by Willsin Rowe
“Eugh. No thank you.”
I found myself succumbing a little to his charms. Not in a romantic sense—all right, maybe a little—but in the sense that maybe, just maybe, this was a man I could live with. He said most of the right things, and there was no denying that having a guy around the house had its own benefits.
“What other skills do you have, Mark? Can you change light bulbs? Fix things? Tinker with engines?”
He leaned back again, a little twinkle in his eye. “Is this standard questioning? Did you ask Toni that before she moved in?”
“Didn’t have to. I already knew she was completely useless.”
“No, it’s fine, Luce. No offense taken.”
“Sorry, Toni, but you are. You’re worse than I am. Apart from cooking, of course.”
“I’d slap you down if you weren’t so right.”
Mark stood suddenly, and stretched his hand up until he could almost brush the ceiling with it. “Well I have a good reach. So light bulbs are probably not out of the question. But engines and handyman work? Sorry. I’m an IT guy. I can fiddle with your laptop and update your Flash.”
Coming from Mark’s beautiful mouth, in his rich baritone voice, even simple sentences sounded incredibly dirty. My tongue stilled as I tried to filter what he really meant out of what my mind made of it. In the meantime, he continued.
“Plus I believe I already mentioned, the kitchen is my bitch.”
If I was being honest with myself, I’d already chosen him, if only for that. “All right then, Mark. Since Toni speaks so highly of you, and you don’t seem to be any kind of major criminal, I suppose I’d be happy enough for you to move in.”
“Don’t get too excited.”
“Was that you taking things seriously?” The schoolmarm attitude had worked its way into my voice, again. His smile dimmed, but only slightly.
“Sorry, Lucy. And thank you. When’s good for you? I can move in today. Y’know, or yesterday, if that’s better.”
“Wow. You really do move quickly.”
“What can I say? I’ve been looking for a couple of weeks.”
Then something poked out in my mind. Something that I’d forgotten but that I suddenly needed to ask.
“Hey, Toni mentioned you had a girlfriend?”
“That’s right. Gabrielle. Gabs.”
“I’m sorry to ask, but… why would you move in with me if you have a girlfriend?”
He took a breath and worked his mouth for a moment, as if trying to find the right words amongst a whole cascade of them. “We… we’re in a tentative stage of the relationship. She’s fun, and she’s low maintenance. But she’s made it pretty clear she’s not ready for a serious, boyfriend-girlfriend co-habitation situation.”
“What does that even mean?”
He leaned back and tossed one long leg up to rest his ankle on his knee. “It’s a relationship which has strong physical elements, yet is blissfully free of the emotional baggage that so often sabotages the male-female dynamic.”
I processed his mock-political statement for a second. “So… you’re using her for sex?”
His eyes took on a suddenly steely look. “Excuse me?”
“Well, that’s pretty much what you said, right? It’s physical, and not emotional. You’re using her for sex.”
Toni coughed and leaned forward, placing her teacup on the coaster in front of her. “Well, if you two are agreed, why don’t you—”
“Lucy,” Mark murmured. “It’s interesting that you see my relationship with Gabs in that light.”
“What light? I’m just repeating what you said. Only without the politically-correct double-talk.”
He rubbed at his jaw and shrugged. “Okay, let’s not make a big thing out of this. It’s not what you think it is, but really, who cares? If it helps you to see it that way—”
“You don’t have to patronise me, Mark.”
“Oh? I thought that’s what we were doing here.”
“You two, stop it.” Toni had brought out her big voice. The one she’d long used on her three younger brothers. She picked up her tea and took a long slug of it, not looking at either of us. Mark glanced over at her and broke into a hearty chuckle.
“Sorry, Toni.” He shifted his attention back to me. “Sorry, Lucy. I guess I just...look, let’s forget it.”
“Well, fine. But I need to ask whether you’re planning to bring her over here at all?” I picked up my tea and took a sip. Damn, it was good.
“Can’t say for sure. She generally sets the pace for any, uh… interactions. I just go along with it. It’s casual and it’s clean.”
“Well again, forgive me Mark but… that doesn’t sound all that romantic.”
He shrugged. “We all find romance in different ways.”
“Apparently so.”
“This way suits me right now, given my hours at work and my other interests.”
Anxious to end this as quickly as possible, I stood. Thankfully, he took the hint and followed suit. “Okay, so, just let me know when’s good for you and I’ll bring my stuff over.” He reached his hand out and I shook it, struck once more by the satin-coated steel of his grip. “It was lovely to meet you again, Lucy. Properly, this time.”
Damn him and his charm. I was prepared to put up with him as a housemate. I wasn’t sure I was prepared to like him.
We walked him out with a promise to text him with a time and day that he could move in. As he walked back down the path, Toni nudged me in the ribs and nodded at him, raising her eyebrows. How about that ass? she mouthed to me.
I shot her my very best shut up frown, but she just chuckled back at me. I was about to tell her off when the deep throaty rumble of Mark’s Mustang growled out from the street, dragging my attention to it. It sounded predatory, and it set an alarm off in the little animal part of my brain. The part that told me I was short and soft and defenseless. The part that had been prodded awake by the presence of a large male animal in my nest.
As the roaring engine sound faded in the distance I looked at Toni and shook my head. I really hoped I wouldn’t regret letting that man into my house. Into my life.
3
My regrets began the morning after Mark moved in.
First there was his alarm. Toni used to get up at 6am, in order to get into the city by 8. It was the same for Mark, since he worked in the same office. The difference was, Toni had done it quietly.
Mark’s alarm blared out, tearing me from a dream which was pretty hazy when it came to detail, but seemed to involve some kind of heavy petting. When I became fully conscious, I found my fingers nestled between my legs. They weren’t really doing much. Just resting in a good place.
Mark turned his alarm off and apparently floated across the floor of his room. Seriously, I heard no footsteps, just the sound of his door opening, then a moment later, the tinkling of the shower.
I toyed with the idea of going back to sleep, but he started humming and dropping stuff. Then there was the click-clack of the shampoo and conditioner lids, and the bumping of his large frame against the snug walls of the shower. All intermittent sounds, with no rhythm at all. Not even a hint of order. Their unpredictable nature conspired against me, and my bladder joined in, demanding that I get the hell up.
“Fine!”
I clambered out of bed and pulled my robe around me before scurrying to my en-suite toilet. With the pressure on my bladder gone, I sauntered through to the kitchen. If I absolutely had to be awake, I might as well have a nice cup of tea to ease the pain.
The dull roar of the kettle grew as the water heated up, and I started my little ritual of gathering the pieces around me. Teapot, cup, saucer, tea, milk, honey. The kettle clicked off and I turned around to put my coaster on the table.
Then screamed as I saw Mark standing in the doorway, watching me.
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“What the hell are you doing?”
He put his hands up and grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I was just watching you work.”
“Are you a ninja? How the hell do you move around so quietly?”
He shrugged those impressive shoulders. “Don’t know. I don’t wear shoes unless I absolutely have to. Maybe that’s it? My mom always said I was part cat.”
“Well, I’m allergic, so if you make me sneeze I’ll have to take you to a home. Now, perhaps you could clap your hands before you enter a room or something. Damn near peed myself. And anyway, why are you watching me?”
“Well, you just seem so regimented about your tea-making. I wanted to see how you did it so that if I ever make it for you again, I’ll get it right.”
I scanned his face to see if he was joking, and it was like he’d said when he applied to live here. I really couldn’t tell. “You did a pretty good job the other day.”
“But I didn’t get a chance to put everything back where I found it. There’s always room for improvement.”
Due to the early hour I felt I’d used up my quota of pre-tea words, so I finished off with a grunt before turning back to the kettle.
Mark glided soundlessly to the fridge—it was as if the man really was a cat—and pulled out his fancy-pants coffee grounds. I poured boiling water into my teapot and took everything to the table, sitting in my usual place.
As I waited my standard three minutes I watched Mark in action, much as he’d watched me. Every movement had a subtle explosiveness. Sharp acceleration, rapid movement, sudden stop. Like a car racing between red lights. It was as if he was hunting the inanimate objects, trapping them. He grasped his coffee mug like it was a tiny, living creature. He whacked the spoon on the rim of his plunger, a caveman subduing his prey, the noise far too sharp and loud against the quiet canvas of morning. It was as if he did everything twice as hard, just so things could be sure they’d been done. To remind the universe how it was to behave around him.
So very male.
He poured in the boiled water and turned around to face me.
“So, what’s on for work today?”
“Books.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I figured that much out.”
“I’ve had an influx of books in the last few days. They need to be categorized and then alphabetized.” I licked my lips at the thought of it. All that beautiful order I could impose on those books, whose lives had been chaos until now. Sold, read, abused, given away, stolen. Whatever their previous lives had been, once they hit my shop, they were in a sanctuary of order. Sometimes I hated selling them, knowing they could be going to a neglectful owner who’d leave them lying open, face down on the floor, or—God forbid—read them on the toilet.
I glanced up at him and realized I’d drifted away for a few seconds. “And you?”
“Yeah, today I’m on the phones, I think. Help desk. Gotta love it. It’s a contractual obligation, in fact. Love it or you’re fired.” His smile was pretty forced and it made me wonder what he’d really like to be doing. Clearly IT was good money, but there was no passion in his voice.
“Is it really that bad?”
He rolled his head in a non-committal yes-no move. “When it’s good, it’s fine, just like any job. But the tough days are really tough. Not in a coal-mining kind of way, of course. In some ways it’s worse for that, though.”
“How so?”
“Because you know everything you’re working on, every problem you’re trying to solve, is utterly manufactured. If I was sweeping streets, then I’d be dealing with garbage, and with people who didn’t like the way I did it. It’s all real. Help desk is so often dealing with people who won’t listen, or who can’t grasp the concepts because they don’t have the experience or the language. The fact most of it is essentially unimportant or unnecessary is what makes it so stressful for me.”
“Huh. Can you quit?”
“Sure, as long as you’re happy to let me live here rent-free.” He followed up with a long sigh that seemed to empty him. “I do have a lot of vacation time banked up.”
“Why don’t you take some? Maybe you could spend the time cleaning up after yourself.”
Thankfully he took my little jab in good humor, rewarding me with another warm laugh. He glanced up at the clock. “Shit. Quitting might not be necessary. If I don’t get a move on I’ll be fired. At least today we’re having a morning tea in honor of Toni’s engagement. There will be cake.” He uttered the last sentence as if it was a religious chant and it brought a smile to my face.
“Of course there will.”
“Oh, and I probably won’t be home tonight.”
I raised an eyebrow. Only one night here and already staying away? “Really? Where will you… oh.” I didn’t need to finish that question. Of course I knew where he’d be.
“Yeah, Gabs said I should take her to dinner. She’s heading up the coast tomorrow for a shoot. Swimsuit catalog, I think. So y’know, she’ll be away for a few days.”
“Gotcha.” I nodded at the clock. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Yes, I suppose I’d better head off to the salt mines. Or the insult mines, as it usually ends up being.” He downed his coffee as though it was room temperature. Like he somehow had control over the laws of physics. He thudded the mug onto the sink and stretched his back, seeming more leonine than human. Not for the first time I sensed the predator within him. That he had strong appetites and knew how to satisfy them. Once he had his prey between those perfect white teeth, I couldn’t imagine he’d let go.
And damn him for making me imagine particular pieces of flesh being held prisoner like that. I didn’t need wild tingles in my girl parts so early in the morning.
He strode toward his bedroom, and I stopped him with a curt cough. “Um… your mug?” I pointed at it, sitting there beside the sink, already festering and staining.
“Huh?”
“Could you wash it up, please?”
“Seriously? I’ll do the dishes tonight, when there’s enough to make it worthwhile.”
“You said you wouldn’t be here.”
“But it’s only a coffee mug.”
I actually felt a shudder run through me at the thought. A whole day for germs to build up. “Urgh. If I left the dishes all day I’d end up throwing them out.”
His expression slightly changed and he kinked his head to the side, predatory cat becoming puzzled puppy. “You’re… serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
He shrugged and walked back to the sink, picking up his mug and looking into it as if he was reading tea leaves or something. He turned to me.
“It really isn’t all that… um…” The expression on my face seemed to get through to him immediately. “Why don’t I, uh, wash this mug?”
He ran some water into it and turned it upside down on the dish rack. I bit my lip, deciding not to push it. I’d dry it and put it away while he got ready for work.
But first, I’d wash it properly. In hot water with detergent.
Men!
4
The bathroom was such an utter disaster I almost fell to my knees. Beads of condensation all over the walls and the mirror, Mark’s towel bunched up on a rail and an enormous wet patch on the shower mat. Oh, god, the shower mat. All bulging up in the middle and with one corner flopped over. It gave me flashbacks to all the poor, tortured books in my store, where inhuman monsters had dog-eared the pages.
One man couldn’t possibly make all this mess. Surely he had a team of experts, working around the clock to ensure maximum chaos in the minimum of time?
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. I calmly let it pull all the tension inward from my extremities into my lungs, so I could blow all the anxiety and negativity out of my body. Or some hippie-dippie kind of crap, anyway.
When I opened my eyes again the damage from Hurricane Mark was still there. If not for the insanely hazardous pools of water sprayed around the floor I would have stamped my foot. So much for keeping the place in order. What the hell was I thinking, letting a loud, smelly, annoying boy share my house?
Estimating the time I’d need to mop up, wipe up and pick up from Mark’s aquatic hoe-down, I realized I could only allow myself a quick shower. If I could just get a decent month at the store maybe I could finally afford to reseal the shower in my en-suite. Then Mark could play his elephant games in the main bathroom and I could simply leave him to it. I picked up the soap and winced. God, I hoped very much that was a chest hair he’d left on it. Ew.
Of course, I understood this situation was like a new pair of boots. It was going to be uncomfortable until I could soften off his edges, make him fit around me properly. I hated what he’d done to my bathroom, but I couldn’t help smiling as I tried to picture just what he’d been doing to make such a mess. Standing right where I was, not a stitch of clothing on, that amazing sheen of moisture all over his taut body. And as I washed myself, and hummed along with the mental images of naked Mark, my anger seemed to dissipate.
Oh, god. Stop that.
After my shower and the monumental clean-up left to me by Mister Sexy I was dreadfully late. Sure, it was my store and all, and I had no boss to answer to. But there was always the chance I might actually have a customer; and that they could be there, waiting, pawing at the window in desperation, like a zombie who smelled fresh brains.
And with their pet flying pig on a leash.
But hey, a girl could dream.
All dressed, and with the most basic make-up on, I carried my flats with me into the car along with my heels. As I struggled to get my driving shoes on I dialed Toni’s number. Now that she was living much closer to her office, she didn’t have to leave so early. In fact, she sounded like I’d woken her up.
