TRAPPED: BREAKING FREE - BOOK 1

by C S COURT

  Lottie yelps, pushing my hand away and gripping her bicep whilst glaring at me.

  Oops, I’m pretty sure I just pinched the skin, that’s gonna leave a mark!

  Oh well, serves her right, better her than my poor coccyx anyway.

  I lean against the railing in the lift, trying to keep a straight face the whole time that Lottie is huffing and puffing and muttering under her breath.

  She is so dramatic at times, such a baby. Now if I would have fallen on my butt from her shoving me, I could guarantee she would be leaning over me in absolute fits of laughter, and maybe if I was lucky she would then help me up.

  To be fair to her, I am exactly the same, I would be sulking and moaning at her for doing it. That’s what you call best mates, the kind that laugh their arses off at your epic falls, and take photographic evidence to share on any social media site out there.

  We finally make it Lottie’s place, I am sticky, sweaty and chomping at the bit for a shower. I make my way across her Italian themed living room, all pink leather sofas, marble flooring, pink crystal chandeliers and matching marble coffee table and storage cabinets, walking straight to her windows overlooking the river.

  The glass is floor to ceiling, making it slightly intimidating due to being on the 25th floor, but the view is oh so fabulous and completely calming to the soul. I could stand here for hours watching the world go by, taking in the sights.

  A bang next to me breaks me out of my reverie, forcing my attention on the noise instead.

  Lottie is standing there, McDonald’s scattered all over the floor and looking as if she cannot work out how it occured.

  The look on her face is picture worthy, her mouth is agape, her eyebrows are raised, and her nostrils are flaring. She looks absolutely ridiculous.

  “Did you mean to do that? I mean, this flooring must have cost a pretty penny and I don’t think the squished McDonald’s look quite goes.” I tell her, making no move to help clear it up.

  “Er how about no! Take your bag and piss off to the shower, I need to clear this up and crack out the wine.” Lottie passes me my bag as she says this, forcing a chuckle from me.

  I laugh all the way to the shower, pausing to shout at “Karma baby!!.”

  I remove my clothes and place them in a pile on the floor, and open my sports bag to pull out my change of clothes for when I get out of the shower, but to my utter horror, Lottie has only placed a pair of ripped jeans, underwear – if you can call it underwear, it’s my lacy scrap of a thong and matching bra, my daisy duke shorts and two cut off vest tops that just about cover the bottom of my bra, oh and of course a pair of cowboy boots.

  I am horrified, I was thinking more along the lines of comfy leggings and oversized t-shirts to spend the evening in, not clothes that flash all my bits and a pair of jeans that are not suitable for lounging in. I could kill her.

  “Lotttttiiiiiiieeee. Get your arse over here and explain what the hell is going on with my clothes.” I open the door a touch and stick my head out, screaming at the top of my lungs.

  “Oh I don’t know what you mean. I just grabbed some clothes that looked comfy. What’s wrong with them?” Lottie asks me, trying and failing to contain a smirk.

  She notices the glare I am giving her and cannot contain her amusement any longer, breaking out in a fit of giggles and sliding down the cream wall behind ber in the hallway. “Oh chill, it’s a pair of shorts. Anyway, you have the legs for them and I know for a fact you wear them out quite a lot so why not here?”

  I stick my head back in the door, reach for the cowboy boots and shove one out in the hallway with my left eye brow raised. “Really, then care to explain to me why my cowboy boots were packed and not just my trainers and flats? These things may look cute, but I really do not want to wear them while stuffing my face on take out and getting pissed.” I tell her, not fully understanding where she is going with this.

  The boots are not in the slightest bit comfortable to wear. They are far too dressy for an evening of vegging at a friend’s house.

  Lottie snatches the boot from the floor and breaks out in to song. “Are you ready boots?” She jumps up and starts dancing.

  She turns abruptly, swaying her hips down the hall and out of sight, singing at the top of her lungs.

  I can just about make out her continuing to sing followed by what sounds like glasses chinking together.

  The wines making an appearance already then.

  I step back inside the shower, completely exasperated with my best friend.

  She is a giant pain in the backside at times. The girl is definitely up to something, what is a another question though.

  I shower relatively quickly, wanting to hit the wine with my bestie and have a much needed girls night.

  I look at the pile of clothes covered in sticky milkshake residue and come to the conclusion that she did this on purpose.

  Lottie is without a doubt up to something, and judging from the clothes she has left me, I’m too sure I want to know. I throw on my daisy dukes and cut off vest, picking up my cowboy boot and placing my bag and dirty clothes in the corner of the room.

  I take off down the hall, passing the living room and head for the kitchen off to the side of the room.

  Lottie is sitting at the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen facing away from me. She is half a bottle of wine down by the looks of the bottle already. I laugh inwardly, knowing tonight is going to be very interesting if this the plan of action.

  Lottie hears me approaching and gives me the once over with her eyes before nodding and leaning down to the right where my other cowboy is situated on the floor. The dozy cow nearly slips off of her stool before grabbing the table in front of her quickly and righting herself.

  “Looking good Mrs, now if you could just get your boot down here and put it on, you would look even better. The stools are slippery, so I know I will end up on my butt if I do it for you.” She sounds completely serious, as if it’s the stool fault and not the wine she has consumed.

  “Ha, and I suppose it has nothing to do with the wine? Yeah right piss head.” I shake my head at her, making my way towards my boot and sitting on the floor next to her to put them both on.

  “These boots were made for walking.” Lottie starts singing again, of course this time it’s the Jessica Simpson version. Lottie gets up from her stool and stands next to me, gripping my shoulders before moving behind me and attempting to do a slut drop, completely failing to get up and falling on her arse, tugging me backwards so my head and shoulders land on her lap.

  We both lay on the floor for the next five minutes, rolling around and laughing at the top of our lungs.

  Neither of us can control the laughter. Everytime one of us calms just a little, the other snorts or laughs harder, making us start all over again.

  After what feels like an eternity, we finally calm down enough, but make no move to get up off of the floor. I have a stitch in my side and I ache from laughing so hard.

  I needed this, I haven’t laughed like that in months.

  Lottie sticks her hand out and I take it, letting her pull me to a seated position before hopping up and brushing myself off.

  “Oi bitch, my floor isn’t dirty. What you brushing yourself off for?” Lottie says, whilst whacking me on the leg as she stands.

  I wave her away and make a beeline for the wine, alcohol is a must and I need to get there before my piss head of a mate drinks it all.

  Lottie bats my hand away as I go to pour a glass. “Follow me, my chum, and let’s make cocktails baby!” she sings, pulling me by my hand around the counter to her kitchen cabinets, searching for ingredients.

  Lottie opens a top cabinet above her head, and I watch with amusement as she comes to the conclusion the ingredients she needs are too high up for her.

  She looks over at me, a pleading expression across her face and I decide to put her out of her misery. I reach up to the top shelf in her units and start pulling random ingredients down.
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br />   I love Lottie’s kitchen, no exageration.

  It has real walnut wood laminate, white gloss units, cabinets and breakfast island.

  There are no harsh edges, everything is completely curved and there are no handles on any of the doors, they are all intergrated, they follow the walls in a rectangle shape with a break in one wall for a door way. Everything is fully built in.

  The fridge is behind a white gloss door, the oven is built in to a higher unit. It is all very high class and extremely expensive.

  “Woah woah, slow down there buddy. We only need the coconut rum!” Lottie explains, passing me back the things we don’t need.

  I just laugh at her short arse, I could totally terrorise her in this kitchen, remove everything from the top shelves and watch her unsuccessfully try to put them book.

  Placing the items we don’t need back, I reply with sarcasm. “Alright Midget, you just focus on getting the rest together and I’ll sort this lot out.”

  Lottie gathers the ice cubes from the freezer, turning her attention to the fridge to collect the frozen lemonade concentrate and chopped lime wedges.

  “Did you prepare all of this earlier lady. Not a chance do you just have random chopped lime sitting in your fridge, not to mention the lemonade concentrate! Considering you are a woman obsessed with Dr Pepper, thats says it all.” The look she Lottie gives me tells me I’m right, she did all of this for me.

  Best, best friend ever!

  “What do you think I was doing whilst you were in the shower? And just for the record, if you came over more often, you would know I keep all of this on standby for alcohol needed emergencies. And before you start Miss sensitive, of course I know why you can’t grace me with your presence more than you do.” Lottie tells me with a sad smile on her face. No doubt thinking about Dan and his control freak ways.

  She shakes her head, looking at her feet before pulling out the blender from a draw in the breakfast island and placing the ingredients in it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I watch my friend pour shit loads of coconut rum, knowing I am going to be legless pretty soon with the sheer volume of alcohol she has tipped in to the blender.

  I make no move to stop her though, we both need this, regardless of how potent the drink will be.

  Lottie starts hopping up and down, clapping her hands before a look of sheer delight comes over her face and she squeals, “Oh my god oh my god. I can’t believe I finally have you over here making my world famous cocktails and I didn’t put on the correct music to set the ambience. Hold that thought, I’ll be with you in a second.”

  What the hell is she on? ambience? world famous cocktails?

  Oh, I don’t even want to know, so I just nod and agree with her. Lottie’s head disappears behind the breakfast bar, before promptly popping back up and shouting, “Wahooooo, found it,” and waving a CD in her hand.

  She takes a step back and turns to the cabinets lining the wall on her side, switching on the music player and placing the CD inside. I cannot believe she still uses CDs, I assumed she bought it for looks alone.

  It’s adaptable with her ipod and fits the theme of her kitchen. White gloss and aluminium.

  “You are going to love this.” Is the last thing I hear come out of Lottie’s mouth.

  Not even a second passes by when ‘Harry Nilsson’s, Lime in the coconut’ starts screaming from the built in surround sound system.

  This is quite possibly, one of the funniest things I have ever seen Lottie do, her quirky ways are hilarious.

  I mean, really? Who loves a drink so much they go out and buy a CD from the early 1970’s to listen to whilst making cocktails? Only Lottie, that’s who!

  The song is quite catchy though, and I am soon wiggling my bum on the spot as I eagerly await a drink.

  I snatch a glass from the side as soon as Lottie has poured her concoction in it.

  But no sooner have I lifted it to taste, a lime wedge comes flying across the breakfast bar and splats me straight in the forehead.

  I rub the offended area, wiping off lime juice and throwing a glare my friends way. She did not just throw a lime at me, the bitch!

  I snatch the fallen lime off of the side and throw it back at her, hitting her square in the chest and witnessing it fall down her cleavage.

  Lottie jumps up and down on the spot cursing like a sailor as she tries to remove the lime.

  I am in hysterics watching her.

  The wedge simply does not want to come out, she is going to be covered in lime juice at the rate she’s going.

  The girl’s flapping the bottom of her top out, sticking her hand between her breasts, even hanging over the edge of a bar stool trying to shake it out upside down. I am struggling to breathe through the laughter from watching her.

  Why didn’t I film this? Youtube hit right here.

  Lottie finally removes the lime, before slapping her hand on the counter and shouting across at me. “Well you know what they say, When life throws you limes?”

  “Erm, you make lemonade? Although you do realise they are different fruits right? It’s not referring to a lime.”

  “Oh pish posh, potato potatoe! And no, it’s not make lemonade. What a waste of a good cocktail ingredient. Honestly, I thought you would know me better.” Lottie bellows back, placing a lime wedge in the full to the brim glasses and hands one to me.

  We toast each other, prior to Lottie picking up where she left off. “Anyway, as I was saying. No you do not waste precious limes on silly kiddies drinks. If life throws you limes, you cut that sucker up, stick it in a cocktail and toast to your fucked up existence!”

  The stuff that girl comes out with is equal parts pure genius and utter ludicrousy.

  I giggle at her absurdity before I practically down my cocktail, noticing a slight buzz taking effect in my body already.

  Lottie has a quick glance at my empty glass, taking it upon herself to refill it, and promptly shoving it back under my nose. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she wants me drunk.

  Oh yeah, she does! Ha.

  Half a bottle of coconut rum and a very prominent drunk buzz going on later, we are stumbling all over the kitchen, attempting to outdo each other with our sexy dancing. I don’t know about Lottie, but I know for sure I look fiiiinnnneeee, even in my drunken state.

  Right on cue I trip, just managing to catch the edge of the kitchen cabinet in time to stop myself from head butting the work surface and forcing me to rethink that last thought. Maybe not quite as sexy as I thought.

  “Right biatch, I have a plan. Get yaself another glass of my beautiful fabuloso cocktail and follow moi!” I hear Lottie shout at me, just as I’m straightening myself up from my near head injury.

  I look at the half empty glass, and can’t quite decide if I have reached my limit. I am seeing two of everything, and my lips are numb.

  Nah, one more won’t hurt, surely?

  I pour it in any case, and watch as Lottie turns the music off, following her through the kitchen.

  I carefully tiptoe across her living room, although I’m not sure doing how that will help, it’s not as if being quiet helps the carpet at all.

  Oh well, I do it anyway, wanting to avoid wasting alcohol on her lovely white carpet and subsequently skipping out of her open front door.

  We ride the elevator down to the ground floor, with Lottie refusing to inform me of where we are going or even why.

  She may well be pissed, but whatever we are doing is locked up tight, the cow is completely reluctant to tell me for whatever reason.

  Approaching the ground floor, Lottie staggers next to me and links our arms together. “Just stick with me. Don’t say a word or I’ll punch you in the tit. Got it?” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, dragging me out of the now open elevator and swaying her hips towards the concierge desk.

  “Hi Ryan. I’m so sorry to ask you this, I mean I know you are seriously rushed off of your feet.” Lottie pauses her speech, unlinking our arm
s to walk behind his desk and trail her finger along his bicep.

  She tilts her head and looks up in to his eyes, batting her eye lids and giggling “Oh my, you are buff. Oops did I say that aloud? Sorry I digress, your hotness frazzled my brain. As I was saying hot stuff, there is a man who has been giving my friend some grief and we are worried he is hanging around outside of the building for her to emerge. Could you be a true gent and just do a quick sweep out there.” She leans on him slightly, pushing her cleavage in to his ribs.

  Ryan looks down, snapping his eyes in my direction prompting a redness to creep up his neck and face.

  Ha, he knows I caught him oggling my friend’s cleavage, well played Lottie.

  He asks Lottie for a quick description, telling her to wait where she is while he checks and scurries away out the front doors.

  I’m expecting to do as he says, but of course, nothing could ever be that simple with Lottie.

  She again, rushes over to me and links our arms together, forcing our upper bodies to clash from the speed and drunkeness of her actions.

  I am quite literally dragged back towards the bank of elevators, wondering what the bloody hell is going on.

  Lottie starts frantically pressing the call button for the elevators, pushing me inside when it arrives and it’s doors open.

  “What the hell Lottie! You give Ryan Dan’s description, he tells us to wait and you decide to do the opposite. Just how drunk are you? You absolute tit. Ryan is going to be seriously pissed with you for messing him around. The poor bloke needs to be on call all the bloody time, not fannying around for your drunken arse.” I stand with my hands on hips, completely pissed off with spending my evening doing absolutely nothing of interest.

  We arrive at the 39th floor, with Lottie again shoving me out of the doors.

  I growl at her, debating going back to her apartment and finishing up her jug of cocktails rather than being dragged around on her drunken escapades.

  No, of course I can’t do that, Lottie will find some way to tackle me before I even hit the lifts.

  I stomp down the hallway after her, trying to make as much noise as I can and downing the rest of my cocktail as I go.