Sex, Spoons And Salsa by Isla Dennes

Author:Isla Dennes [Dennes, Isla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Erotic Romance Fiction
Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
Published: 2017-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * * *

“Wha’ don’t ye go out with yer brother t’night?” suggested Dad, looking up from the newspaper.

“Because I’d rather rip out my fingernails one by one than torture myself putting up with his pathetic friends. That’s why!”

Oh, God, and wasn’t that the truth. I couldn’t believe Dad would even suggest such a thing. Did he really think I was that desperate?

Well, probably, yes.

Margarita’s words still hovered in my mind, and as much as I wanted to ignore her cruel implications that I was a living, breathing doormat, it was difficult. The girls were off to the club later and with no dance lessons to fill the void of a long, lonely Friday night, I decided to spend a quiet evening in front of the television with Hugh Grant. Well, obviously, not in the flesh, but the next best thing. Escapism at its best and desperately required after this afternoon’s session with Margarita, the therapist from hell.

There you have it. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Notting Hill and Four Weddings and a Funeral.

A Hugh Grant-fest, in truth. Five hours of back-to-back floppy dark hair and charming English stammer, guaranteed to lift the spirits of even the saddest socially inept single gal.

I suppose it could have been the ominous sight of the pile of chick flick DVDs I’d walked in with that had prompted Dad to suggest I expand my social experiences.

But if he thought for one moment I would choose a night at the raceway being jostled by a pack of plaid-clad Neanderthals until my ears bled from the noise of pistons being blasted through the top of big block V8 engines over a night of gentle wooing by Hugh Grant―okay, I know it’s just pretend wooing, but a girl can dream after all―in the English countryside, he must be totally gone in the head.

“It’ll doo you tha’ world of good to git oot and enjoy yerself in the fresh air,” pressed Dad, glancing with concern over to where the pile of DVDs waited by the telly.

“What do mean, fresh air? The only thing fresh at the raceway is the pile of dog shit I always manage to stand in. Oh, I forgot, there’s always the delightful smell of nitrous oxide and petrol fumes in the air and, if that isn’t bad enough, I can always breathe in the stench of BO that wafts from hundreds of unwashed Rev Heads! Oh, I’m certainly tempted, I tell you!”

“There’s noo need to git smart-moothed with me now. I was just suggest’n yoo go oot and hae some fun wit’ yer brother.”

And far, far away from those Hugh Grant movies, I guessed by the fleeting look of desperation on his face.

“Go on, Fiona, yer brother was only say’n tha other day, he nev’r spends any time wit’ ya,” pleaded Dad.

“No! Forget it. And I think I can safely say Alex wouldn’t appreciate having his big sister hanging around. I’d only cramp his style.”

Okay, my brother has no style to speak of, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time.

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