I guess I’m not really one to talk after what I did.
“I thought she was spayed?” Lizzie asks, her brows furrowed. “Aren’t they meant to, you know . . . not be total sluts?”
“She is,” I say through gritted teeth. “I thought that made them less horny.”
Like owner, like cat, I suppose.
Winnie sashays past me into the flat.
“So? How was it?” Lizzie asks as we head inside.
I glance around at the surprisingly tidy living room, momentarily distracted. “You cleaned up?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she huffs. “I do know which end of a broom to hold, you know. I’m not completely useless.”
I give the room a once-over. It’s not up to my neurotic standards—there’s a bra peeking out from under the sofa cushions, for starters—but I can see she put in real effort. “It looks good, Lizzie. I’m impressed.”
And then I freeze. My eyes land on what can only be described as an architectural nightmare dominating the window space. It’s got turrets. And a drawbridge. The bloody thing looks like a mini version of the Taj Mahal. “Um, Lizzie, what’s that?”
She beams at me. “It’s a present for Winnie. It’s a cat palace. I’ve been researching some fun things for cats and this one was super recommended. Isn’t it amazing?”
Bloody hell. That thing takes up most of the mat and is the first thing you see in the lounge.
“It’s . . . fun,” I manage, trying to keep the horror out of my voice. “That’s great.”
Lizzie looks so proud of herself I don’t have the heart to tell the truth. Maybe I can accidentally set it on fire later.
Winnie walks straight past the cat palace to the sofa, giving it a scowl. That’s my girl.
“And I made banana bread,” Lizzie announces, puffing out her chest like she just won theGreat British Bake Off. “I’m really finding my domestic goddess these days. Soooo, spill the tea.”
I don’t even bother taking my shoes off or dropping my bag before the tea is pouring out of me. “I shagged Liam McLaren last night.”
There it is. Out in the open.
Lizzie’s mouth hangs open. “Noooo.”
“Yes.”
“Nooo!” she says louder. The commotion makes Winnie scurry off, no doubt to go lick herself clean of her outdoor sexcapades.
“Is it that unbelievable?” I huff.
She blinks at me.
Obviously, it is.
“Oh my god,” she exclaims, eyes bulging out of her head. “Details, woman. I need every sordid detail this instant.”
With a dramatic sigh, I flop backward onto the couch, emitting a pathetic whimper. Lizzie doesn’t let up until she’s wrung every scandalous bit out of me.
I lean in close, lowering my voice to a whisper for the juiciest revelation. “I . . .squirted.”
“You what now?”
“I squirted,” I hiss again, feeling my face flame up. “You know . . .”
“You mean you . . . ?” Lizzie mimics a crude fountain gesturewith her hand.
