Actually…
I grab the chalk one more time and move “athletic Highland sex” straight to the very top of the list.
Fee grins. “Now you’re talking.”
Whodoesthis? Who turns “get laid” into a bullet point?
Me, apparently. The woman who can write conditional logic but can’t logically explain how I became so boring that I now require written instructions to have a fuck.
Still.
It’s a start.
TEN
Ice bath dick
Georgie
I wake to thesound of birds chirping and sunshine streaming through the window—no honking taxis or rumbling rubbish trucks, just blissful, uninterrupted peace. Skye gets so much daylight this time of year that it didn’t get dark until ten last night.
I stretch, feeling surprisingly well-rested for someone who spent yesterday having multiple panic attacks.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Jake:
How’s your first day in paradise? Heard you got the VIP helicopter service with Patrick. Lucky you! X
I roll my eyes.
Me:
You conveniently forgot to mention he’s qualified to fly aircraft.
Jake:
Ha! Yeah, he’s a bit of a daredevil. Did he scare you senseless?
Scaredoesn’t even begin to cover the emotional carnage of yesterday.
Me:
Just a bit. When are you back from your expedition?
Jake:
Few weeks. I’ll come visit you in Skye between trips. If you’re still there.
If Patrick doesn’t pack me off to London in disgrace, I think grimly.
Me:
Looking forward to it. Try not to get eaten by polar bears.
Jake:
No promises. Behave yourself up there. X
