The Debt & the Doormat Read Online Free PDF

arrogant prick who is clearly not going to be my new best friend.   
    ‘Here we go,’ she smiles opening the door next to the kitchen. 
    I stare back at her.  She must be confused.  Surely that’s the sitting room.  My bedroom must be upstairs, no?  She opens the door and I quickly realise this is my room.  Jazz’s crap is thrown all over the room, barely leaving any floor space, and every surface is covered with make-up.  I kick away some jeans so that I can make a path towards the double bed. 
    ‘Well thanks.’  I flop onto the bed, hoping she will leave me alone. 
    She smiles and hops out of the room.  Christ, she’s like a ballerina the way she dances around everywhere. 
    I stare at the ceiling while loud music starts playing through the walls and my stomach contracts with nerves.  I’m living in a strange house, with strange people, telling them random lies about designing handbags.  Why on earth did I ever agree to go along with this?

Chapter 3
     
    ‘Poppy!’ 
    The sound of my name being called wakes me up.  I sit upright and look at my watch.  Its 7pm – I must have slept for hours. 
    ‘Poppy!’ the screech comes again. 
    It sounds like that Izzy girl and she seems quite persistent.  I get up and walk into the kitchen in my crumpled clothes, removing the sleep from my eyes. 
    ‘Ah, there you are.  We were thinking about going out for a few drinkies.  Are you up for it?’ she asks as enthusiastic as ever.
    ‘Sorry, but who is she?’ a loud husky female voice asks.   
    I turn around to follow the voice and find a gorgeous woman in just her bra and knickers.  She walks into the kitchen and takes a seat next to Izzy at the kitchen table. 
    Wow.  She’s so breathtakingly beautiful I can't help but stare.  Her long black hair is tousled, as if she’s been having sex all afternoon.  She has cheekbones you could sharpen your knives on and eyes so dark brown that they’re almost black.  She’s got dark olive skin, possibly Cuban, but I really can't work it out.  Her pale pink lace bra shows of her amazing boobs, which I’m not sure are real.  Her waist is tiny but her hips and butt are curvy.  Her figure is probably better suited to FHM than this grubby kitchen.  She takes a cigarette out of the packet on the table and lights it, leaning back casually, surveying me disapprovingly.
    ‘Poppy,’ Izzy says, miffed, as if she’d already told her twice.
    ‘Poppy?’ she smiles.  ‘What, were you born on Remembrance Day or something?’  She laughs, her voice raspy, as she looks at me up and down.
    ‘Err...no,’ I laugh awkwardly.  ‘My Mum just liked it I guess.’
    ‘How amusing.’  Her full dewy lips turn into a wide smirk.
    I hate her.
    ‘Gracie!  You should really try and be friendlier.  You come across as such a bitch sometimes.’
    ‘Sorry, but we can’t all be miss sunshine 24 hours a day like you,’ she roars.  ‘Anyway, I’m Grace.  It’s nice to meet you Poppy.’ 
    She extends her hand and shakes mine formally.  Her hand is so cold that it sets the hairs on the back of my neck up.  Her black painted nails press into my skin as she squeezes it tightly.  What is with this chick?  She reminds me of the beautiful bitches at school, always waiting to trip you up.  Her face does mesmerise me though; it really is enticing.  She could be a model.  Maybe she is.  Maybe I’m now living with a house full of models.  Sure fire route to suicide... or at least bulimia.   
    ‘So, are you up for coming out then Poppy?’ Izzy asks, smiling hopefully.
    ‘Um...yeah, ok.’  I try to sound half as upbeat as her. 
    ‘Sweet!’  She jumps up and down, catching me off guard by hugging me.  God, she clearly has no problem with physical contact.  She swivels round.  ‘Ryan!  Are you coming too?’
    I look around a wall and find a tiny two seater sofa with a TV in front of it.  Ryan is sprawled out over it, still in his dressing gown,