A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1) by Amy Daws

have
a good sulk.
    After about an hour of watching the action, and
giggling every time one of the guys gets seriously hurt, I reach into my back
pocket and grab my phone. My fingers have a mind of their own and before I know
it, I push Call .
    “ Hiya .”
    “ Hiya ,” I repeat.
    “Is it really you?”
    “It’s really me.”
    “You finally finished unpacking?”
    “Pretty much,” I breathe out. “Do you like
skateboarding?”
    “Love it. Do it all the time,” he answers.
    “Seriously?” I ask, giggling nervously.
    “No, I wouldn’t know the first fucking thing.
I’m an uncoordinated sod-all bastard who’d probably end up disabled for the
rest of my life if I ever tried.”
    I laugh. It feels good to laugh. “Do you like
watching skateboarding?”
    “Never tried that either. Sounds scary.”
    “I can protect you.”
    “Where are you?”
     

CHAPTER TEN

 
 
    Within thirty minutes, Liam comes walking
around the corner. He’s looking delicious in a trendy cowl neck cotton grey
shirt and jeans. His blonde hair looks softer than last time and it’s draped
loosely to one side. He has a slight blonde five o’clock shadow that makes me
want to cuddle up in bed with him all day.
    “ Hiya you,” he says
as he approaches.
    “ Hiya you, back,” I
reply, shooting him awkward finger guns and clicking my cheeks twice. I love
how the English say Hiya instead of just Hi .
    He laughs and sidles up next to me on the metal
bleacher, peering into my coffee mug tucked tightly between my hands.
    “What ya got there?”
    My eyes turn wide and the edges of my mouth
turn down. “A little something I like to call Lemon Daydreamer’s Delight ,” I click my cheeks two more times. Okay, I have to stop clicking my damn
cheeks.
    I reach over to the other side of me and pull
out another mug I ran in to get before he arrived.
    “I have one for you!” I sing out, merrily.
    “Well, alright then! Now it’s a party!” he
exclaims.
    I carefully pour the clear liquid into his mug,
trying my hardest not to spill. Before I hand it over, I eye him speculatively,
“Aren’t you worried I roofied — hiccup — roofied it?”
    “Did you roofie it?”
he asks, dropping his chin and eyeing me carefully.
    “If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you!
How could I rape you and sell you into human-trafficking if you don’t drink
this sweet, sweet, sweeeeet nectar?” I reply, sing- songing the last bit.
    “I’ll take my chances,” he says, grabbing the
extra mug from my hands and taking a sip. He nods approvingly and looks out at
the skateboarders.
    “Don’t you have a job you should be at or
something?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.
    “Eh, working is for the birds,” he says,
sarcastically.
    “Seriously, what do you do?” I ask him again,
tucking my hair behind both of my ears, eyeing him curiously.
    He turns to me and does that thing again. That mouth glance thing. God, I hate that. Okay, I freaking love it, but I hate what it does
to my insides.
    “Honestly,” he begins, “I’m the operations
controller for a medical supply company. It’s pretty dull. A glorified
inventory taker, but the pay is decent.”
    “And don’t you have work to work at today?” I
frown at my phrasing choice.
    “Yes,” he replies, fidgeting in his seat.
    “So, how is it possible for you to drop what
you were doing to come here and watch skateboarders with me?”
    He shrugs his shoulders and continues watching
the skaters, avoiding my question.
    I stare at him until he looks at me. I raise my
eyebrows, “Well?”
    “I blew off work to come here,” he replies.
“It’s not a big deal, I was almost done for the day. They won’t even know I’m
gone.”
    I look at him and drop my jaw, nodding my head
as I take another drink of my Lemon
Dreaming Sunshine , or is it Delight
Dreaming ? What did I decide to call it? Shit! A fabulous liquid deserves a
fabulous name. I wonder what Mitch calls it? He’s a scary dude, but how can