Page 19 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

No, she chose to help people improve their lives. Because that was what worked. Understand your past but live in thenow; make the changes you can and leave the rest behind.

Oh yes, she knew how to handle personal pain. Rely on yourself. The thought made her feel a tad more like her usual optimistic self again. She opened the microwave, jabbed a fork into the chicken and gave it a vigorous stir.

And when she’d lost these extra ten kilos, heck, there’d be no stopping her, would there?

Polly Fletcher versus the world. Tight butt cheeks, slender thighs and all.

She looked at the little square of steaming plastic and her glass of water, and something inside her rebelled. Joe and Kate were having a baby. Surely this called for a celebration?

“Oh, fuck it,” she said, then grabbed her mobile and rang Judith.

When Judith picked up, Polly barely allowed her a “hi” before rushing in. “Fancy joining me for a glass of bubbly at the pub? I’m going to be an auntie!”

* * *

Solo guessedthis was what was meant by the expression not enough room to swing a cat. In this case, even a very small cat with a very short tail. The walls of his new room were barely the span of his straightened arms. It was one of those modern townhouses that should really only be described as a shoebox, in a suburb inhabited mostly by young professionals. He’d barely met the guy he was renting from since he moved in. All he knew was that he was an extremely tall dude with a terrible haircut who worked as an accountant and needed help paying the mortgage.

His name was Carter, but, he’d told Solo with a grin that lit up his otherwise rather unremarkable face, “Everyone calls me Carts.”

Apart from that, all Solo had deduced about Carts so far was that he wasn’t into crockery or cutlery, because there seemed to be very little of it around. Apparently it saved on the washing up, but when he decided to rent out a room, maybe he could have thought about buying a few more plates and an extra knife and fork?

Solo sighed, placed his bike helmet on the bed and peeled off his leather jacket. He needed to unpack the contents of his rucksack, still sitting in the corner of the room from when he got here yesterday. He’d literally brought just what he could carry on his back. One suit, two work shirts, two pairs of jeans and two T-shirts. He’d have to go shopping at some stage but for now he’d make do.

Guess this was what happened when you decided to duck and run.

The last text message had made the decision for him.

He’d erased it straight away, but it was grafted onto his eyeballs.

I’m better off dead.

Fuck you for fucking that up.

Now U R dead to me.

He’d known the best thing was to leave for a while. Get out of Sydney, let everything calm down. Allow the treatment to start to take effect.

Hopefully after a few months…

He closed his eyes for a second and another image, of a gorgeous woman eyeing him with a serious degree of animosity a mere half hour ago, jumped into his head. He ruffled a hand through his hair. God, they needed to clear the air. Otherwise working with Polly was going to be hell.

And he’d taken this locum position to get away from hell, hadn’t he?

Right now, he didn’t want to think. What he wanted was a drink. There must be a bar or a pub close by somewhere. He bounded down the stairs to find Carts coming through the front door, swinging a briefcase in one bony hand.

“Just the guy I was hoping to see,” Solo managed with false cheer. “Where’s the best pub round here?”

Carts, who had the look of a man bowed down from a day dealing with bad-tempered small business owners, noticeably brightened. “Hell, yeah, I could do with a drink. Shit of a day. Let me go change and I’ll take you to the best Irish pub in Perth.”

“Cool,” Solo agreed, almost salivating at the thought of an icy cold draft beer.

“Yep, imaginatively named the Shamrock. Been going there for years. It’s a fifteen-minute walk. We can grab a bite to eat, too.”

At least they wouldn’t have to fight over the one knife, fork and spoon, Solo decided as he watched Carts’ long legs leaping up the stairs two at a time. Maybe after a couple of pints and some comfort food like beef and Guinness pie—didn’t all Irish pubs serve beef and Guinness pie?—he’d feel better about his move to Perth.

Feel better about a certain curvaceous, insanely sexy and totally off-limits someone.

Maybe even feel better about himself.

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