Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
‘That’s a parent and child space.’ I dismiss, passing it.
‘So,’
‘So…I don’t see any child in this lovely car of yours. Do you?’
He drops his gaze to my stomach, and I suddenly feel extremely uncomfortable. ‘Did you find your pills?’ he asks, maintaining his stare on my stomach.
‘No,’ I answer, swinging into a parking space. I want to blame him for distracting me from my normal personal schedule, but the truth is, my personal organisation skills have always been rubbish. I was forced to pay another mortifying trip to Doctor Monroe to replace the second batch of contraceptive pills that I lost in a week, and I made myself have tests to ensure I hadn’t contracted any sexual diseases after constant unprotected sex with Jesse. The suggestion of Jesse’s active sex life left me little choice.
‘Did you miss any?’ he asks, his lips pressing into a straight line.
He’s worried I could be pregnant? ‘My period came last Sunday evening.’ I say. Like an omen or something, I want to add, but I don’t. I switch off the ignition.
He remains silent as I get out of the car and wait for him to eject himself.
‘Could you have parked any further away?’ he grumbles, joining me on my side of the car.
‘At least I’m parked legally.’ I walk to the rack of trollies lined up at the shelter and slip a pound in the top to release one. ‘Have you ever been to a supermarket?’ I ask as we make our way up the canopied walkway. Jesse and a supermarket is not something that fits together naturally.
He shrugs. ‘Cathy does it. I usually eat at The Manor.’
The mention of Jesse’s super plush sex club has me bristling and losing all enthusiasm in trying to make conversation. I feel his eyes on me, but I ignore it and focus ahead of me.
As we make our way around the supermarket, I load in the essentials and Jesse loads in a dozen jars of peanut butter, a few jars of chocolate spread and a several cans of squirty cream.
‘Do you not have anything?’ I ask, dumping milk in the trolley.
He shrugs and takes control with his good hand. ‘Cathy’s been away.’
I guide him around into the next aisle and instantly realise that I’ve unwittingly led him into the alcohol section. I fly around in a panic and get the trolley rammed into my shin. ‘Fuck!’ I exclaim on a wince.
‘Ava, watch your mouth!’
I rub my shin. Damn that hurts. ‘We don’t need this aisle.’ I blurt, frantically pushing the trolley back towards him.
He walks backwards. ‘Ava, stop it.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise where we were.’
‘For God’s sake, woman, I’m not going to dive into the shelves and rip the caps off the bottles. Are you okay?’
I frown and look down at my shin. ‘I’m fine,’ I mutter, pissed off that I wasn’t paying attention to where we were. I lean down and run my palm up my shin. It bloody hurts.
I go to straighten up and I’m stunned when I find Jesse on his knees in front of me. He rests his damaged hand around the back of my leg and lifts with his good hand to sit my foot on his knee before leaning down and planting a kiss on my shin. We’re in the middle of the supermarket on a Saturday afternoon and he is literally on his knees kissing my leg.
‘Better?’ he asks as he looks up at me. ‘I’m sorry. For everything, Ava.’
I look down at his beautiful, stubbled face and I want to cry. I can see total sincerity in his eyes as he looks up at me. ‘Okay.’ I reply quietly, not knowing what else to say.
He nods and sighs, then leans up and plants a chaste kiss on my stomach before getting to his feet. He leads me away from the alcohol aisle and straight to the cosmetics section where he collects some shaving gel and blades. I look up at his overgrown stubble and wonder whether I want him to get rid of it. The more I look at it, the more I like it.
By the time we get back to Lusso, it’s six o’clock and we find the door has been repaired. Jesse goes to lie on the sofa, exhausted from a few hours out, and I stand in the kitchen after unpacking the shopping, wondering what to do. It’s Saturday evening and usually at this time I would be cracking open a bottle of wine and settling down for the evening. There is no wine and I can’t settle, so instead, I ring Kate.
‘What are you up to?’ I ask as I plant myself on a barstool with a coffee – not wine, but coffee.
‘We’re on our way out.’ she says cheerfully.
‘We?’
‘Yes, we. Don’t ask me who we is, Ava. You already know.’