Some Girls Do Read Online Free PDF

real, like someone with stories to tell, and he made the other guys here look bland and insipid. He was wearing a threadbare black jumper, faded black jeans and a pair of battered black boots.
    ‘Claire, this is Luca,’ Yvonne said, flopping onto the sofa beside him and waving Claire to the seat at his other side. Claire perched on the edge, not wanting to look like one of his groupies.
    ‘What are you doing with Aisling Wilson?’ Yvonne asked him. ‘She’s such a tart.’
    ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’ Luca smiled wickedly.
    ‘Honestly, I don’t know what you see in her.’
    ‘Well, she can do the splits. So there’s that.’
    ‘Oh, you’re disgusting.’ Yvonne punched him playfully on the arm.
    He grinned. ‘I like girls with low standards. So sue me.’
    ‘Ooh, food!’ Yvonne squealed, as a waiter appeared with a large tray of canapés. ‘Great! I’m starving.’
    ‘Me too,’ Claire said, loading a napkin with a prawn on a cocktail stick and a little filo tart before the waiter whisked the tray away. She ate them each in one bite and was still starving.
    ‘These prawns are great,’ Yvonne enthused.
    ‘They’re very small,’ Luca said, popping one into his mouth.
    ‘Oh, Ivan wants me!’ Yvonne exclaimed. He was beckoning her from across the bar. ‘Mind if I leave you two on your own for a bit?’ she asked, jumping up.
    ‘No,’ Claire said, though she really didn’t want to be alone with Luca. She found his raw sexuality intimidating.
    ‘Knock him dead,’ Luca said, lying against the arm of the sofa, pulling one leg up on the cushions and stretching the other out in front of him so that he was sprawled across Yvonne’s space. Claire clutched her drink with both hands, leaning forward on her knees, horribly aware of Luca’s scrutiny.
    He had man-whore written all over him, she thought crossly.He was obviously the type of guy who couldn’t meet a woman without contemplating sex. Even though the bar was full of glamorous, sexy girls, he still couldn’t resist giving her the once-over. Self-conscious, she racked her brain for something to say to distract him.
    ‘Yvonne tells me you’re an artist.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘What kind of art do you do?’
    ‘Painting,’ he said in a bored voice.
    ‘Oh. What kind of paintings?’ God, listen to yourself, Claire thought. You sound like the Queen trying to chat to one of her subjects. Next, you’ll be asking him if he had far to travel.
    ‘Big ones,’ he said.
    ‘Oh, that’s …’ She tailed off, nodding miserably.
    ‘Yeah, really big. Oil paintings mostly. The kind no one wants to buy.’
    ‘Right,’ she said, feeling rebuked. Okay, so she wasn’t good at small-talk, but he didn’t have to be so rude. Did he have to make it so obvious that he couldn’t be arsed even talking to her for a few minutes? She didn’t imagine that blonde’s conversation had been scintillating either, but Claire had seen the indulgent way he’d been gazing at her.
    ‘And, no, I’m not the next Damien Hirst, or whatever other living artist you happen to have heard of. I don’t own a gallery, and I’m not really a graphic designer or advertising creative who paints in his spare time.’
    ‘Well, at least you’ve cleared that up,’ she said stiffly, brushing imaginary crumbs from her dress. ‘Because they were definitely going to be my next three questions.’
    He raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, if they weren’t, it’d be a first for this evening. I’m not minted either, by the way.’
    ‘I can tell,’ she said, casting a scathing glance at him. Don’t sink to his level of rudeness.
    ‘Hey,’ he said with a laugh. ‘How do you know I’m not just an eccentric millionaire who dresses like a bum for shits and giggles?’
    She shook her head. ‘I don’t think Yvonne would have gone out with you if you were a millionaire. You’re not her type.’
    ‘No, Yvonne likes the pretty boys,’ he said, looking across the room at Yvonne and