Stand-In Saturday (Love For Days #2) - Kirsty Moseley Page 0,15
the plastic wallet stuck on the inside of the front cover. She hands it to me, and I look down at it, seeing her name and all the social media handles, email, plus her mobile phone number.
“Luciella Gordio,” I read. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s Italian. My family moved to London when I was ten.”
“Ah, so that’s what the faint twang of an accent is, though it’s almost imperceptible.” Fiery Italian girl. Me likey.
She smiles and nods. “Yeah, I’ve been here so long now that I’ve practically lost it. Though when I’m angry or around my family a lot, my accent comes back a bit,” she answers, pulling her mobile phone from her bag and looking at me expectantly.
I reel off my number, watching as she taps it in her phone. “If you text me your date of birth later, I’ll get the flights booked tonight,” I say.
She nods and flicks through the pages of her organiser. I notice it’s full of notes, quotes, appointment reminders, to-do lists that have all been checked off, and a buttload of other organisational crap. Stopping at a blank page, she reaches into her shirt and magically pulls a pen from her bra. I raise a suitably impressed eyebrow and am strangely jealous of the pen for having been tucked into her bra this whole time.
She clears her throat and clicks her pen a couple of times. “I think we need to have some sort of contract. Put it in writing that this is simply a friendly agreement, that it’s not a real date, more like a date stand-in kind of situation. Just so we can be clear that neither of us is expecting more.”
Her friend-zoning is subtle, and I have to admire how she slipped that in there. I nod in agreement, kind of liking how ordered she is—her and her colour-coded organiser and pen bra. It’s cute.
“Sure. If that makes you feel more comfortable.”
“It would. Thank you.”
She gets to work, writing down a couple of lines that basically explain the exchange in services: that we’ll be polite and courteous to each other’s families, that this is a fake date, that I’ll be paying for her trip, and that she will pay expenses for my returning the favour the week after. She loops her signature underneath and then passes me the pen, and I slash mine next to hers.
She nods approvingly down at the contract and closes her organiser, chewing on her lip. “Is this insane?”
“Definitely, but all the best adventures are.” I nod, grinning.
She chuckles and starts packing up her bag again as I pull out my phone and scoot closer to her. Opening the Camera app, I tell her to smile. She looks up just as I position the phone and snap a selfie of us, but she doesn’t smile. Instead, she sticks out her tongue and throws a peace sign. It’s perfect.
Grinning like a moron, I head to Twitter and post the picture, tagging her account, adding the caption: Scored a date whilst stuck in a lift. Thank you, karma gods!
After posting it, I head to her profile and look it over. Her profile picture is a cute one of her baking; there’s flour on her cheek, and her smile lights up the damn room. Her bio makes me chuckle: Professional meme stealer. I communicate best via GIF. Unsolicited dick pics will be sold to stock image sites. All views my own.
Out of nowhere, the lights flicker, and the elevator whirs to life. My heart leaps, and Lucie gasps.
“Thank the Lord, we’re saved!” I joke, eliciting a snicker from her.
Truth be told though, I’m a little disappointed our encounter is over. But I do have the weekend to look forward to.
I push myself to my feet and hold a hand down to her. A blush covers her cheeks as her hand slips into mine, and I pull her to her feet. As the lift speeds us both up to our desired floor, I slip on Jared’s jacket, and she leans down, picking up her bag and now-empty coffee cups. I don’t look at her arse as she bends over—that would be creepy. Okay, that’s a lie; I totally look, and I definitely like what I see.
When she has everything, she steps to my side and glances down at her watch. “Well, that was fun. And I got fifty minutes off work, so … winning!”
“Yeah, weirdly, this was kinda nice.”
As we get to floor eight, the doors ping open. There’s