Thirteen (Love by Numbers Book 4) (12 page)

“You’re the
only
crazy girl.”

“I like that.” She whispers against my lips, then pulls away and awkwardly gets out of the car. Stumbling slightly when her leg catches the door frame again.

When she’s steady on her feet, she pops her head in to look at me.

“It’s my turn for the next date. I’ll text you.”

Then she slams the car door, walks around the front of the car and onto the pavement where her twin is waiting for her with a shit-eating smile on her face.

Lilah lifts her hand up and gives me a small wave as her sister wraps her arm around her shoulders and begins to guide her to the front door of their building.

Wait. Did she say she was arranging the next date?

Shit.

I press the button for the window, and it winds down pathetically slow. She’s almost at the doors when I yell out, “I’m not visiting GOA with you again. You hear me!”

They both turn; her sister looking at me curiously while Lilah shakes her head with a laugh and asks “GOA?”

“Gays of Anarchy. Been there, done that, got the cut and it doesn’t fit.”

She chuckles again, “Okay, deal. No GOA. I’ll just have to surprise you.”

Then she winks and turns away from me once more and I watch until I can no longer see her through the glass doors.

This girl has got me inside out and upside down.

I wanted to punch out her ex, and I never get violent.

I wanted to take our kiss upstairs and turn it into a kiss with benefits, and my Davidson hasn’t got this excited since his close friends were removed during my cancer surgery.

Sure, I’ve been out on dates before Lilah, twelve to be precise. Some included fooling around, but not once did my Davidson ever get involved. It was like having a useless limb that your head was trying to coax into doing the tango when it didn’t want to do so much as a two-step.

Until her.

Me
and
my Davidson wanted to tango all night long with her.

I
really
should get out more; watching
Strictly Come Dancing
with my folks on a Saturday night has got me using dance terms as a euphemism for sex.

I look down at my Davidson and shake my head.

“We will fuck again, my son. No tango shite for us.”

Yes. That feels more manly.

I pull away from the curb, no further thoughts of glitter balls, stacked heels and spray tans in my head. Instead, it’s filled with glistening bare skin, chocolate eyes and little whimpers that turn into loud moans.

Yes. This is how a manly, heterosexual bloke should envision sex with the first woman he’s fancied in ages.

I do have balls.

I have great big balls.

I want to show Lilah my balls.

Job done.

T
he hits just keep coming.

After Wayne had made a scene when Harry dropped me off the other day, I awoke the next morning to a call from my doctor.

The tests show the presence of neuromas, and this is why I’ve been having increased pain in my stump. Surgery has already been scheduled for next week, and while I’m recovering, I’ll also be fitted with a new prosthetic, meaning I’ll be out of commission for a few weeks while I get back on my feet, or in my case, foot.

That leaves only this week to organise a proper first date with Harry.

Nicola thinks I’m being silly by not telling him what’s going on with me, but she’s never had someone look at her like she’s less; like she’s broken.

The feeling of being whole in his eyes is a heady one and something I want to hold onto for a little while longer. So I told him a little white lie.

I told him that I’m going away for a fortnight on a last minute break, said I needed to relax and recuperate.

It’s partly truthful. I
am
going away and I will be resting and recuperating. I just failed to mention the surgery or the fact that he’s going on a date with a girl who has a fake leg.

Like I said. The lie is white. Well… maybe a little yellow.

“Hey, Nic. What do you think about a trip to the city farm?” I call out over the loud music she has playing.

Nic likes her music loud and guitar heavy. It’s lucky we like the same things. Imagine having a twin who listened to
Bieber
or
One Direction.

Yeah, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

“I hate the smell,” she calls back from the kitchen. “I get to smell enough shit and puke in work without adding animal stink into the mix.”

“Not for you, as a date for Harry. I promised him a proper date, and I don’t want to be clichéd by taking him to see a movie or somewhere for a meal. I thought mucking out and feeding the animals might be fun.”

“Fun for who?” She exits the kitchen with a weird protein shake for her and a coffee for me.

“Me? Him? Both of us?” I look at her awaiting her approval.

“It’s a bit…”

“Lame? Yeah, I figured as much.” I reload Google on my IPad and begin typing ‘First Date Ideas’ into the search bar.

Having never dated anyone, except for Wayne and he doesn’t count, I don’t really know what couples do. The first website I hit brings up things like ‘Go for a walk’, well that’s out for me. ‘Go for a picnic’, lame. ‘Go boating’, we live in a city without a lake. ‘Go for a run together’, again, what? Maybe I should have put ‘First Date Ideas for Amputees’. The next few suggestions include ‘Volunteer at a soup kitchen’, ‘Take a yoga class’ and ‘Visit a psychic’.

Yeah, the city farm is looking like a good bet right now.

I huff out an annoyed breath and grumble, “Why isn’t this easy?”

Nic chugs back the last of her shake then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and gives me a look. A look that says ‘Get a grip’.

“Yeah, yeah. Like I said, lame, but it could be fun.”

She sets her empty bottle on the coffee table, and I reach over to pick up my coffee mug, blowing the steam off the top before taking a sip. She makes the best coffee.

“He’ll be happy just to be with your gorgeous self. I vote the farm. It’s cute, you already know he likes bunnies,” she winks at me, “plus if it doesn’t go well, you can always leave him there milking the cows. Men love udders.”

I snort, “How the hell do you know that men love udders?”

“They’re tits aren’t they? Men love tits. It’s basic human anatomy and blokes can’t get enough of them.”

“That’s kind of gross, Nic. I don’t want to think about the bloke I’m out on a date with getting his jollies by squeezing some udders. Cheers for that.”

She shrugs, jumps up off the sofa and heads towards her room.

“I’m grabbing a shower before my next shift. Just book the farm and text him the details. He’ll be udderly over-the-moon, just to be with you.”

“Ha-bloody-ha. Go shower, you stink.”

She gives me the finger then disappears into her bedroom.

The farm it is then.

I book our tickets online and then text Harry the details.

City Farm, Sat, 1pm. Bring your wellies

It takes him a few minutes to reply but when he does, I chuckle.

Animals don’t like me. I think they sense the alpha in me and either want to challenge my authority or hump my leg

I text back quickly.

It’s your irresistible pheromones. Hence, the reason I fancied you when I was dressed as a bunny. Don’t go all chicken on me. It’ll be fun

His reply is almost instant.

You only fancy me when in costume? In that case, I vote for a naughty nurse or even the Domme

He wishes!

We were talking about animals, not your freaky fetish. Want me to pick you up in Clarabelle or are you coming in the Banana mobile?

Seconds later I get:

Chauffeur service, please. The Banana mobile is out of commission. I’ll dice with death and ride with you

Cheeky bugger.

Oh no! Has its little engine finally given it’s last breath?

I watch the dots appear as he types out his reply.

No. Still fully functional. My Mum needs it to go shopping

Aww, bless him.

Sharing your car with your mother is sweet

I wait for his reply; it takes a little longer even though I can see him typing.

It’s her car. I’m between wheels at the moment

That makes sense. I could never understand a bloke buying a car like that. Maybe he was embarrassed to admit not having one of his own.

OK, text me your address and I’ll come and be your beck and call girl

I quickly send another text, not wanting to look like I’ve just offered my body up on a plate.

I mean chauffer. Not call girl. Just to clarify

His reply text brings another smile to my face.

Damn. I had a reply wrote out and everything ;) See you Saturday

Another pops up almost immediately.

I don’t own wellies. Will cowboy boots do?

Harry in cowboy boots. That could be hot. Maybe I have my own little fetish after all.

Ye-haa cowboy. Looking forward to seeing those beauties.

I don’t bother to tell him that wellies aren’t required.

I wonder if he’ll wear a Stetson too?

Damn.
I really need to stop picturing
Brad Pitt
riding a horse in
Legend’s of the Fall.

I’ll wear a Stetson if you wear that nurse outfit

Yeah. Not going to happen at the city farm.

Stick to just the boots then. The fantasy still works for me

Look at me all text flirty schmirty.

You’re killing me, Bunny Girl. See you Sat x

I got a kiss.

He signed off with a kiss.

Bloody hell, I’m fifteen all over again.