‘Well done, you can tell time. Now be a good girl and let me in. We’ve got work to do.’
Her mouth nearly dropped to the window ledge, and I swore I saw steam billow out of her ears.
‘My brain can’t think of a remark right now since it justwoke up, but know that I didnotappreciate anything you just said.’
My grin stretched wider. ‘Good to know. Hop to it.’
I saw her vacillate and glance back into her flat, searching for something to launch at me. Then a short groan later, she grumbled down the phone.
‘Gimme five minutes.’
Her head ducked back into the flat, and she hung up.
Five minutes turned to ten, and my patience was wearing thin. I leaned against the bonnet of my car, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping the lukewarm coffee. My reasoning for coming early wasn’t only to potentially piss her off—although seeing her so ruffled as she stuck her head out of the window did give me some perverse joy. No, the early hour meant that people wouldn’t be heading out for work for another half hour at least, so the streets were significantly quieter. I wanted to keep a low profile after the run-in with the paps yesterday and the headlines that got printed this morning.
My baseball cap was still pulled low over my head. I’d been lucky with the paps for the past month, only having a few incidences where someone had seen me and tipped them off. It was, however, enough of a reason for me to hide in my house for the first few weeks.
Now I was willingly—okay,semi-willingly—opening up to someone who would write a book about me for everyone to read.
When I stopped playing, my life fell apart. Everything good in my world soured so that this ridiculous endeavour would be my saving grace. If this woman would ever actually open her fucking door.
The click of a lock broke through my thoughts. I strolled towards the door as Fallon peeled open the steel door. The smug grin that I knew made her see red droppedfrom my face when she came into full view. My steps halted.
‘This is a ludicrous time to be awake.’ Her blonde hair was pulled back into a low bun, several flyways dancing on her make-up-less face. My eyes darted down, taking in her outfit.
It was… wait….
‘Is that Winnie the Pooh?’ I asked incredulously, staring at her faded white linen pyjamas.
Her cheeks flushed beet red. She folded her arms under her chest, plumping up her impressive rack.
‘I had two choices. Get dressed or tidy my flat. Since you decided to come at this ungodly hour, I made an executive decision.’ She jerked her head, standing with as much dignity as she could with yellow bears dotted all over her body.
I grinned up at her. ‘That didn’t answer my question.’
Her eyes narrowed. If I’d been anyone else in the world, I knew she would let me have it right now. Instead, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes to get herself centred. It took incredible strength for me not to ogle her chest as they bounced with that heavy exhale.
‘Yes,’ she said, glowering, ‘They’re Winnie the Pooh.’
I stepped forward, close enough to inhale her vanilla scent and said in a low voice. ‘You get more interesting every time I see you… Pooh.’
Molten brown eyes flashed with irritation as she stared up at me.
‘Don’t call me that,’ she said through gritted teeth.
Enjoying her agitation far more than I should, I ignored the warning in her voice. A chuckle vibrated through my chest.
‘Why would I do that? It’s a cute nickname. You’ve got one for me, after all.’
Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at me. For asecond, I thought she would spill all the thoughts she’d been trying to suppress until an amused glint shone out of her eyes. ‘Dipstick wasn’t a nickname… I was describing you.’
Without another word, she released her hold on the door, turned her back to me and stomped up the concrete staircase. Since I was leaning against the doorframe, the door nearly slammed shut on my feet, but I sidestepped into the stairwell, letting it close behind me.
I followed her up to the top floor and waited as she stopped outside a heavily varnished, peeling door and produced a set of keys from somewhere. Were there pockets in those pyjamas? As she pushed open the door I didn’t entirely trust her not to slam the door in my face so I ducked in behind her quickly.
She hurried down the short hallway as a vision of mismatched furniture and books stacked against walls greeted me. I couldn’t see any bookcases, only piles on top of piles stretching across the entire back wall of the living room. I closed the door behind me, locking the deadbolt.
She stood awkwardly in the kitchen, fiddling with a coffee machine. It let out a loud hiss but stopped abruptly when she hit the top of it with her fist. Her face was a mask of indifference.
