Blindsided by Amy Daws EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Amy Daws
- Language: English
- Genre: Sports Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Freya
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“Crikey, I want a pony,” I blubber and blow my nose loudly into a tissue
while staring wistfully at the telly as the ending credits of Heartland fill the
screen. “Even after watching Jack Bartlett put his beloved horse, Paint, to
eternal sleep, I still want a pony. Who knew a wholesome family drama that
centres around the highs and lows of life on a ranch would change the core
of my soul so deeply? I considered myself a proper city girl before
watching this show. Yes, I grew up in a small village outside of Cornwall,
but as soon as I was old enough to leave, it was big city life for me full stop.
And London is arguably the greatest city in the world. I mean, there is
nowhere else you can go to buy a cake and pet a kitten at the exact same
time. But after falling in love with this Canadian program, I dream about
having a simple life on a ranch with a pony and a grandfather who has a
caterpillar mustache and bends his eyes in a way that makes me feel like
every moment with him is a life lesson.” I exhale heavily, realising I forgot
to breathe during that last bit, and a light-headedness overwhelms me.
“You know I’m still here, right?” a deep Scottish voice asks from beside
me.
I turn my gaze from the television and shake my head to focus on
Maclay Logan—a professional footballer for Bethnal Green F.C. and,
against all odds, my friend. I scrunch my nose and swipe away my lingering
tears. “Of course I know you’re still here.”
A knowing smile lifts his face. “Well, you just went on a bit of a
monologue there with a variety of run-on sentences without leaving any
room for me to reply, so I figured you either forgot I was here or you were
having another one of your outbursts.”
My eyes narrow when he finger quotes the word “outbursts”. “What are
you talking about? I don’t have outbursts.” I repeat the word back in his
rough and permanently sore-throated-sounding Scottish accent, rolling the
R the way he does.
Mac’s lips twitch with barely concealed amusement that makes me want
to thump him. He always looks like he’s laughing about something. It’s
maddening, really. I mean, what kind of human is constantly happy? It’s
just not right.
I should be the one having a laugh at the sight of him—a grinning,
goofy giant sitting on doll furniture in my tiny one-bedroom East London
flat. His large, muscular body is stretched out on my purple velvet sofa
while his thick, tattoo-covered arms are wrapped tightly around one of my
furry white throw pillows. It’s like he’s strangling a baby polar bear.
Mac glares at me while maintaining his smile. “Just last week, you had
an entire conversation with your salad about how if you could take a pill
that made the lettuce taste like crisps, the two of you could actually be
mates.”
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