by Duggan, K A
Then I’m in a brightly lit, freshly painted hallway standing right outside his door. How I attained his address is unimportant but let’s just say I’d be seriously up a shit creek for how I came about that information.
And now reality decides to come knocking.
This is nuts.
Thinking I’m seizing the day and all that sounds exhilarating. Brave and fearless. I talk a good talk. Even if it is to myself. But this is just… there are no words for this.
I chose my outfit carefully before boarding the plane, taking hours agonising over achieving the right look, going for what I hope is some kind of understated sexy but with a professional twist. I have no idea what passes for fashionable. Comfort has always been my main aim, and onesies fit that bill. So I feel ridiculous. And probably look it too. Especially now my carefully ironed clothes are no longer pristine, creases are present in every item all thanks to the flight. My long blonde hair no longer straightened to within an inch of its life but determinedly gaining volume. I always wondered why those girls I used to look at in the street, or in shops always looked so ‘put together’. I couldn’t understand why they’d spend so much of their time wasting it on primping and preening. I’ve never had to consider my appearance and the effect it could have on others, but now? I mean, what does one wear to meet the guy they’ve fixated on? I doubt sweats would cut it somehow.
My parents were huge advocates for ‘it’s what’s inside that counts’ and ‘brains over beauty’ which thinking about it now might mean they thought I was ugly and that’s why they pushed so hard for me to be an intelligent frump. I wrinkle my nose at the thought. Do mirrors lie? I thought parents didn’t so it just goes to show how intelligent I really am. What if he’s repulsed by me?
I shake my head to clear those wandering thoughts or I’ll be stuck contemplating them all day. And now I’m standing here, mere feet away from my crush and only friend in the entire world, worried about the effect I’ll have on him. But I can’t muster the courage to knock. What would I say - ‘hi’ and then what? What am I really expecting to happen? In fantasies, guys say they’d love a woman to turn up on their doorstep and offer all sorts of obscene things to them. They reckon they’d drag them inside, have a few hours of fun and it can be checked off their bucket list. But really, what guy would ask no questions? What guy would let a borderline stalker/stranger into their home?
Definitely not this guy. He values privacy and explaining how I tracked him down could get me in a whole heap of trouble. Okay. Enough stalling. Knock on the door. You’ve come this far. Whatever happens, happens.
I take a load of deep breaths, fiddle with my outfit needlessly, because other than taking it all off, I can’t change it, though my pencil skirt now feels like a mini skirt, my khaki blouse has too many buttons open, or does it? Shit, I don’t know.
I knock. Then fidget. Then wait.
My palms are sweating and slippery, in fact, as a drop of cold sweat makes its way down my back I realise my whole body is. If attractive is what I was going for, I’ve achieved the complete opposite.
The door flies open almost in impatience and the first hint of sensibleness slaps me in my face.
This is a stranger.
He could be a psychopath. A murderer. A sexual predator.
The list is neverending. Panic sets in. Wrapping around my throat as my nervous, cold sweat turns to icy fingers mocking me and my idiocy. I’d never be found, no one knows I’m here. It’d be easy to make me disappear because no one would come looking. I doubt anyone would even notice.
He clears his throat not too subtly and I risk peeking at him if for nothing else than to have a description if he is a creep and I manage to escape. My heart clenches. I’m suddenly very aware of how off the charts this is. My mouth won’t work as my tongue deserts me. Which is good because I have no speech planned, no explanation for my showing up here unannounced. I never thought that far ahead.
I stand and stare at him, drinking him in. Oh my God, he’s real and in the flesh. So much better in the flesh. So much better than the images I’ve repeatedly dreamt of. I should’ve been worried about the effect he’d have on me. My already dodgy breathing goes to shit as he stands before me. I feel light-headed like I’m seconds away from my face meeting the floor. My heart continues to pound against my rib cage. My fingers twitch from the insane need to reach out and touch him, not only to check he’s real but to use him as an anchor to banish my dizziness, but I can’t act like a total freak. Let’s be honest – I’m being freaky enough as is. I almost squeal in relief that he’s who he’s meant to be. He’s not an imposter, there’s no Bob or Fred trickery here.
He frowns at me, as though I’m an inconvenience, giving me a quick once over and says, “You just going to stand there or are you coming in?”
Sexy accent that I can’t quite place. The Irish lilt to his words almost making me falter. I’m concentrating so hard on watching his lips moving that I almost don’t hear the words he speaks. That voice. Super sexy, rich and much deeper than I imagined. How I’m still standing I don’t know, but then my brain registers something. Okay, that was easy. Way too easy. I expected some fierce words, maybe grovelling on my end. Begging. Some explaining. Hell, lots of explaining. Not an open invite.
I nod and walk into his apartment with a faked assuredness as though my legs are perfectly steady instead of the elastic bands they really feel like. It smells of bleach or some type of cleaning agent, it hangs in the air burning my nostrils as if he’s had a mad cleaning spree. Almost as though he was expecting me.
He brushes past me and as he does I take in his dark jeans, black T-shirt and mostly just his backside. His scent wafts past me, clean linen. “I’m sorry but I’ve managed to double book myself, this will have to be a quick tour.” He says as he walks ahead of me.
A quick tour? What have I walked into? Who does he think I am?
Before I have a chance to ponder further or correct him he sweeps his arm out “Living room” he says and I bite down the urge to reply with a sarcastic comment. He walks off as though expecting me to continue following and I do, still focusing on staring at him, he opens another door to the right “Bathroom” he says and now I’m really baffled. Why is he telling me what each room is? Why hasn’t he questioned my appearing on his doorstep out of the blue? What is with this crazy tour? I bite down a nervous giggle at the absurdity.
“This is the spare room.” He continues in an overly bored tone, opening another door and turning to face me. He’s beautiful. I’d never tell him that because he’s a man and that’s not a manly enough compliment, but he is. Jet black hair, brown eyes, and the longest eyelashes. I almost sigh in the style of a Disney princess. My hand flies to my mouth, covering the snort I almost released.
“So, what do you think?” he asks, turning and facing me before quickly glancing at his watch.
I press pause on my inner dialogue making me realise he’s not asking about my thoughts on him, my only reason for being here. I reluctantly let him pull me back to the present.
“Umm, uh… your home is lovely.” I stutter. Really, I wouldn’t know, I haven’t paid any attention to the rooms. I’m still in shock that I’m in. That he’s talking to me and… looking at me. We’re finally face to face and all I can do is stare. There’s something on the tip of my tongue but I can’t figure out if it’s something totally inappropriate like I love you or something as equally dodgy like It’s me, your friend from your computer. Either way, I bite my cheek to stop from blurting anything.
His brows rise “Not from around here?”
“What gave me away?”
“The accent for one. Look, I’m late for something so do you want the room or not?” his tone oozes cool detachment.
“Huh?”
“You’re here for the spare room, right?” he questions as his brow raises.
“Yeah, right.” I agree quickly.
“So? Are you my new roommate or not?” It may be wishful thi
nking but I’m sure I hear a hint of desperation in his voice, like he needs me to accept. It probably is my wishful thinking.
“Me?” I blurt.
He squints at me and I mentally collect myself. Don’t do it my inner angel warns but my inner devil practically jumps up and down compelling me to answer “Yes, I’ll take it.” My inner angel shakes her head, rolls her eyes and states You’re going to hell.
But Ash smiles as if I’ve just solved all his problems and that’s the guilt trip I need. What am I doing?
“Good. So, uh if you have the first month’s rent, we’re good to go.” He waffles on ‘reminding’ me of the price and running through some ground rules. He takes me over to a kitchen island and shows me the paperwork.
“Right, so the paperwork is here, and this is the spare key. I’ve signed already so feel free to peruse it and if happy it’s a done deal. I know this is unorthodox and I’m really sorry to dump you like this, but I really do have to go. I’ll be back later so feel free to make yourself at home, acclimatise, whatever and if you need to move your things in while I’m gone, please do. We can catch up later, roomie?” As he talks, I pretend to read the contract in front of me but not one word registers. I know that I hand over a wad of cash because unlike most people in this day and age contactless payments aren’t for me and I would lose a bank card much easier than a sum of cash. I’m still not paying complete attention, just watching his lips move. Reacting on autopilot, which is always what you want when completing such a transaction.
“Okay.” I agree as if in the space of 10 minutes I didn’t just commit a terrible crime of passion.
And just like that my crush is gone, leaving me to stare around my new home. Wondering what the hell just happened and what have I got myself into. That was weird. Too easy. I’m relieved on the one hand but who does that? Who does this? He didn’t even get my name, didn’t vet me. Run through expectations or caveats. He simply agreed I could move in and handed over a key. But then who am I to question someone else’s sanity? Mine is clearly overdue a check-up.
I’m completely lost now. I hug myself to rid the extreme bout of vulnerability before spinning in a circle, looking around the space. It’s a decent size for an apartment, clean and open plan with only a half wall as a divider between the lounge and kitchen allowing for great sightlines from either room. The lounge comprises of a huge black leather corner settee, coffee table, and bookshelf. No photos, nicknacks or plant life grace this room. Nothing to indicate his character apart from his reading collection.
I guess I should get my case from the hotel and check out? Then come back and plan my next move better. Meticulously. From what I thought I knew of him he’s guarded but to leave a complete stranger alone in his home shows he’s actually too trusting which could be a huge advantage for me. Or he simply may have a screw loose, I could steal anything, trash the place or plant recording equipment for all he knows, and he left me to it. Stupid move Ash. I start faffing around indecisively, plumping the cushions and straightening books to calm my mind. Anything to quell the nervous energy coursing through my veins. Knocking jolts me mid tidy and I jump as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. I creep towards the door and peep through the spy hole.
Standing on the other side is a woman. A very beautiful woman and I mentally kick myself. Shit! This must be the girlfriend. Because why wouldn’t a hot guy like him have someone. He’s never mentioned a girlfriend when we chat but maybe she’s an out of bounds topic. She knocks again while I’m frozen in place with dismay and a fit of odd jealousy I have no right to own.
In a moment of bravery, I throw caution to the wind and open the door wide. We size each other up in that bitchy way women do, as though we’re competition to one another. She’s perfectly poised, long blonde hair and inquisitive brown eyes. She cranes her neck looking past me to the living room, searching as though she’s familiar with the place. I raise my brows at her as she refocuses her attention on looking me up and down “Can I help you?”
“I was expecting Ash. I’m here about the room.” She looks past me as she speaks, angling her neck again as if I’m hiding her prey and hoping to catch a sight of him.
Crap. The room I just stole from underneath her. How the hell do I explain this? At the same time, I’m hugely relieved she isn’t any competition. Then again just because she isn’t his girlfriend, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one.
“The room,” I repeat like a moron. She snaps her gaze at me, her nose wrinkling like I am one and I stumble over my words “Um… I’m sorry … but it’s already been taken.”
She narrows her eyes as she runs them over me again “By you?” and the disdain in her voice is hard to miss. It gets my back up. This is supposed to be my fresh start, the revealing of the new me and the new me won’t be spoken to like trash, so I lean against the door, pin her with what I hope is an intimidating glare and reply “Yes by me. Do you have a problem with that?” Come on, challenge me. I feel very territorial both over the man that lives here and the house itself. I didn’t fly all this way to fail and I won’t be run off by a botox bitch.
She smirks “He’s such an arsehole. I trekked all the way over here for nothing.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know.” I smile sweetly
“Was worth a try.” She says but I feel like it was more to herself than for my benefit.
She turns on her heel and I swear I hear her mutter under her breath but I don’t quite catch whatever bitchy remark it was.
I close the door and throw myself on his corner couch. That was my first time standing up to someone, fighting over something that isn’t rightfully mine. I didn’t cower, give in or back away like I used to. I feel proud of myself even though I have no right to. I am the one in the wrong but this smug feeling is something I definitely like.
This new me is someone I’m definitely on board with.
Felicity
Current mood – Dreamy
Regret level– Ask me in the morning.
I decided to listen to some sense and left the apartment to return to my hotel room. I left Ash a note explaining that I’ll be moving in tomorrow. I needed some space from his… space and smell, time to digest what I’ve actually done. Tearing myself away when I had ample opportunity to snoop through his things was a good call. The right call. But I feel like I missed out. I’ve duped the poor guy and when he finds out, which he inevitably will, well, the shit’s going to hit the fan. Our first meeting didn’t go down the way I planned. Hell, it wasn’t even close to what I thought might happen.
Right now, I wish I had a friend to phone. I know I’m in need of ‘the talk’ but I’m taking it as a sign from the universe that this was meant to be. Why else would it have been so easy? Clearly, a higher power pointed me on this path and just keeps guiding me.
I climb in to bed, wanting to be fresh-faced for my next encounter with him. Maybe, tomorrow he’ll spend the day with me? We’ll bond, find what we have in common, connect. All manner of wishful thinking runs through my mind until I’ve convinced myself tomorrow he’ll fall head over heels in love with me. I laugh at myself and those whimsical thoughts. I pull out my notepad knowing that this definitely makes a journal entry – the first time I met Ash needs to be documented for a rainy day read.
Journal entry
I did it. I met Ash. I actually got my arse on a plane and flew to meet the guy of my dreams. And he was real, not some overweight, middle-aged fake. I’ve always thought of Ash as sexy but thought he’d photoshopped his profile pic or stolen some model’s identity for the purposes of meeting women online. In person though, sexy doesn’t quite sum up how insanely, unfairly panty melting this guy is. Not only did I meet him, but I’ve ended up living with him. I’m not quite sure how as it happened too quickly to understand. This was never the plan but I’m going to run with it, see where it leads. Fate is my friend. She’d never steer me wrong, right?
Once finished I lie down marvelling at the smile on
my face. I never thought smiling would be on the cards so soon, if ever again. Taking chances works – who knew? Now I’m over the first hurdle, I need to plan. I never thought I’d get through the door so the fact that I’m now going to be living with him is a blessing and a problem. He’s bound to ask questions about my life, my job and so many other things I don’t have answers to. I hate lying, it’s a new concept for me but I guess, for now, I have to. Truth isn’t always the best policy contrary to popular belief. I need to tread carefully and play this by ear.
I drift off and like I do most nights I dream of him – laughing with me, looking at me as though I’m his whole world, holding hands, kissing, just being together. Fantasizing.
* * *
The following evening, I find myself the other side of his door, just as nervous as the day before. Yet again it’s taken me nearly a whole day to decide what to wear and in the end, I settled on boring old skinny jeans and a v-neck top. I really can’t break out my favourite day wear yet so I’ve dressed like normal people for the last few days. Ease the guy in gently. I tied myself up in knots about coming back, yet here I am continuing with my trail of lies. I could have put an end to this before it even really began but coulda, shoulda, woulda’s no longer belong in my repertoire.
I lift a shaking hand, repulsed when I see the state of my now bitten down nails and knock.
Silence.
I wait a beat and knock again, my heart pounding.
The door opens and my mouth decides to bless me with an overabundance of saliva, convincing me that it’s escaping from the side of my mouth. He’s stood before me in nothing but black boxers, his hair dishevelled from sleep, mussed nicely and I audibly gulp. Good lord! He looks me up and down as though he’s trying to place me. The minute he does, the moment he actually sees me his face changes from mild curiosity to annoyance.
“You have a key.” He tells me flatly
