Page 1 of Valentine's Rebellion

CHAPTER1

mind the plan

LIZZY

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform.” This is approximately the twenty-millionth time I have heard that phrase in the last ten minutes. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but my patience is running thin. By now, I should be at Heathrow airport buying overpriced chocolate and water, and not still be on the Piccadilly line.

At glacial speed, the doors close and the tube moves off. Two more stops until terminal five. Coop is going to kill me, although by now he should know that I am late to everything.

When we met fifteen years ago, I was late to a job interview; an interview at his company where he was on the panel. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job and my tardiness was not the only reason.

Coop’s business partner asked me what my strengths were and I replied, “Giggles and laughter.” What can I say? I panicked.

It’s actually quite frustrating that fifteen years ago, I was a nervous admin assistant who couldn’t even get the simplest of interview question right and Coop already co-owned a start-up company. We couldn’t have been more different. Yet, when I bumped into him in Starbucks a few weeks after the interview disaster, we had a surprisingly nice conversation. It was the day before Valentine’s Day and we bonded over our shared hatred of that stupid day. And that was the beginning of the best friendship I’ve ever had.

Coop is ruthless when it comes to his business (I keep telling him to chill the fuck out) and is a bit of a man whore who draws women to him like moths to a flame. But he is also the kindest and most caring person I know. If I needed him, he would drop anything (even if it means leaving his latest conquest’s bed) to be there for me.

Contrary to him, I am a hot mess. At forty-two I am still only a store supervisor for some budget brand supermarket chain. And don’t get me started on my love life. I have yet to be in a relationship that outlasts the sell-by date of eggs. Apparently, the only people I attract are boring guys or weirdos. And I mean super weirdos. I dated this one guy whose idea of a relationship was him playing computer games all day, me serving him food and when he fancied it, having a quick shag whilst his game was paused. Oh, and I dated that one twat who made me tell him everything I ate that day and then added up the calories for me and suggested alternatives to reduce my calorie intake. Coop almost punched that guy when he found out about it.

I mean, maybe I should lose some weight (well, I definitely should if I ever want to fit in the size twelve jeans, I keep as inspiration in my wardrobe, again). But I kind of like myself, curves and all. Coop doesn’t seem to mind dating curvy girls so there must be other guys out there who like their girlfriends squishy. To be honest, Coop seems to date anyone; short, tall, thin, fluffy, blonde, ginger, older and young. I have yet to figure out what his type is. He insists he has one but won’t tell me what it is.

“This is Heathrow Terminals 1, 2 and 3. This is a Piccadilly line train to Heathrow Terminal 5. Stand clear of the closing doors.” Finally! The next stop is mine. From there I will have to run like the wind because I am almost forty minutes late thanks to my train being held outside London Bridge station for almost an hour. Bloody signalling issues.

My massive suitcase seems to weigh a tonne. We are only going to Canada for one week but I’ve heard it’s very cold at this time of the year and I wanted to bring enough clothes to layer up if needed. And some books. And my favourite vibrator. And Henry, my orthopaedic pillow. Don’t judge me! We all need a Henry in our life and if it can’t be the real thing (you know who I mean, right? Wears a big S on his chest. Yup, that one), then at least a substitute. I sleep best snuggled up to Henry—the pillow, not the actor.

As the doors open at my stop I heave the suitcase from the carriage. My backpack, which has a few more books in it, presses down on my shoulders adding to my struggles. A businesswoman in a perfect suit gives me a judgmental look. It’s easy for her to judge with her tiny, fancy suitcase. I can only imagine what she sees when she looks at me.

Probably my blonde hair sticking up in all directions—cold weather does that to it. My open coat is half tucked into the shoulder strap from my backpack. And there is a small stain from the sausage roll I wolfed down earlier on my black T-shirt that reads “Forty is the new Twenty”.

That quote is a whole lot of bullshit if you ask me, but Coop gave me this T-shirt on my last birthday and it is super comfy.

I strongly believe there are two types of air traveller. Those who want to make an impression and look like the fancy jetsetters you see on the cover of magazines, and those that want to be comfy and end up looking like slobs. I am the latter.

Thinking about it, there is a third type. Coop is that type. Dressed for comfort and still looking like he just jumped off the cover of a romance book. With his six-foot-four muscular rugby frame and chocolate brown eyes he’s made for book covers, that’s for sure. Add to it his cheeky grin and tattoos, neatly trimmed beard and dark hair and… well he’s hot.

“Can you move?” a grumpy businessman growls at me.Don’t get your knickers in a twist, you twat!I swipe my Oyster card. Nothing. I swipe it again, but the gate still won’t open to let me out of the station.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” the wanker in a suit says loudly.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” is what I should reply. Instead, I mumble “Sorry!” and scuttle over to the station attendee who, after making me swipe my card three more times, finally takes pity on me and lets me through.

I take off with what counts in my world as running but everyone else would consider a fairly fast paced walk. With my left hand I grab onto the backpack strap on my right shoulder. This way I can hold the girls down without making it obvious. Hey, I am an E cup; these things are not made for running.

By the time I get to the departure hall, I’m gasping for air and my fringe is stuck to my forehead because of all the sweat trickling down. I wipe some of it away with the back of my hand, which in turn I rub over my trousers to get rid of the moisture.

Just as I contemplate popping to the toilet to attempt to dry my hair under the hand dryer, I spot the coffee shop where I’m supposed to meet up with Coop. He’s casually leaning against the wall with a tiny suitcase next to him, sipping on a coffee and scrolling on his mobile phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Sorry, sorry, the fucking trains!” I shout as I approach. The old lady sitting on the table nearest to us gives me a dirty look. I am pissing off the whole world today, apparently.

“And I should be surprised because…?” Coop chuckles and places a kiss on my cheek. Oh, he is wearing the expensive cologne. I love that smell.

“I tried to be on time, scout’s honour. I left extra early,” I hold up my fingers to mimic the pledge.

“Yet the world conspired against you. Elizabeth Marsh, the tragic heroine who loses her daily battles against the evils of the world,” he exclaims dramatically.

“Shut up, Cooper Roger McKenzie… the third or is the sixteenth?” He hates it when I tease him about his posh upbringing.

“Uh, how old are you? Ten? No, it was forty-one candles on your cake last week, wasn’t it?” He pinches me on my side making me jump and squeak. He bought me a massive cake and put fucking forty-one candles on it. It looked like the cake was on fire.

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