Chapters (52)
- Cover
- About the Author
- The Break Up
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Acknowledgements
- Dear Reader …
- Keep Reading …
- About the Publisher
‘Christ.’ I rubbed at my forehead. ‘Why did you even book it?’ Before he tried to explain, I started again, ‘Whatever, it’s part-refundable, so it’ll all work out. I’d say we need some ground rules, though, before we start.’ I pulled a notepad out of the junk drawer in the kitchen and then searched through my handbag to find a pen. ‘Right.’ I sat down at the table and clicked the biro to life. ‘First of all, are we having sex or are things limited to sexual contact …’
*
Rowan tried to act normal in the days after, but it was hard. I couldn’t stop thinking I’d made a massive mistake. ‘He’s the one who’s made the fucking mistake, Edi,’ Betty snapped, when I shared the worry with her – but I was dangerously close to telling Rowan that I took back any permissions I’d given him during our talk. Still, it felt like going back on a spit-shake after the deal was in motion, and I remembered enough of the playground politics to know that was bad form. So, I kept a healthy distance from him – which was a strange thing to do while I was still wearing the engagement ring, which had somehow lost its shine already.
On the Saturday of our first weekend together but not, Rowan asked whether I wanted to have dinner. He called, rather than texting, which made me think he must be nervous of asking. He’d always hated waiting for a response to things he was nervous about; phone calls were much more immediate. Still, I’d lied and told him I had plans with the girls for the afternoon and it would probably spill into the evening.
‘Are you going out?’ he asked, and I couldn’t decide whether he had a right to know. Despite having drawn up a sexually explicit guidebook, the simple feelings of the matter were turning out to be more complicated.
‘No, we’re having a night in. I think I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago?’ I lied, knowing he wouldn’t remember either way, so he’d likely just agree. I hurried him off the call after that, knocked my phone into airplane mode and headed for the door. I wasn’t seeing the girls; I wasn’t seeing anyone, and I had designs on keeping it that way.