![]() She’s certain she would feel a lot more bothered by this without the over-priced champagne in her system (on an empty stomach no less). “It’s not far,” she reasons, “and we can bring a little help.”īy the time they’ve hit the cobblestone street her shoes are off and her feet only marginally swollen. “I’d say sure so long as those puppies agree,” he replies, gesturing towards her heels with their joined hands. Just a mile or so down the road from the estate a nearby village flickers in the darkness and she gives his hand a light squeeze. It’s very British of him and she couldn’t be prouder (or more relieved). The hand holding is a relatively new behavior that she’s added to the ever-expanding list of intimate habits in which they’ve engaged but have not spoken of. “Come on now,” he says in that damnably soft, earnest way she’s come to loathe, “don’t make a man beg.” He’s holding her hand before she has a moment to defend herself from this blatantly intimate assault, and her heart gives yet another mortifying thump that she can feel in her throat. “No way,” he insists, gently pulling her wrist back down to her side, “you jump, I jump, Jack.” “You know what,” she starts suddenly, “let me have my car take you home.” She starts to lift an arm in the air, “I can finish up here.” She should really do something about this. Ted hits her with a bloody wink and she is suddenly extremely aware of the fact that the two of them are very well-dressed and standing alone beneath a starlit sky in the English countryside with his body-warmed, well-scented suit jacket hanging over her bare shoulders. “No,” he agrees, “that certainly did not hurt none.” “It was rather nice seeing that look on his face.” “You’ve never agreed to fly the coop with me before,” he explains with a bashful smile, “I was just thrilled to get the heck outta dodge.” He’s got both hands dug deep into his pockets and he sucks in a comically loud breath before admitting that he, “Don’t rightly know.” It just makes all of… this that much harder for her to ignore. Not that the smell is unpleasant, on the contrary. It’s only mildly cooler than it had been earlier in the evening, but he drapes his suit jacket over her shoulders anyway-the scent of his unnervingly familiar aftershave assaulting her senses. Her blood pressure tries (and fails) to ignore the word “gorgeous,” and she manages to send one final glare at Rupert’s back before tucking her hand into Ted’s elbow and allowing him to lead them back outside towards the circular drive. ![]() “Well, alright then gorgeous, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Ted rubs his hands together in what can only be described as a classic rendition of some retro mustachioed-villain and sneaks a not so subtle glance over his shoulder. This unfortunate new reality, paired with the fact that Ted was not infrequently prone to trying to convince her to leave formal functions, had her feeling less and less obligated to one of her many childhood neuroses. Her ex-husband was unfortunately very in attendance, which had been a frequent fact of life as of late ever since he’d bought West Ham. It was true however that her father had in fact died recently and her mother wasn’t even in attendance. And her ex-husband, which was also likely to do with her upbringing. It was something to do with her upbringing, she was sure. She’s not sure what he’s more excited about-the fact that she’d followed in his absurd finger-footsteps or her willingness to finally bail on an event before it’s technically over. “No,” she hurriedly corrects, “I mean, no, I am more than willing to…”Ĭajoling her own two fingers into completing the thought in a similarly peppy manner. “Oh,” his mood dampening, “we can keep mingling I guess, I just thought-” “No,” she snickers aloud, absolutely offended by the very entirely made-up thought. There’s an entirely imaginary, ungodly screeching of rubber against asphalt and then there’s Keeley’s voice in her head, tinged with lip gloss and pink wine, More like ske- daddy, am I right? This is not and most certainly will not be the last time she pauses to wonder how in the hell her heart could be so vulnerable to this man and this moustache in addition to the frightful skedaddle of it all. The threat of a “skedaddle” hanging ominously in the air. “So, uh, what ya thinkin’ boss?” There’s an air of the unhinged to the grin on his face (and his demeanor generally) as he mimics a jaunty little walk with his fingers.
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