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I look at him through the mirror. ‘No one has ever…’ I shake my head quickly and force away my tears.
He kisses my neck. ‘They’re happy tears, right? I don’t want to break my promise right after I’ve made it.’
I chuckle and sniff. ‘Yes. They’re happy tears.’
‘Good. Come on. I want to show you off.’
He leads me out of the bedroom. As I reach back to flick off the light switch, he asks, ‘You won’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, will you?’
‘Have you even seenCinderella?’
‘I could answer that honestly, but then I’d have to kill you.’
‘That’s a yes.’
‘Of course I haven’t seenCinderella. It’s for girls. Little girls.’
‘So was *NSYNC, Drew, and that didn’t stop you.’
He tugs me against his side as we both laugh.
MORE FROM LAURA CARTER
We hope you enjoyed readingThe Law of Attraction. If you did,please leave a review. If you’d like to gift a copy, this book is available to purchase in paperback, hardback, large print and audio.
Two to Tango, the next book in Laura Carter’s Brits in Manhattan Series, is available to order now by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…
Chapter One
BROOKS
‘Harder! Faster! That’s it. Just like that. Hit me!’ As I fire the words, sweat beads form on my temples.
‘Fuck, Brooks. You’re riding me like a bitch!’ Kit is barely comprehensible through his panting breaths.
‘Yeah, well, if you hadn’t waited all your goddamn life to start coming to my gym, it wouldn’t feel like you’re dying right now.’
‘Christ, you sound like Madge.’
I laugh. Kit’s wife and I have been telling him he’s been piling on the pounds for months. Correction: years.
Our good buddy, Drew, is leaning on the ropes of the boxing ring, watching me put Kit through his paces in the center. I hear his deep chuckle from across my shoulder. ‘Just pretend Brooks is six feet four inches of pizza, Kit. Tear into him like you would a meat supreme.’
‘Shut the fuck up, Drew. You know, I’d probably exercise more if I wasn’t still scarred from last time.’
Drew holds up his hands. ‘Hey, it wasn’t me who shot a puck in your nose, buddy. Blame the man you’re sparring with.’
Kit turns back to me, sweat pouring down his face and arms, his black hair stuck to his forehead, his training top saturated. His eyes narrow.
‘You want to hate me over that game of hockey, that’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘Put it behind your punch.’ I raise the training pads that are strapped to my hands. ‘Come at me. Give me three more. Left, right, left.’
When he’s done, Kit accepts a bottle of water from Drew and slips out of the ring. I switch the training pads for boxing gloves and stand in the center, waiting for Drew to come and give me a real workout.
‘You did good, Kit,’ I say, as I fasten Velcro around my wrists. ‘A few sessions with me in the ring, and a couple sessions in the gym each week, and we’ll have you shifting pounds and fitter than ever.’
I’ve been a fitness trainer and gym owner long enough to know that some people need praise. Others need to be pushed harder. Kit is definitely the kind of guy who needs a little ego massage.
‘I could murder a pizza,’ he says, after downing a bottle of water. ‘That’s your fault, Drew. All I can think about now is an extra-large meat supreme.’
