The Sex Was Great But... Read Online Free PDF

my room when I was sick. More than anything else in the world right now, I want to be back in Islington with my mum.
    Even though she can drive me mad, my mum and I are pretty close, probably on account of how my dad did a runner when I was two. It was a credit to him that he stayed so long, if you believe Auntie Lucy, who says family life totally did his head in. No one ever says anything, but I think Auntie Lucy may have had a fling with Mike. It’s something about the way she was always sticking up for him when he was being trashed by my mum. Auntie Lucy is a bit of a slapper, if you ask me—well, ask anyone down the White Lion if you don’t believe me.
    I sometimes think about what my dad’s like and wonder if he ever married again and started a new family. I don’t even have a clear picture of what he looks like. There are plenty of photographs of him at Auntie Lucy’s,but his eyes have been poked out with a pencil in all of them. Apparently I’m the one who poked them out, although Auntie Lucy is always claiming that I did stuff I can’t remember doing.
    I never really liked school, but my mum was always on at me to finish so as to improve my prospects. I did okay at my A-levels, scoring a place on a computer and media studies course at Bristol University. I stuck it out, but I knew computer and media studies weren’t for me.
    I was determined to be a DJ, so back in London I worked at the market stall with my mum, building my contacts around the music scene and even cutting a remix CD that did okay around the clubs last summer. I know it wasn’t a big dream, but then I wasn’t into big.
    I’m thinking wistfully about my decks, sitting in my room back in London, when this chick walks—wham—straight into me, sending me flying into a bus stop chair.

CHAPTER 3
    HOLLY
    â€œIn L.A. anything is possible…but then, who wants to be possible?”
    N ancy has this theory that when a relationship has drawn to its conclusion, and the CD shuffle has begun, you can always plot where it all went wrong by the date you stopped asking your guy to wear a condom.
    I stopped insisting on condoms with Ted the week before he revealed personal secrets about me to the Star. So Nancy could be right. She figures that once a girl feels committed enough not to insist on condoms—a stage she refers to as The Trust Pit—the emphasis of a relationship shifts. From here on in I’m going to try and put off The Trust Pit stage as long as I possibly can.
    The reason I was thinking about Ted was because hehad given me the darling little candy-colored Tracey Ross I was wearing. It was his last gift to me and I was smoothing it down when—wham—I walked straight into a street person.
    The force of our collision sent him stumbling into the bus stop chair. My bus stop chair as it happens. A bus stop chair that has my image plastered on it, advertising “MakeMeOver—the show that will change your life!” Seeing this loser, dressed up for a Canadian blizzard, collapsed on top of my own face made me feel kind of violated.
    â€œFucking Ada—watch it, will you?” he said in a British accent.
    I apologized, but I don’t think he heard me because a loud police siren was going past. Still obsessing over my reader poll, I figured I was probably coming over as really arrogant and unfeeling because I was just standing there saying nothing.
    Actually, I was wondering why—why was this guy wearing a hat, gloves and a knitted scarf when it was eighty degrees or more?
    He stood up and put his hand out. For a minute I thought he wanted to shake mine. Like, erk! I was quickly thinking how I was going to get out of shaking this mangy fingerless-gloved loser’s hand without seeming too uptight or grossed out when he asked me for some spare change.
    Talk about a Phew Moment. Remembering the fistful of coins in my hand that I had earmarked for the meter, I handed