Page 8 of Insta-Love

“Then why aren’t you sharing?”

I leave her hanging as I roll the dough out to a level inch thick. “Mum thinks I should get to know him.”

Kath laughs hysterically.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m sorry. It just sounds so…fifties, you know? Mum setting you up with the nice boy next door…”

“Well, she has good taste at least.”

“You mean to tell me he isn’t Mr Sensible in a matching knit sweater and boat shoes?”

“Ugh.” I shudder. “No. Far from it. He’s pretty damn good looking actually.” A part of my soul dies at admitting the cocky bastard still turns me on a little. Okay, a lot.

“You’ve been up close?” Kath asks.

“We’ve talked already,” I mumble.

The echo of his car door resonates from the front of the house.

“And what? It didn’t go well?”

“You could say that. He accused me of being too unfit to walk down to the mall.”

Kath gasps. “He did not.”

The metallic ting of his mailbox flap slamming shut rings out through the open windows.

“He said I’d get stitch before I got halfway.”

“Jackass. And what? Is he some super-fit marathon runner or something? Can’t believe he’d be so judgey with a person he doesn’t know.”

“Right? He’s not marathon runner build, he’s more body-builder style.”

I give the phone an unimpressed glare as Kath groans seductively. “No wonder your mum wants you over there.”

“Because looks are everything,” I snap sarcastically.

“At least humour me with a picture, babe. Help a girl out here.”

“Sure, Kath. I’ll just walk out there, flour on my hands and say ‘My perverted friend wants to know I’m not lying when I say you’re good looking’. Think that’ll do it?”

“Come on,” she urges. “Sneak me a picture. ”

I step to the end of the kitchen and take two steps down the hall so I can look out the front windows. Hopefully if he’s already inside I can fob Kath off and she would have forgotten about it by the next time we talk.

Gym Boy unloads his groceries from the Jeep, stringing each arm with more bags than I thought humanly possible.

I could lie? Not your style. Damn me and my honesty policy.

“Where’d you go?” Kath calls from where I left her on the bench. “Tell me you’re getting me a pic.”

Can’t believe I’m about to do this. Stalker level: 1,000. “He’s still out front. Hold up.” I dust my hands off on the legs of my denim shorts and swipe the phone off the counter. “Stay right there.”

“Seated and waiting,” she replies. An image flashes in my mind of her rubbing her palms together. She totally will be.

I switch the phone over to the camera and sidle into the front lounge. He returns for a second trip, picking up a couple of bags from what looks like some kind of fitness store given the logo on the plastic. Now or never. He takes a step back to shut the back of the Jeep and I raise my phone to capture him in the act. The focus automatically picks up on the security screen covering the glass. Shit.

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