Read Online Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? by Eleanor Prescott - Free Book Online
Authors: Eleanor Prescott
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Roxy hung up. Honestly – what was the point of having a best friend who never picked up when she called? But she couldn’t stay mardy for long. Not now she knew Woody was just a few streets away. How was it possible she’d never noticed? Had she been walking around with her eyes shut and libido off? Grinning, she flung on her leopard-print dressing gown and hurtled down the stairs.
Automatically, she headed for the doormat. She couldn’t function before reading the tabs. She picked up her copy of the
Daily Post
and flicked past the news stories straight to the Nicola Blunt page, stopping expertly at its infamous masthead silhouette. Greedily, Roxy’s eyes drank in the stories of celebs behaving badly. She
loved
the Nicola Blunt page! It was catty, cutting and compulsive – all the best celebs were there. Roxy was forever calling the number at the bottom of the page, leaving anonymous messages about herself under the guise of being ‘a friend’. She’d never made it into the page, though. Not yet, anyway.
But all that was about to change
, Roxy thought with glee. OK, so last night hadn’t quite gone to plan – but next time it would. Nicola Blunt might be able to resist Roxy Squires alone, but Roxy and Woody together …?
Roxy giggled out loud. She didn’t know what was better … getting back in the papers, or horizontal with Woody? It was as if Christmas and her birthday had decided to come at once. Laughing, she hugged her dressing gown around her and raced back upstairs to shower.
WOODY
From the top of his ladder, Woody eyed the black Aston Martin. It had been sitting in Cedar Crescent, engine running, for at least ten minutes now. He was sure it was the same Aston Martin he’d seen earlier, loitering in Peach Street – and yesterday, in Cherry Blossom Drive. Not that an Aston Martin in Lavender Heath was unusual; every road had at least one, but this one always parked the same: a foot from the kerb, engine running, its wheel pointing out.
He watched its reflection in Mrs Henderson’s window and then doused the pane in suds. His mind wandered back to Roxy. He’d been worried about last night’s meeting and reckoned it’d be fifty-fifty as to whether the group would accept her. Famous people weren’t like normal people – they saw themselves as a super-selective club. The moment fame struck, life adopted a door policy; membership was not open to all. Terence and the gang may only have been
slightly
famous, but they could still act like divas. Not that Woody minded – he’d been a right pillock himself.
But, luckily, Woody thought as he wrung out his shammy,Roxy
had
been accepted. He remembered Roxy from the period after his own stint of fame. He’d wasted the last few years of the nineties, glued to late-night telly, wondering whether to curse or thank the hot new acts who’d replaced him centre stage. For months he’d hardly smiled at anything – with the exception of Roxy Squires. She had presented all the music shows back then. She’d interviewed all the bands in her special, bonkers style. Hell, if he’d held on to his record contract, she’d probably have interviewed him too. But he’d been too sick of the game by then – he’d just wanted to get out. He was sick of being the guy who’d forgotten how to smile for a family photograph without giving the camera his best side. He couldn’t remember having a conversation that wasn’t a career-enhancing schmooze. He’d even got bored with the shagging – the women came and went so quickly he barely learnt their names. He had suddenly realised that he was embarrassed by the man that he’d become. And so he’d decided to take his pop-star millions and supermodel girlfriend and leg it. So what if he was sued for six figures over the abandoned tour? And, yes, his supermodel girlfriend hadn’t been so super once the parties all dried up – but normality hadn’t disappointed him. It had just taken getting used to.
That was why
Automatically, she headed for the doormat. She couldn’t function before reading the tabs. She picked up her copy of the
Daily Post
and flicked past the news stories straight to the Nicola Blunt page, stopping expertly at its infamous masthead silhouette. Greedily, Roxy’s eyes drank in the stories of celebs behaving badly. She
loved
the Nicola Blunt page! It was catty, cutting and compulsive – all the best celebs were there. Roxy was forever calling the number at the bottom of the page, leaving anonymous messages about herself under the guise of being ‘a friend’. She’d never made it into the page, though. Not yet, anyway.
But all that was about to change
, Roxy thought with glee. OK, so last night hadn’t quite gone to plan – but next time it would. Nicola Blunt might be able to resist Roxy Squires alone, but Roxy and Woody together …?
Roxy giggled out loud. She didn’t know what was better … getting back in the papers, or horizontal with Woody? It was as if Christmas and her birthday had decided to come at once. Laughing, she hugged her dressing gown around her and raced back upstairs to shower.
WOODY
From the top of his ladder, Woody eyed the black Aston Martin. It had been sitting in Cedar Crescent, engine running, for at least ten minutes now. He was sure it was the same Aston Martin he’d seen earlier, loitering in Peach Street – and yesterday, in Cherry Blossom Drive. Not that an Aston Martin in Lavender Heath was unusual; every road had at least one, but this one always parked the same: a foot from the kerb, engine running, its wheel pointing out.
He watched its reflection in Mrs Henderson’s window and then doused the pane in suds. His mind wandered back to Roxy. He’d been worried about last night’s meeting and reckoned it’d be fifty-fifty as to whether the group would accept her. Famous people weren’t like normal people – they saw themselves as a super-selective club. The moment fame struck, life adopted a door policy; membership was not open to all. Terence and the gang may only have been
slightly
famous, but they could still act like divas. Not that Woody minded – he’d been a right pillock himself.
But, luckily, Woody thought as he wrung out his shammy,Roxy
had
been accepted. He remembered Roxy from the period after his own stint of fame. He’d wasted the last few years of the nineties, glued to late-night telly, wondering whether to curse or thank the hot new acts who’d replaced him centre stage. For months he’d hardly smiled at anything – with the exception of Roxy Squires. She had presented all the music shows back then. She’d interviewed all the bands in her special, bonkers style. Hell, if he’d held on to his record contract, she’d probably have interviewed him too. But he’d been too sick of the game by then – he’d just wanted to get out. He was sick of being the guy who’d forgotten how to smile for a family photograph without giving the camera his best side. He couldn’t remember having a conversation that wasn’t a career-enhancing schmooze. He’d even got bored with the shagging – the women came and went so quickly he barely learnt their names. He had suddenly realised that he was embarrassed by the man that he’d become. And so he’d decided to take his pop-star millions and supermodel girlfriend and leg it. So what if he was sued for six figures over the abandoned tour? And, yes, his supermodel girlfriend hadn’t been so super once the parties all dried up – but normality hadn’t disappointed him. It had just taken getting used to.
That was why
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