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Back A Bumpy Year Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Olivia Spooner
  3. A BUMPY YEAR
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. Acknowledgements
  48. About the Author
  49. An Invitation from the Publisher

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” I blurt.

“Yeah, I picked up on that one.”

“Sorry, it’s just…” I pause. No man has ever looked at me so intently in the face without his eyes drifting to my breasts. It’s disconcerting. “I was hoping I could pretend it never happened.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Yes, I think it’s extremely wise.”

His eyes still haven’t wandered. What’s wrong with the guy? Is he gay? Married? Not that being married makes any difference. Or gay, for that matter.

“You don’t think I might have stirred up something you’ve kept bottled inside?”

Unlike most males… actually, scrap that. Unlike all males I’ve ever met, Scott doesn’t steer clear of talking about emotions.

“Of course you did, and I intend to ram it straight back into that bottle and screw the lid on extra tight.”

I lean forwards in an effort to expose more cleavage. It’s not that I want him to be attracted to me – well, OK, maybe – but come on. Is he a man or a mouse?

His gaze drops from my face to my chest and then he quickly averts his eyes to look across the room. Thank God. I was seriously getting worried.

Scott pushes back his chair and stands, his face pale.

“Sorry, Trish. I’d better get going. Enjoy the rest of your unagi.”

It comes out in such a rush you’d think he had a bad case of the runs and needed to dash to the loo.

“OK,” I say. “Bye.”

But he’s already halfway to the exit.

It wasn’t quite the reaction to my boobs I was expecting. Though, he’s not the first guy to be intimidated. I stare at the seat he so abruptly vacated and my heart contracts.

5

It’s 5:45 a.m. and I’m eight minutes into my five-kilometre row in the hotel gym, when Scott enters.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” I mutter, pretending I haven’t seen him.

With luck, we’ll both ignore each other – which might prove challenging, since we’re the only two people in the windowless mirrored room, but not impossible.

He walks right past me and steps onto one of the running machines. Within seconds he’s running fast and think I might actually have escaped his notice until he makes eye contact with me in one of the mirrors.

“Morning,” he says gruffly.

“Hi,” I puff.

And that’s it. He looks away to stare at the TV screen in front of him and I’m off the hook. Only I kind of feel let down. Well, more than let down. Rejected. Which isn’t the nicest feeling in the world.