s right.” Jack smacks his hand on the counter and points at Jamie. “You got your arse kicked.” He laughs, and the deep sound makes my heart beat a little faster.
“Oh, fuck off, Campbell,” Jamie says.
“Oh no.” I try to contain my nervous laughter at the idea of Jamie getting into a bar brawl with a friend of Jack’s. Because I assume all Thor-sized men travel in packs. “You didn’t really fight him.”
“Ha!” Lee chuckles, nibbling on a piece of toast.
“No.” Jamie balks. “I aptly sized up the situation and determined self-preservation was the more prudent course.”
I smother a grin. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning he paid Jack’s mate fifty quid not to damage his pretty face,” Lee answers. “Which essentially means he paid the bloke fifty quid to snog his girlfriend.”
The three of them go at it for a bit, arguing over the particulars of Jamie’s financial diplomacy, which is how Lee comes to explain that Jamie is “quite well-to-do.” As in connected to the British aristocracy. Back home, that would mean some kind of celebrity or maybe an heir to a corporate fortune. Here it comes with fancy titles and castles and whatnot.