A Girl Like You. Gemma Burgess

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Название A Girl Like You
Автор произведения Gemma Burgess
Жанр Зарубежные любовные романы
Серия
Издательство Зарубежные любовные романы
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007334018



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      A Girl Like You

      GEMMA BURGESS

       Copyright

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      AVON

       An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

       1 London Bridge Street

       London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2011

      Copyright © Gemma Burgess 2011

      Gemma Burgess asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

      HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

      Source ISBN: 9781847561909

       Ebook Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9780007334018

       Version 2018-06-27

       Dedication

      For Paul

       Because you rock.

      Contents

       Title Page

      Dedication

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty One

      Chapter Twenty Two

      Chapter Twenty Three

      Chapter Twenty Four

      Chapter Twenty Five

      Chapter Twenty Six

      Chapter Twenty Seven

      Chapter Twenty Eight

      Chapter Twenty Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty One

      Chapter Thirty Two

      Chapter Thirty Three

      Chapter Thirty Four

      Chapter Thirty Five

      Chapter Thirty Six

      Chapter Thirty Seven

      Chapter Thirty Eight

      Chapter Thirty Nine

      Chapter Forty

      Chapter Forty One

      Chapter Forty Two

      Chapter Forty Three

      Chapter Forty Four

      Chapter Forty Five

      Chapter Forty Six

      Chapter Forty Seven

      Chapter Forty Eight

      Chapter Forty Nine

      The Rules of Surviving Singledom

      Acknowledgement

      Part One: Changing How You Think

      The Dating Detox: A Sneak Peek.

      About the Author

      By the same Author

      About the Publisher

       February. (This year.)

      I never thought I’d spend hours crying on the floor of a hotel shower.

      The weird thing is that underneath the hysteria, I’m completely aware how dramatic-yet-amusing this is. I’m crying for a soul-shakingly horrible reason, my contact lenses are flipping over in my eyes from the tear-water onslaught and I don’t have the strength to get up, turn off the shower and reach for a towel . . . but I can still see that this is a teeny tiny bit funny.

      Is it normal to feel so detached from reality after a heartbreak? Is this heartbreak? God, I don’t know.

      And as usual, my mind is wandering. I can’t help but notice how nice the shower gel is, and how I wish I had a dinner plate showerhead at home, because crying under the pathetic trickle in my skinny white bath is so depressing.

      Home, oh God, home.

      Then reality hits me and I start sobbing again.

      I wonder how my black eye is coming along, but I can’t bear to look in the mirror. I swear my jowls droop when I’m this tired. On top of everything else that life has landed me with (inability to tell right from left, inability to tell lust from love, inability to drink whisky without becoming really drunk), that’s just not fair.

      The sick feeling I’ve had for days just won’t go away. I wonder if it ever will.

      I think I’ll make the water a little bit hotter and curl up on the floor. There. I’m almost comfortable. The shower is huge, taking up about half the bathroom, which, like the rest of the hotel room, is dark and sexy with a dash of chinoiserie, and flattering lighting that whispers five star in a posh accent. Hey, if you’re going to have a breakdown, you may as well have it in the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong, that’s what I always say.

      Perhaps I should call my sister. Sophie. She is always good at being comforting. That’s the best thing about little sisters: they spend so much time wishing they were elder sisters (when they’re waiting to go to big school, waiting to get a bike without training