Air Kisses Read Online Free PDF Page A

after a few days with no contact from me, and that would be all he needed. Maybe I was making a terrible mistake by cutting him off! Maybe our relationship would be stronger than ever after this fight! And make-up sex was wonderful, remember?!
    Or maybe, in his mind, it was actually already over. He
had
been seeing Lisa on the side, and I was foolish to assign any hope to this situation. I was exhausted. Conflicting thoughts whirred and spun wildly through a head that throbbed with confusion, and I resorted to leaning my forehead against the shower wall, releasing fresh tears that mingled with the hot water flowing down my face. Stuff it; I was going to sleep, Iz would understand.
    At roughly 3.56 a.m. I sat up sharply in bed. That was it!
Gloss
magazine would be my saviour. It would keep me aggressively busy because I would hurl myself into it so much that I wouldn’t even notice I was single and hurt and sad and working like a fool to crush the quiet riot in my head that said I wanted Jesse back, needed Jesse back.
    After hours of tossing and turning, I had brilliantly devised a way to combine my two schools of thought: the hardcore no-contact element would provide the foundation for the getting-my-relationship-back element. Jesse would realise howmuch he missed me, become near-suicidal and beg to have me back by way of Spanish guitar and midnight serenades at my window. It was genius.
    The first and most crucial part of my plan was that I was going to courier all of his things – DVDs, Abercrombie & Fitch hoodie, thongs, Phoenix and Foo Fighters CDs – to his work. It would be a pleasant surprise for when he got back to his desk, I thought. And quite the message about where I stood on this whole ‘space’ bullshit, too.
    Feeling satisfied with The Plan and my new rules and regulations, I lay back down and went straight to sleep.

Chapter Four
Project Mansion
    Need to disguise an unexpected crying session? A few eye drops, some creamy concealer patted under the eye and a white-based eyeliner on the inner rim of your eye will cover your tracks, while slathering on a bright lip gloss will deviously distract.
    As with each morning since starting at
Gloss
, I found looking ‘magazine glamorous’ to be a mammoth, intricate task requiring much thought and skill.
    It would come to me in the shower, I decided.
    It didn’t come to me in the shower.
    I realised I would need food to think. But after lying in bed for almost an hour, I now had no time for such luxuries.
Think
.
    Aha! Black-and-white A-line dress. Perfect: pretty but not too pretty. I yanked it out of my drawer. There was an oil stain on the dress. From that stupid housewarming. That I went to with Jesse… I sighed heavily and tried not to get stuck in ‘that’ headspace again.
    I pulled out my lovely newish blue skirt. There. Easy. But what to wear on top…
    I grabbed a pink top that was a replica of a designer top that a magazine girl would probably wear. Good one.
    Shit. It was torn under the arm. How the hell had I done that? I mean, really, you pay $25, you expect quality.
    Okaaay, what about…the…peachy vintage dress! Yes! Cute, safe, perfect. Shit. Damn shit. The slip I needed to wear underneath it was at Iz’s.
    Oooh,
hello
. I gently pulled out my magnificent pink strappy shoes from my shoe rack. Why on Earth didn’t I wear these any more? Such alluring little beasts. Right, shoes sorted. Now I would work backwards.
    I looked around my wardrobe. What the hell did I used to wear with these? I figured it would have to be something simple; they were the shoe equivalent of a spider on a white bedroom wall.
    I remembered my black wool wrap-dress. God, it was so offensively dull. The shoes
were
phenomenal, though. I checked the time. I was running so, so late. Dull dress it was going to have to be. I figured I could employ a cunning use of hair, make-up and jewellery to state my sophistication.
    I slapped on my foundation, then stopped. Was lilac