Product Description

Sophy's single and happy about it. She does, however, have an imaginary boyfriend, Dominic, a little white lie designed to keep Sophy's mother off her back. Which is fine, until his presence is demanded at a family wedding. So does Sophy admit Dominic is a fantasy? Oh no. Sophy hires an escort. But when the distinctly delicious Josh Carmichael arrives on her doorstep, Sophy can tell things are going to get tricky. And the wedding is only the beginning...

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #46275 in Books
• Published on: 2004-04-01
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 352 pages

About the Author
Liz Young started writing after a variety of jobs that included being part of an airline cabin crew, modelling for TV commercials in Cyprus and working for the Sultan's Armed Forces in Oman. She is the author of Asking for Trouble, Fair Game and, most recently, A Girl's Best Friend. She lives in Surrey.

Excerpted from Asking for Trouble by Elizabeth Young. Copyright © 2000. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved
I blame it entirely on pressure of work, but for the next couple of weeks Dominic and I were still officially an item at the bottom of my in-tray. Every time it rose to the surface, saying, 'Well?' I told it to bugger off, I was far too busy and important to deal with it just now. After a lull we were suddenly inundated. IT, marketing, accounts: you name it, they wanted it, and that was without the temps. We were trawling old candidate files and advertising everywhere but the backs of cornflake packets. There was barely even time to discuss really crucial stuff, like the previous night's Friends, or that irritating woman in the sandwich shop. I didn't tackle Dominic properly until Sunday morning, nineteen days before the wedding. Having him dump me would have been the simplest way out, but that wouldn't keep anybody's end up, least of all mine. I suppose I'd been hoping my imagination would suddenly whack me on the head with the perfect way out. It had been very creative once. I'd had brilliant fantasies about being in the Famous Five (instead of that wet Anne with her dolls) or plotting against the Sheriff with Robin Hood (instead of that wet Maid Marian).

Mind you, I hadn't exercised it much lately, except with the kind of fantasies you don't tell your mother about, so since all it had come up with was 'Abduction by Aliens', I was still dithering over alternatives. Nobody was helping me, either. Alix was still asleep, and although a vaguely human body was sprawled on the sofa, it was absorbed in the football pages. Its beloved Tossers United had screwed up yet again so it was serious stuff. I was up against a bad case of TMD, a.k.a. Temporary Male Deafness.

The body belonged to Alix's 'little' brother Ace, all five foot eleven of him. He was twenty-six, quite nice-looking under the scruff, and his light-brown ponytail was in vibrant condition, thanks to my Pantene 2 in 1, which he pinched constantly. With it he wore one gold earring and, except when Tossers had screwed up, a chilled-out air I defy anyone to beat.

'You might make some suggestion, even if it's completely brainless,' I muttered. 'You could at least show willing.'

Not so much as a primeval grunt. Currently occupying the cupboard that passed as a third bedroom in this flat, Ace had moved in for a week a couple of months back, and had stayed because he preferred paying cupboard-sized rent to the room-sized variety. Despite nicking Pantene and everything else, Ace had his uses. If you had a sudden craving for Jaffa Cakes just before EastEnders, he'd nip to the Pop-In News 'n' Grocery if you asked him very nicely.

After a thirty-second time lapse, something got through the footie fog. 'I'd make him a perve, if I were you,' he announced. 'Tell your mum you went round one night and found him poncing around in high heels and one of your bras, all upset because he couldn't find enough socks to stuff it with.' 'Dominic's not like you,' I said testily. 'He doesn't have to hunt under the bed every morning for any putrid socks that haven't actually walked to the washing machine by themselves. He's got whole drawers full, all neatly rolled up and colour-coded.' 'S&M, then.' The little toad was grinning his face off. 'What if he suddenly asked you to do the Miss Bumwhack bit?' He put on a lecherous, gasp-and-pant voice. 'I've been a really, really bad boy - I was playing with my winkle all night--'

'For God's sake, he'd never call it a winkle. Anyway, I refuse to have a relationship with a perve.'

'Suit yourself. Sling me a couple of those chocolate fingers, will you?'

I slung. There were four left in the packet on the coffee table. Four, and I'd bought them only an hour previously, while picking up the papers at the Pop-In.

Ace bit half off both of them and continued with his mouth full, 'Your mum was bound to resort to emo-tional blackmail in the end. It's a mum's favourite weapon and if you haven't sussed that out by now, then quite frankly, I despair of you.'

I could almost have written a dissertation on Emotional Blackmail, Maternal Variety Of. Before phoning home an hour and a half previously I'd been psyching myself up for a hefty dose of precisely that. I'd decided to be strong, harden my heart, not give in to it. I'd worked out exactly what I was going to say.

I'd started all brisk and no-nonsense, as you do. I was very sorry but I didn't think Dominic was going to be able to make it, after all. He was terribly busy. Cue for, 'Oh, Sophy, really! I knew you'd let me down again, just when everybody's dying to meet him. I told wretched Maggie he was almost definitely coming and you know what that woman's like . . .' She went on a bit.

Eventually Mum'd gone all plaintive on me: 'Some-times I wonder whether you're ashamed of me and Daddy. Every single time you've promised to bring him home . . .' Etc.

To distract myself from the memory of Mum's soulful voice and Ace's demolition of the biscuits, I leafed through the Mag on Sunday; the lovelorn small ads are always good for a laugh. As usual they were crawling with slim, attractive, bubbly women who WLTM unmarried, un-sad, un-ugly blokes for caring and sharing. You had to admire their optimism. 'Maybe I should put an ad in,' I said now. '"Daft cow, 30, needs passable blokes for one day only. No polyester shirts, no creeps, positively no sex, fifty quid."'

'I'll do it for fifty quid,' the little toad grinned. 'Only you'll have to buy me a flash suit first.'

Customer Reviews

Another brilliant author to watch.
This has got to be one of the funniest books I have read in a long time, a fantastic heroine who isnt your usual stick insect, a cast of characters who endear them to you and you want to get to know, and a great rough but very smooth leading man to drool over. Loved the antisipation and the butterfly in the tummy feelings that her situations brought to you. A great read couldn't put it down and can't wait for her next book to come out.

Hilarious
This was the 2nd book I read by the author and it was just a hilarious as the 1st one. She is so funny and full of life, I just can't put down her books. This books is really hitting reality when you are stuck at a wedding that is going to take place within a few months and feeling left out because you have no Boyfriend. What do you do. Well do you hire one and not get caught, or do you go by yourself. Read the book and find out what happens. It is so reality check time.

Read it now!
I really enjoyed every minute of this book. Sophy is a great heroine, the book motors along and all the characters are believable. As other reviewers say, this is at the top end of the 'contemporary women's fiction' scale. Can't wait for more!