He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner! by Kirsty Greenwood

Author:Kirsty Greenwood [Greenwood, Kirsty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910014134
Published: 2020-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

I hate rollerblading. HATE it. Rollerblading is not easier than I think. Rollerblading is very, very dangerous. Rollerblading SUCKS.

Kennedy just glides along the boardwalk in her jean shorts: tanned, toned legs moving seamlessly in time with her feet, like she was born wearing a pair of rollerblades. She receives admiring glances from passing strangers and another rollerblader calls out to her, ‘Hey nice form!’ to which Kennedy replies, ‘Thanks, you too!’

I, on the other hand, am wobbling from left to right, my arms flung out to balance me, while simultaneously checking that a boob hasn’t escaped from my sundress or that one of the buttons running down the front hasn’t burst open, exposing my knickers for all to see, which, as it happens, are skaggy bed knickers because I need to do some laundry.

‘Careful, careful, aaaaaargh,’ I whisper to myself in fear. I stop occasionally and try to shuffle to somewhere I can put my hands on a building or a palm tree to get some balance, but all I end up doing is clogging up the increasingly busy boardwalk and have people yell at me.

I like my body very much, but it was not made to be supported only by wheels. Kennedy seems nonchalant to my struggle. She looks like something out of a Tampax advert, hair flying out behind her, high-fiving an occasional passer-by, a healthy modern woman, unencumbered by her menstrual tide.

Not only is rollerblading dangerous, but it’s really really hard. My thighs are on fire, even worse than when I did a workout video called Squat Nation and had to apply muscle heat rub for a week afterwards and screamed every time I got in and out of a chair. Plus, my stomach muscles are all tight because I’m holding my breath with the dreaded anticipation of these possibly being my last moments on earth.

‘Tell Gary I loved him,’ I try to call to Kennedy, but she’s way ahead of me and an older skinny man standing outside a store selling bongs narrows his eyes.

‘Tell him yourself, Lady!’ he calls as I zoom past him, my arms flapping in circles like a cartoon character.

I try hard to catch up with Kennedy and breathe a sigh of relief as I spot a gentle downward slope ahead of us. Good. Downward slopes mean I can just keep my legs still, the hill will do all the work for me and my poor thighs can get a few seconds of relief. I try to slow down, keeping an eye on Kennedy, who is already halfway down the slope ahead. Right at that moment, an enormous gust of wind gushes into my face, blowing something into my already sore eye.

‘Argh!’ I yelp, lifting my hand up to rub whatever the hell it is out of there. ‘Please don’t be an insect,’ I cry, immediately getting a vision of some creepy-crawly making a home in my left eyeball.

Before I can get whatever it is out, the wind blasts again and a load of tiny sand grains from the beach splat across my face.

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