Womens Fiction

A Girl's Best Friend by Elizabeth Young

By Elizabeth Young

Canine Are larger Than males They by no means brag approximately their ex's lovely cleavage. they do not moan or sulk in case you are a 30 minutes past due. They by no means inform you a Brazilian would actually flip them on. After her most up-to-date catastrophe with the King of the Unrepentant Jerks, Isabel "Izzy" Palmer is eventually confident that the one male she really wishes in her existence is Henry, her lovely half wolfhound, half who-knows-what. Henry's devoted, he adores her madly, and he is nice enjoyable to sleep with. So who wishes the extra heartache? yet even armed with robust wisdom and a brand new get to the bottom of, Izzy begins to think that everyday itch ... and it is all due to Nick. he is a vet for goodness sake -- convinced, good-looking and compassionate -- if a section tough round the edges. After teasing her approximately Henry's strange appears and wondering her latest selection in males, Nick then has the gall to show midway fascinating. yet he does not cease at midway, and although she already has a ally, Izzy realizes it does not restrict her from having an ideal fit, too.

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I did. I was meticulous about it. "Yeah, right. " Arguing would have been a waste of breath, and in any case he was already getting into his car. I carried on past houses like mine: Victorian cottages that not so long ago had been mostly occupied by old people eking out pensions. As I'd done some spectacularly stupid things in my life, buying mine had been the most astute move I'd ever made. Since then prices had rocketed, and Christmas Cottage (not my name but I'd fallen in love with it) was now worth nearly three times what the mortgage company had paid for it.

Mine. An hour later, courtesy of the nice human girl next door and the Yellow Pages, an emergency locksmith turned up. Locked inside and evidently thinking the man was a burglar, Henry barked ferociously throughout the entire operation. "Blimey, love," said the locksmith. " Back inside, still simmering over Craig, I tried Leo. He wasn't answering, but that didn't surprise me if he was still driving home. Leo rarely used his phone in the car. It took only a moment's lack of concentration, he said, and he was damned if he was going to leave his kids fatherless because some impatient sod couldn't wait to talk to him.

I left for work at ten past eight, with Henry. It was a twenty-minute walk, which killed the exercise bird for both of us. I shut the gate on my front garden, which measured about four feet from fence to front window, just as my neighbor's front door banged. "Morning," I said, as if to a pleasant human being. Having moved in a year previously, Craig Williams had seemed all right at first. Only later had I realized that he was that deadly combination of Who's-a-Pretty-Boy-Then and unadulterated prat.

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