Playing House

by Willsin Rowe

  “Didn’t you ask me to do that? Clap to warn you I’m coming?”

  “You’re already in the room.” God, as far as my girl-parts were concerned, he was the room. The house. The universe.

  “Time for coffee, I think.” He still sounded far more chipper than he had any right to. “Can I get you one?”

  “Don’t drink coffee.”

  “Ah, that’s right. The one fault I can find with you.”

  The tingle of his backhanded praise felt like a squirrel running across my shoulders and down my spine. It was all I could do not to shiver in my seat. “This early on a Saturday and you’re teasing me already?”

  “Huh? No. Why would you think that?”

  “You just almost paid me a compliment. Besides, teasing me just seems to be your fall back move.”

  “Well, you do give me so much to work with, Luce.”

  He filled the kettle and assembled his bits and pieces. I tried not to steal glances at his tightly-covered butt, but it was too damn tempting. Firm, slender, and probably the most bitable hunk of man-flesh I’d ever seen. Damn. I was completely gone. This was beyond ridiculous.

  Suddenly, he turned around, and almost certainly caught me ogling him.

  “You sure you don’t...” His voice tapered away and he coughed. “Um, sure you don’t want to try some? Uh, coffee, that is.”

  I scratched idly at the back of my neck and rolled my head, as if I’d been in the middle of some informal yoga session. Well okay, yes, my eyes happened to be staring at your perfect, squeezable bottom, Mark, but that was simply a coincidence. Get over yourself.

  “N–no. Thank you. I’ll get myself a tea very soon.”

  “Let me, please, Lucy. I woke you up last night.”

  “Yes, but you also sandwiched me with bed things.”

  He boomed out a quick laugh. “Man, I love the way you speak. Even an everyday chore becomes a story when you tell it.” He turned back to his coffee making. “Besides, it was the least I could do after abandoning you.”

  My stupid brain gorged itself on the wave of hormones that his sexy voice sent through me. If a blanket was the least he could do, I wondered what the other options might have been. Perhaps a budget deal where he also slipped socks onto my feet? A mid-range option where he spooned me, perhaps? Or the deluxe package, where his big hands roughly tore the flimsy clothing from me so he could press his gorgeous body against mine as he glided that perfect piece of flesh deeply into the wet heat of my—

  “Lucy?”

  “Oh! Um. Pardon?”

  “May I get you a cup of tea?”

  “Y–yes, please. I’m sorry, I drifted off a little.”

  “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve always been… like that.”

  Mark busied himself, fussing with the teapot and all my little associated pieces, the muscles of his back rolling and dancing beneath the light brown of his skin. I feasted my eyes on him for a moment longer before dragging my attention back to the magazine. I’d never cared about the ins and outs of celebrities, and that wasn’t about to change. But even if I had, it would have been impossible to concentrate with the sensual distraction of Mark’s lithe, half-naked body. Not to mention the loud and random clattering as he used spoons to violently subjugate the cups and saucers.

  A minute passed with no more words, and then Mark placed the teapot front and centre before me. I looked up and thanked him, drinking in the subtle smile that danced across his face.

  He turned back and grasped a saucer which he then placed between the teapot and me. On a coaster. Exactly the way I liked it. Following up with a matching cup, he glided it into place and turned the handle to my four o’clock.

  “My… you have been paying attention.”

  He took the seat opposite me, his freshly-brewed coffee in a large mug, his big hand curled around it as if it was the mast on a sinking ship. The thick aroma of the brew seemed to fill the room. When Mark leaned down and pulled in a long breath, it seemed to have a galvanizing effect on him. He swelled and straightened as if the smell alone had tightened his muscles, thickened his blood, and stiffened his bones.

  It surprised me how quickly I’d grown used to the coffee smell myself. For all that I’d worried he’d stink the place out with it, the transition had been quite smooth. No doubt the impact had been tempered by the fact he was only here half the time.

  He let out that huge lungful of air with a rich groan of pleasure. The primal sound of it took me instantly back to that place I’d been a moment ago, daydreaming about him. And how it would feel if I was the one to coax those sounds out of his throat.

  Mark suckled on his hot coffee and swallowed loudly—lustily—and in my own silly way it made me jealous. Not so much of the cup, although I’d be more than happy for him to put his mouth on me like that. No, it was more about his free-wheeling, fun-toting nature. I’d become addicted to my little rituals and the order they fostered. Mark’s presence made me long for a release from those self-imposed strictures.

  He was by no means a messy guy. At least, not after I dressed him down about the shower. He was just wholly open. Relaxed. If something needed doing, he did it. If he had a thirst, he slaked it. If he was hungry, he ate. Plate or no plate. It infuriated me when he just grabbed something from the fridge and downed it, yet I could never look away.

  “How’s your tea?”

  I clicked back into the real world. “Huh. Haven’t poured it yet.”

  He stood and reached across. “Allow me.”

  “You’re trying awfully hard, aren’t you?”

  He glanced up, genuine surprise written across his face. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’ve already moved in. You don’t have to impress me.”

  He concentrated back on the tea he was pouring. “Don’t you want to live in harmony?”

  “Well, yes. But you don’t need to…”

  “What? To treat you decently? No, I suppose I don’t need to. But I like to. We could circle around each other and live entirely separate existences.” He placed the teapot back on the table and sat down again. “But where would be the fun in that? You took in this poor homeless boy. You’re good people.”

  “You’ve been here a week. And you haven’t been here at that time of the month. You don’t know what kind of people I am. Or how many.”

  He raised his cup as if making a toast and shot me with those heavenly eyes. “Well, yeah. Red hair, green eyes. I’d better watch out for that, I guess.”

  I found no smart comebacks anywhere in my brain so I poked out my tongue. His eyes jumped down to look at my mouth and he shifted in his seat. As he took another long drink from his coffee, his gaze rose like steam to meet mine. A moment of electricity passed through me before he glanced down at what I was reading.

  “Hey, you found it.”

  “This is yours?”

  “Sort of. Gabs gave it to me last night, and I thought maybe you’d like it.”

  “Thanks, I guess. It’s not really my usual—”

  “Gabs is in it, that’s all. Page 7. The perfume ad.”

  Turning to the page in question, I felt my belly drop away. The woman was utterly gorgeous. Skinny and perfect, with sculpted bones, juicy lips and waist-length blonde hair. I was under no illusion about my own size. I’d always been pretty for a big girl, which is exactly what every woman dreams about hearing. And I’ve long been happy with the thickness of my thighs, and the roundness of my belly. Models in magazines were no bother to me. That was, until they turned out to be the flawless sirens who could drag demi-gods away from their housemates, with nothing more than an endless supply of no-strings orgasms.

  Studying Gabrielle’s picture again, I realized she reminded me of a girl back in high school. Connie Müller. The most popular c
heerleader, primo ass-kisser, and barely a C+ student. But she was a straight-A tramp and the informal president of the I Hate Redheads Club. Well, to me—the default Queen of the Ginger Ninjas—that’s how it had seemed, at least.

  “That’s your girlfriend?”

  “It’s not that surprising, is it? I’m a nice guy.”

  “Um. That wasn’t what I meant. It’s just that… well, I suppose I’m guilty of making assumptions. You know, people in magazines seem somehow… unreal. You don’t expect them to be normal.”

  “To have lives, you mean?”

  “No, not that. You just, sort of, skim past the ads and move on with your own life.” I shrugged, hoping it would end the conversation.

  Mark’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, like I was a puzzle he’d suddenly solved. Those squirrels came alive again, but were far more agitated this time. Crawling around in my belly and scratching at my lungs. It scared me to think I’d somehow messed up, so I transferred my attention to my tea, picking it up and taking a sip from it far earlier than I usually would, hoping it would wash the taste of foot from my mouth. This suddenly felt like a first date; as if every word either of us said, every opinion we dared put forward, would become a stamp that would mark us forever.

  The retro ringing sound of Mark’s phone cut through the moment, and I finally allowed myself to breathe again. He strode over to the bench where it sat plugged into his charger, and I studied the rippling of his abs as he leaned over to grab it.

  “Hi, Gabs. How are you… no, I don’t have… I guess I could… all right. See you—” He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. “Soon.”

  “Plans?”

  “I guess so. Shopping and then a trip out to the marina. Gabs has a bosom buddy who owns a yacht. Javier.”

  “Is Javier the guy, or the yacht?”

  “Ha. No, he’s the guy.” He slugged the rest of his coffee in two quick mouthfuls. “Well, I’d better shower and shave. Can’t let ol’ Javier see me in such a decrepit state. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Why would he care?”

  “He wouldn’t. Gabs would.”

  He strode out of the kitchen and I turned back to the magazine. Everything about it was shiny. The jewelry and makeup they were hawking, the fancy clothing ads, the paper it was printed on. Even the models’ skin seemed to glow.

  Feeling a little creepy, I turned back to the perfume ad. Damn, the girl was perfect, and from Mark’s massive and constant over-shares, I knew she had a strong sex drive. Or maybe she was just one of those girls who tied her self-worth to her image. And the amount of sex she could wheedle from a man was probably a big part of it. Only from looking at her, I didn’t think wheedling would be necessary. Hell, she’d probably be able to work her way into a gay man’s pants.

  It wasn’t as if I’d truly pictured anything happening between Mark and me. It was simply a dream, a fantasy and something to make me bite my lip when I jilled off. Which I’d been doing far more since he’d moved in.

  Damn him.

  He was only a year older than me, and all the studies said guys matured way later than girls. Perhaps easy sex was all he was after at this stage. And the skinny goddess in the magazine was apparently up for it at the drop of a thong.

  But what kind of sex could be easier than with his housemate? We’re both under the same roof, we get along well, and we have all the right bits to rub up against each other.

  Loneliness was one thing, but desperation was a whole different ball game. I’d been the jilted when Cameron was screwing around. No way did I want to become the jiltee. Or would I be the jilter? I flinched at the treachery of my own thoughts. Not just treacherous to my own intractable, but rapidly weakening, resolve about housemates and their forbidden status. It was disloyal to Mark and to Gabrielle, too. Just because I hated her unfairly didn’t mean I had any right to try and steal her man. Besides, how would a pale-skinned and thick-hipped book nerd even catch his eye when the competition was so far out of my league?

  The gentle patter of water from the bathroom pulled my attention back to the here and now. It actually soothed my tension a little, as though it was a mountain stream or a gentle fall of rain. Then, the interruption of the rhythm which could only be Mark gliding himself into the hot spray. His magnificent body filled my imagination. As delicious as he looked dry, I could only imagine he’d be doubly gorgeous wet.

  His deep voice rolled out of the bathroom, an idle hum of some melody I didn’t recognize. It seemed to curl throughout the house, like the aromas of cooking in a kids’ cartoon. Everything about Mark seemed big and vibrant. Even when he was asleep there was a sense that he filled the place in a way neither Toni nor Cameron ever had. I bounced my fist on my knee as I tried to find a way to stop myself thinking such subversive thoughts.

  The water shut off and a few moments later Mark emerged from the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist. A tiny moan escaped my throat, but thankfully it seemed he didn’t hear it. His torso was bare and still slightly wet, and it turned out I was completely right. With the sheen of moisture he was a sensory overload of desire. And I hated myself for finding him so irresistible.

  “I forgot to check, Luce… you didn’t have any plans for us today, did you?”

  In desperation for my own sanity, I lowered my eyes and gazed at the floor. Where his big, wet feet were making yet another mess.

  “Hey!” Against my better judgement I lifted my gaze until I could meet his. “Don’t go traipsing water all through my house!” My schoolmarm voice cut through the heat of the moment.

  Mark simply curled that cheeky schoolboy grin across his mouth. “Sorry, Lucy.” He ducked back into the bathroom and nudged the door closed. He didn’t seem to notice when it failed to latch, and crept open again.

  “But in answer to your question, no. I was just going to clean. And now mop as well, thanks to you.” I hoped he could hear the playful tone in my voice.

  From where I sat I could just see the mirror through the gap, and though I knew it was the absolute worst idea in the world, I couldn’t look away. As he pulled the towel from his waist, I lost the power to breathe. From my position, still sitting at the table, the angle was all wrong and I couldn’t see anything below waist height, but that didn’t matter. It was the pure, almost organic, intimacy of the moment that squeezed my chest so tightly.

  I’d seen male strippers in action, and it had all been nice enough, but so slick and rehearsed that it left me a little cold. Watching Mark taking off the only thing he wore, and knowing it was all him, all natural, gave me sharp jolts of voyeuristic delight. Of course, catching glimpses of his amazing body as he bent to dry his legs and feet simply increased that feeling of wickedness.

  It was self-preservation that had me turning back to my tea before he could come out and catch me staring. When I heard his bedroom door close I pushed the cup away and laid my palms and my forehead flat on the table.

  I tried to make some sense of what was going on in my head, but there was no real sense to be made. It was all stupid, but it was governed by the animal parts of my consciousness. That same little creature who cowered in fright the first time she’d met Mark, was now running in panicked circles around the inside of my mind. Mark was turning me tribal with his visceral passions. I worried I was caught up in his wake and he’d drag me to the dark side, where the roads were paved with wet towels. He was corrupting the perfectly ordered life I’d spent a decade building.

  The bastard.

  Suddenly, his big warm hand came to rest on the bare skin of my upper arm. A tremor of shock kicked me in the chest and forced a girlish squeal from deep within me.

  “Shit. Sorry, Lucy. I was just checking if you were okay.”

  “Dammit, Mark. Do you have the ability to levitate or something? I didn’t even hear you coming.”

  “I’m real
ly sorry. Bare feet.”

  I found it almost impossible to believe a guy his size could move that quietly, but he’d scared the crap out of me a dozen times or more with nothing but his stealth. Even the notoriously squeaky hallway floorboards didn’t seem to present him with any trouble. Perhaps he’d mapped out the noisy ones and constantly avoided stepping on them. Or maybe I was just drifting off into sexy daydreams too often and losing touch with reality. Either way, the surprise touch of his hand had nearly made me wet my panties.

  It was only afterward, as I replayed the feel of his hand on my arm, the heat of his skin and the softness of his touch, that I realized what a slow burn he’d ignited inside me. And how wet my panties were getting after all.

  7

  Though business was always slow, Wednesday mornings were the absolute black hole of the week. With that in mind, I took the opportunity to stay a little longer in bed. Besides which, if I had to sit through yet another morning of delicious sensual assault from my heavenly housemate, there was an excellent chance I’d collapse. From lack of blood to the brain, most likely. Of course, that might cause me to land conveniently in his lap. Completely by accident, naturally.

  I figured it was far better to wait until he left for work before I got up. I could probably still get to the store by 9:30.

  Mark did his usual trick of walking without sound but crashing against every other thing in the house. I strongly suspected he might have brought a few extra things in, just so he could slam into them. In any case, going back to sleep was not an option. It was only when his Mustang growled and pulled out of the driveway that I leapt out of bed. Without the panty-melting distraction of Mr. Gorgeous it took me no more than twenty minutes to shower, dress, and eat breakfast. Another ten minutes to wash, dry and put away my dishes—and Mark’s, of course—and there was still a good chance of getting to my store on time.

  That was, until the traffic hit. The chopper guy on the radio said it was a two car accident. Despite it being on a road I didn’t use, the crash had choked up the whole suburb. It was 9:52 by the time I arrived at The Lost Books’ Home, which really ticked me off. As annoyed as I was by my own lateness, it seemed there was someone else who felt it even more keenly.