Authors: Emma Heatherington
Tags: #Contemporary Fiction, #Humor, #Contemporary Women, #Romantic Comedy, #Contemporary, #Romance, #Sagas, #New Adult & College, #Inspirational, #Women's Fiction, #Literature & Fiction
T
es
s
stoppe
d
a
s
i
f
sh
e
ha
d
pulle
d
o
n
th
e
brakes
,
much t
o
Polly
’
s
despai
r
.
The
y
ha
d
finall
y
develope
d
a
rhyth
m
to thei
r
weavin
g
wal
k
an
d
no
w
the
y
woul
d
hav
e
t
o
star
t
all ove
r
again
!
“
Y
o
u
cheek
y
fucker!
”
sai
d
T
ess
.
Oh
,
h
e
wa
s
i
n
trouble. H
e
ha
d
n
o
ide
a
wha
t
troubl
e
h
e
wa
s
in
.
“Wh
y
don
’
t
you
jus
t
focu
s
on
doin
g
you
r
jo
b
and
leav
e
th
e
smart
comment
s
behind
?
I
coul
d
repor
t
yo
u
fo
r
comin
g
ou
t
with that.
”
“Repor
t
me?
”
sai
d
th
e
bounce
r
.
H
e
wa
s
chewin
g
gu
m
lik
e
i
t
wa
s
goin
g
ou
t
o
f
fashion, stan
k
o
f
cigarett
e
smok
e
an
d
chea
p
aftershav
e
an
d
he wor
e
a
snark
y
gri
n
tha
t
mad
e
T
es
s
wan
t
t
o
knoc
k
his
light
s
out
.
An
d
a
s
fo
r
hi
s
stump
y
colleague
?
H
e
woul
d
get
i
t
to
o
i
f
h
e
didn
’
t
shu
t
hi
s
mout
h
–
h
e
laughe
d
wa
y
too high-pitche
d
fo
r
he
r
liking
!
“
Y
es
!
Repor
t
you!
”
sh
e
spat
,
realisin
g
sh
e
wa
s
sounding
lik
e
on
e
o
f
he
r
pupil
s
involve
d
i
n
a
schoolyar
d
rant
.
“
Ar
e
yo
u
deaf?
”
“Repor
t
m
e
fo
r
what
?
An
d
t
o
who?
”
h
e
asked
.
He
looke
d
a
t
th
e
thre
e
o
f
the
m
u
p
an
d
down
,
u
p
an
d
down,
a
s
i
f
the
y
wer
e
scum
.
T
o
who
?
Goo
d
questio
n
.
.
.
T
es
s
scramble
d
fo
r
a
n
answe
r
.
Sh
e
hadn
’
t
reall
y
though
t
o
f
wh
o
sh
e
woul
d
repor
t
hi
m
to
.
“
T
o
you
r
management,
”
sh
e
said
.
“O
r
t
o
th
e
Societ
y
of Bouncers!
”
“‘Th
e
Societ
y
o
f
Bouncers!’
”
H
e
le
t
ou
t
a
hug
e
guffa
w
.
“Oi
,
Mickey
!
Ar
e
yo
u
a
membe
r
o
f
th
e
Societ
y
of
Bouncer
s
’caus
e
thi
s
on
e
say
s
sh
e
wil
l
repor
t
us?
”
“
Y
ou
mean
the
Officia
l
Society
of
Bouncers?”
shouted
Micke
y
,
wipin
g
tear
s
fro
m
hi
s
eye
s
a
s
h
e
laughed
.
“Sure,
I’
m
th
e
President
.
Repor
t
u
s
fo
r
what
,
Missy?
”
“Fo
r
bein
g
ageist!
”
sai
d
T
ess
,
fearin
g
sh
e
wa
s
losin
g
her
cas
e
th
e
mor
e
sh
e
trie
d
t
o
speak
.
“Jus
t
becaus
e
w
e
can
’
t
wal
k
doesn
’
t
mea
n
we’r
e
drunk
,
yo
u
know
!
I
a
m
injure
d
if
yo
u
mus
t
know
!
M
y
to
e
i
s
o
n
fire
!
I
t
migh
t
eve
n
b
e
broken!”
Sh
e
coul
d
hav
e
kicke
d
hersel
f
fo
r
comin
g
ou
t
wit
h
such nonsense
.
The
y
wer
e
al
l
rat-arsed
,
pissed
,
wrot
e
off, whateve
r
yo
u
wante
d
t
o
cal
l
it
.
The
y
wer
e
a
mess
.
They
wer
e
a
disgrace
.
Bu
t
sh
e
didn
’
t
nee
d
som
e
jumped-up asshol
e
i
n
a
dickey-bo
w
t
o
remin
d
he
r
o
f
th
e
fact
!
She
hate
d
doorme
n
a
t
nightclub
s
almos
t
a
s
muc
h
a
s
sh
e
hated traffi
c
wardens
.
I
t
wa
s
lik
e
th
e
authorit
y
ha
d
gon
e
t
o
their
bi
g
fa
t
head
s
an
d
the
y
jus
t
thrive
d
o
n
an
y
excus
e
t
o
pull yo
u
u
p
o
n
something
.
Sh
e
wouldn
’
t
le
t
hi
m
awa
y
wit
h
it. “Of
f
yo
u
g
o
hom
e
t
o
th
e
babies
,
Mummies,
”
h
e
said,
lightin
g
u
p
a
cigarett
e
an
d
blowin
g
th
e
smok
e
int
o
the coo
l
nigh
t
ai
r
withou
t
makin
g
an
y
furthe
r
ey
e
contact
.