Pretty Hot (The Pretty Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

intelligent conversation, I mean. Yes, that’s what I mean, because the image of Kai hammering me into my headboard did not just flash through my mind.
    ‘It’s called a break-up not a break-down.’ I flop into a chair. ‘My conversational skills remain unaffected.’ Libido not so much, but I won’t tell her about what happened in the classroom. The less she knows, the better. She’d probably take an ad out in the local paper. Desperate in Dubai Seeks a Second Saving?
    ‘Look, Dubai isn’t some po-dunk woop-woop town out near bush.’
    ‘It’s the bush,’ I correct, in reference to outback Australia. ‘Not near one and before you say it, I know it makes it sound like we’ve only got one.’
    ‘Yeah, well, the bush is out and the Hollywood is in, and I’ve seen the spider-legs hanging out your knicker legs.’
    ‘Maybe it’s a statement.’
    ‘Maybe you need to cop on.’
    ‘All right, I get the point! Dubai’s sophisticated, and I’m not.’
    ‘You’re totally missing the point.’ With a sudden gleam, she grabs my hands, pulling me up from the chair. ‘Alls I’m saying is you need to prepare yourself for a bit of fun.’
    And with that, she leaves me standing in my very plain apartment, the sticky imprint of her lips plastered against my cheek.
     
    I spend the next twenty minutes unpacking my case, trying to ignore the fact that I’m officially alone and destined to be so from now on. I’ve never lived by myself and as much as I hate to admit it, I feel lonely, which is ridiculous, considering I have enough fingers and toes to count the minutes since Niamh left. As sadness creeps into my throat, I can’t help but feel sorry for myself, sad for the loss of my relationship, filed now under what could’ve been . For a mad moment I think about calling Shane, even going as far as pulling out my phone, the chasm between us suddenly filled with nostalgia and memories. Well, at least those not involving his gland-to-gland contact with someone whose work uniform covers as much as a couple of Band-Aids and a bit of string. I don’t call, of course, because that would be mad. Instead, I wander around the small rooms, heavy with a sense of loss and feeling absolutely bereft. Eventually, I give into a cathartic sob on the bed.
    Self-indulgence over, I take a good look at myself in the dresser mirror, trying to ignore my swollen and blood-shot eyes. My complexion is pale and kind of dull, and my hair darker than its usual honey blonde. I suppose a bit of sun-baking won’t do either any harm. Spotting my swim-togs in the haphazard pile on the bed, I pull them on and wrap myself in a huge towel. Stepping into the elevator clutching my sunnies, I immediately push them over my eyes, hopefully channelling Kim Kardashian rather than the puffy-eyed Kim Jong Un staring out at me from the mirrored walls.
    On the rooftop, I snag a bed with a little shade and unfurl my towel, finding myself appreciative of the early end to school days for the first time since my arrival. I don’t think I’ll everappreciate the early starts. Only masochists roll out of bed at 5 a.m. with a smile.
    The pool is quiet, just a couple of women lounging on the far side and no sign of the guys Niamh mentioned. I plug in my earphones and pick up my trashy novel. There’s nothing like indulging yourself in a bit of chick-lit to while away the hours. Though as this is a book I’ve borrowed from Niamh, clit-lit might be a better match, especially judging by the buff-bloke-hint-of-butt-crack cover.
    Damp heat tingles against my skin almost immediately and my last conscious thought is that my iPod is playing Nickelback again.
    It’s dark in the classroom, the metal ladder cold at my back. He’s pressed tightly against me, the length of him hard against my thigh. Like a villain about to seduce the damsel, he arches a brow, the hot drag of his fingers suddenly between my legs.
    My breath hitches and I begin to mewl, but not at all in