Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

those books, are you? Only you look like him. You were on Lorraine a couple of weeks ago with your wife.'
    Oh good bloody grief.
    'Um...'
    There are two ways I can handle this. I can feign ignorance. After all, I'm a bloody author, not Tom Cruise. My books are the things people recognise, not my face. I can lie, and pretend I don't know what the fat little fella is on about. Or, I can fess up and hope he doesn't want to engage me in a lengthy conversation about grammatical syntax and character development.
    I'm too sodding drunk to lie convincingly, so opt for the latter. 'Yeah... that's me. The book writing bloke. On Lorraine with m' wife.'
    I knew agreeing to appear on TV was a mistake that would bite me on the arse - I just wasn't expecting it to happen at a urinal.
    'I thought so!' my new friend says, as he finishes up and zips his fly.
    The man has the good courtesy to let me do the same, before thrusting out his hand. 'My wife and I are big fans of your work,' he says.
    Now then...
    We have what might be considered a 'social situation' here. One where hygiene plays an important part.
    When I was much, much younger and could handle my drink better, I briefly dated a girl called Odette, who was French, and modelled herself on Avril Lavigne . About all I can remember of Odette was her penchant for woollen beanies, wearing too much eyeliner, and energetic hand jobs. She always insisted on washing her hand afterwards though, for fear of walking around for the rest of the evening with what she called 'willy fingers'.
    Odette would also refuse to go anywhere near any boys who had just come out of the toilet, unless they could prove to her that they'd washed their hands. Odette neither approved of, nor tolerated willy fingers to any degree.
    If she were in my position now, she'd turn white with horror.
    This man - this stranger - is asking me to shake his hand, even though he undoubtedly suffers from first degree willy fingers, having only just popped his gentleman back into his trousers. What's worse is that I am also suffering from chronic willy fingers, having only just done the same thing.
    I can either take the bull by the horns - and the man by the willy fingers - or insist that we both go wash our hands first.
    This is a fan of my books, though. I have no idea how many of those I've actually got, so I make it a goal in life to never offend or upset one, just in case it starts a chain reaction that ends in my complete and utter failure. This sounds totally irrational I know, but there's a streak of irrationality in any writer if you peel back enough layers.
    And fuck it, I'm pissed anyway. A light case of willy fingers shouldn't be too much of an issue for a man well into his cups like I am.
    'Pleased to meet you,' I say, and take the man's hand with barely a grimace.
    'And you!' he replies with enthusiasm, pumping my hand up and down in his own. 'The name's William Walker. Of course I already know yours, Mr Newman!'
    William Walker.
    William 'Willy Fingers' Walker.
    It's so utterly perfect; I wish I'd written it in a book.
    Fuck it, maybe I will.
    'Well, as I said, it's nice to meet you Willy... I mean William.'
    Now please let go of my hand so I can wash it.
    Thankfully he does so, allowing me to scuttle over to the sink. 'Can I get a picture?' Willy Fingers asks before I can start to wash my hands. He produces an iPhone from his pocket and gives me an expectant smile.
    Oh, fabulous . Now I get to have a selfie taken with a man whose penis I've technically just touched by association. My eyes are also bloodshot from all the booze Craig has pumped into me, and my hair is thoroughly dishevelled for much the same reason.
    But never upset a punter, right?
    I attempt to look happy for the picture, which is very difficult, given that I've been plagued with two man willy fingers for a good half minute now. William has no problem looking happy, and gives it his best Cheshire Cat as the flash goes off.
    'Thank you so much,