Seven-Day Period
This story bears no resemblance to anyone who's still alive.
Critics are welcomed as long as they're constructive.
Monday:
I encountered Andy at the Princess Alexandra, an ancient public house. It used to be, way back when, a common spot for enjoyment among the public. But due to the economic downturn, it transformed into a dingy little bar tucked away in two silent alleyways. Although it's a bit of a hike from my place, Pete's, Phil's, and Andy's abodes, it's the perfect spot for us. This pub offers some space to sit down. I'm not a fan of being at the bar, there's always someone who believes you want to hear their opinions.
This specific day, I grabbed the snug, which is a small, cozy room in the pub where around six people could sit comfortably. Most of the time, it has its territorial issues, but considering it's a weekday lunchtime, it's not a concern.
We took seats and Andy leaned forward, showing off his premature baldness. He has a position in the local NHS and I hoped he could give me some tips on how to answer questions during a formal job interview since I've never had one.
"So, what's your motivation for this job?" he inquired. "I thought you liked being your own boss."
I shook my head. "Things are evolving. As computers and software become easier to use, this type of work will disappear. The University seems like a safe bet. It's not relocating, not changing its business model, and it's not going out of business. Plus, I could learn a lot."
Andy chuckled, "It is a university, you know. But you want answers, right?"
"Yeah," I responded.
"So, where do you see yourself in five years?" he questioned.
I blinked in shock. "What?"
"They'll ask you that question," he explained.
"I have no idea," I admitted.
"Okay, then." Andy leaned back in his chair. "What are your strengths?"
"What do you mean?"
"This is going to be a long one," he sighed. "Get me another pint."
Tuesday:
It was almost midsummer, which means the sun was rising at 4:30 a.m. With no clouds in the sky, the sun delivered one thousand watts to each square meter by midday. In other words, it was going to be a sweltering day, temperatures reaching thirty-five degrees. While we're not used to such scorching heat in our country, we get a bit crazy about it. The evening news may have included a report of someone who tragically jumped into water to cool off, unaware that the shock could kill them.
Despite the scorching day, I had more pressing matters to think about. My interview was in the morning and I didn't want to appear as a sweaty mess, so I waited for a taxi to take me to a nearby air-conditioned cafe. There I would chill for an hour before strolling the fifty meters to my interview at the Humbert Building.
About forty minutes later, I sat in the window of Brian's Regal Beans, mindlessly killing time before my interview. Students were gathered around tables, taking their time with their cappuccinos while gossiping and discussing coursework. The conversations often involved romantic relationships, which made me ponder my past. Klara was no longer a part of my life and my line of work didn't allow time for relationships. Even if someone caught my eye, our life experiences would create a major communication barrier, making any prospective relationship difficult.
As I watched the young women strolling by, chatting loudly in their tight tops and short shorts, I couldn't help but appreciate the view. Still, none of them had piqued my interest, despite their nicely-tanned skin. The conventional beauty in sight just couldn't make up for the experiential difference between us.
I scratched my notes for the interview to avoid deepening my sad thoughts.
The designated time finally came. Wrinkling my nose at the discomfort from my formal black shoes, I rectified my attire and was ready to face my foes. Opening the door, I winced at the scorching gust of hot air that smothered me. The ongoing heatwave exhibited no hints of improvement.
The interview panel's gaze confirmed my deepest suspicions. A woman with frosty demeanor from HR -- former Personnel, if you will. I saw myself more as a person than a commodity, as usual in late-stage neoliberal capitalism. She displayed the epitome of elegance, in a frigid way. She had an ironic smirk, instead of a genuine smile.
The fellow in a suit from... well, let's say it was from some managerial role, was the epitome of dullness. I found him challenging to remember. These two initiated their questioning, posing inquiries like, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I smiled and gave my plausible answer, as I did for "What are your strengths?" etc.
However, the genuine competition was the bearded aspiring surfer dude. I couldn't view his feet, but I'd put good money on him wearing sandals.
Surfer Dude held preferences for Unix and gradually exhibited his devotion amidst his deprecation of Windows. In layman's terms, he was similar to a Formula 1 mechanic who, for financial purposes, was required to work on mundane Renaults and Toyotas. He tossed out queries regarding DOS and Windows NT, but it was apparent that his heart wasn't wholly invested in the process. This, naturally, was the essence of the job advertisement. He didn't aim for assistant positions, as he regarded them as beneath him, focusing on luxury motor cars or motorcycles. Lucky for me, I had the specific skills they sought after.
I put Miss Frosty and Mr. Dull behind me and directed my efforts towards striking up a rapport with Surfer Dude. Given the prospect of possibly partnering him at work, I deemed it wise to acquaint myself with him.
Approximately ninety minutes later, they informed me that they'd convey their decision by the end of the week. I felt the interview had gone fairly well, and hence, I deserved a celebratory pint at the Bridge Hotel. I tucked my tie into my jacket pocket, rolled my sleeves, shouldered my jacket, and embarked on my journey towards the river in the Simon Jekyll's wash.
The hotel preserved the archaic custom of retaining the morning papers for its guests to peruse, so I picked up the Grauniad* from the table on entry. My favorite location was the bay window projecting over the river that (as the name suggests) led to the bridge that gave the hotel its moniker. I skimmed the sunlight dancing on the water as it eddied languidly past, dotted with assorted watercraft like dinghies, pleasure craft, and professional waterway users.
*World's most famous for its typos
Alighting in the bay seat, I slapped the newspaper and my interview notes onto the table and exhaled deeply. I actually needed the job; hence, the interview was a nerve-wracking experience.
I admired the Bridge Hotel's mock-vintage vibe, as it was slightly more elaborate and shinier. This was vastly different from the city pubs, which were more intimate, comfy, yet stale and worn out in the daytime. Plus, they were emaciated under the unforgiving sunlight.
Tuesday lunchtime was particularly quiet. Just me, the bartender, and a trio of women, possibly office workers, on their break. I caught the bartender's attention, prompting him to identify which beer pump he should activate. Finally, I flashed the 'big' or 'little' sign to guarantee my beer size.
Deep in an article criticizing the government for the absence of an industrial policy, the rhythmic "tap tap" of high heels grabbed my attention as they inched toward me.
"Pardon me if I'm interrupting," she said.
Despite the interruption, I was prepared to overlook it upon seeing her. Curly, dun-blonde hair that fell to shoulder-length, clear grey eyes, and a wide smile with an edgy twist. She certainly wasn't my type. My type revolved around tall, slender, busty, and curvy dark-haired ladies with an innate grace.
Let's not delve into personal preferences.
I returned her smile with a natural, reflexive grin. "What can I do for you?" I inquired.
She contemplated for a minute. "That's quite the offer."
I chuckled, and her eyes gleamed with mischief. "But for now, I was wondering if you had a lighter?"
"Certainly," I responded, plundering my pocket for a cigarette lighter. 2
1 Lighthearted but maintaining the sarcastic, casual, and engaging tone2 ...and tucking away the inconsistency in terms of smoking habits throughout the text. Preserving the implied allusion to a nervous puff.
One of those modern gadgets where a hot flame is contained within a narrow blue cone was what we had. It performed poorly as a lighter. Even though it appeared futuristic at night, in the daylight its flame was difficult to detect. The woman tried to position her cigarette in the flame but had no luck. I placed her hand on mine to stabilize it. Her gaze shifted from the cigarette to me, and I became acutely aware of her intense stare. I focused on igniting her cigarette while trying to disregard her piercing gaze.
She stood tall and exhaled a stream of smoke into the air, then struck a pose like a film star, with one arm across her chest and the other elbow resting on her wrist as she held the cigarette between two fingers of her outstretched hand.
"A very fancy lighter you got there," she commented. "Would you like a cigarette?"
"No, thanks. I don't smoke."
Her eyebrows raised slightly. "Then you're not a gentleman?"
"I don't think anyone would call me one."
She gave me a playful look and giggled. "Oh, mischievous!"
I nodded in agreement, then noticed her friends at the bar giggling and whispering. I returned my attention to her.
"You trying to hit on me?"
"I don't know," she said demurely. "Do you want me to hit on you?"
"Am I still not being a gentleman?"
"You said you're not one."
The banter between Bogart and Bergman was getting my heart racing and warming me up. I yearned to sustain the atmosphere.
"Then being hit on is my second-favorite thing to do."
Her eyes lit up as she assured, "Well, since you're free this evening, meet us back here around eight."
"I'll check my schedule," I joked and, without skipping a beat, continued, "Sure."
She gave me a mischievous smile. "Gotcha, Slim," and turned to walk back to her friends. I observed her glide away.
She had a stunning view, as they say in the movies. And oddly enough, I felt less concerned about government policies.
***
I might have taken two showers if I'd been truthful, but I hadn't showered at all. I thought about it, though, considering how it wasn't progressing recently. So, you might inquire, why did I polish my shoes? And reapply my scent? Twice? I wore my black shirt and put on my great-grandfather's 18k gold cufflinks. I pondered wearing my father's blue and gold silk cravat but decided it was premature. I put it back on the hanger and shook away the emotions.
While combing my hair, my thoughts drifted to when I'd last worn this outfit. The comb came to a stop, and I contemplated that memory ...
Klara was, in fact, tall, had dark eyes, and possessed an air of elegance. She was also impatient. Bereft of my senses, I hadn't quite noticed that.
"You can't merely sit there mourning the rest of your life! You must put it behind you and move on! Snap out of it already, Michael! There are things we have to do."
Hesitating, I stayed silent, her words like pebbles on a hard surface. She towered, hands clinched at her sides, quietly fuming. But occasionally she would explode with little bursts of wrath.
"Come on, Michael! Wake up! If we want to have a life together, you have to snap out of this depression."
Ultimately, these words pushed me to act.
***
I was early, but not by much. I wanted to ensure the window seat wouldn't be occupied, so I was there at seven o'clock. Was I overdoing it? Most likely.
I sat for an hour sipping a pint in anticipation of her arrival, relishing the prospect of having the bay window table to myself.
When she did show up, she was there at exactly eight o'clock. I sighed in relief, glad to avoid the possibility of her standing me up.
She looked stunning in an Art Deco halter dress, split just up the side. Lots of leg was on display.
She scoped out the room and singled me out, drawing the attention of multiple patrons. Sitting down across from me, I struggled to keep my gaze just above her chest as I asked, "Hi!"
She gazed up at me through her lashes and my heart skipped a beat.
"What do you recommend?"
I pondered various options, some of which didn't even involve drinking.
"Vodka martini?"
"Fine."
At the bar, the bartender inquired, "With a touch of olive brine and served with an olive? That's called a 'dirty' martini."
Perplexed, I responded, "Oh, okay."
As the bartender poured the ice-cold gin from the shaker, I looked at the overflowing glasses with apprehension. Somehow, I had to carry them across the room without making a fool of myself. His eyes darted towards the corner where my, ahem, acquaintance, sat with her back to us, cigarette dangling from her fingers. He took pity on me.
"Take a seat, I'll bring them over."
I gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks."
Back in the alcove, she looked at me inquisitively. "Cocktails?"
"He's bringing them over."
She exhaled smoke into the air and then turned her attention back to me. "What's your name?"
"Vladimir."
Wait, what just slipped out of my mouth?
She raised an impeccably arched eyebrow and I corrected myself.
"Michael."
"What about the Vladimir bit?"
"I was trying to be exciting."
"Exciting?"
"Well, you could've requested a light from the barman at lunchtime, and he would've obliged. Instead, you crossed the room to inquire of me, so I assume you find me intriguing. Intriguing enough to arrive early."
"You're the first time I've been a distraction."
"There's a first time for everything. How's it working out for you?"
Thankfully, just then, our drinks arrived. I clinked glasses. "Pretty good so far."
She smiled. Unfortunately, she took a rather large sip of her martini. Gin can be unforgiving. I could have swaggered around the table like some dashing hero, but I remained in my spot and enjoyed the show.
"Are you alright?" I inquired innocently.
"Fine!" she barked, and she glared at me as she fumbled for a tissue from her clutch.
I'm no stranger to the artistry of female mind-reading.
"I don't think I'm the distraction anymore," I observed.
She frowned and then, much to her dismay, suddenly burst into fits of laughter. "And I was being so cool!"
I smiled and she smiled back, an authentic smile of pearly white teeth, dimples, and sparkling eyes.
"Lord, how enthralling your eyes are..."
"Would you prefer something else to drink?" I asked.
"No, no! The martini's just fine, it's just been a while."
"Since what?"
She gestured towards her dress with a flick of her hand. "Do you know, the effort of dressing up for someone other than a special someone?"
"I thought you looked quite stunning at lunchtime."
She snorted. "And now?"
"You don't think I dress up like this for just anyone, do you?" I said dryly.
She drank more cautiously and looked away. "On the contrary, I thought you looked quite stylish too."
To my mortification, I blushed. I raised my glass to my lips and hoped she wouldn't notice my flaming cheeks. Indeed, she caught my redness. Her eyes glanced sideways. She smirked and her eyes softened.
"I detest yelling back and forth at the table. Would you mind if I sat here with you?"
Unsure, I gestured towards the bench beneath the window. She shifted her position and sat down. Glancing out the window at the river, she let out a contented sigh.
"Certainly, rivers are quite romantic, don't you agree?"
I leaned on the sill, gazing out at the upstream bridge and the waterfront, bathed in the setting sun's golden glow. It illuminated her highlighted locks. I had to resist the urge to physically touch her waves.
Her gaze rested back on my face. Female telepathy can be quite mystical. She raked her hands through her casual brunette waves. The light danced and I felt faint.
"Hm, Ms...?
"Hind," she responded quickly. "N... i... k... k... i. How's that?"
I must have looked perplexed because she spelled it out, letter by letter: Nikki with a K. Rather ordinary, except for the "k" and the lack of "e."
"So, a common name?"
"Indeed!" she sighed, drawing my attention to the subtle curves of her chest.
"So, what about you?"
She turned her gaze to me.
"What's your name?"
"Sure, there's always the option of a deed poll."
I leaned in, placing a hand on the table for effect. "Growing up with nicknames and teasing, you endure it all and then to discard them, it feels... disloyal."
Silenced by my words, I stared outside at a passing intercity train making its way towards the central station.
Sensing my discomfort, she gently placed a hand on top of mine. "Did I strike a nerve there?"
I shook my head. "It's nothing, I didn't realize it still bothered me so much. I must have been deeper in thought than I thought." However, it was for reasons unrelated to the idea of changing nicknames that the topic had stirred me.
"So, it's Michael or Mike?" Her eyes shone with interest.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes in response to her question. "Actually, my friends used to call me Rebel at school. Some still do."
"And is there a Mrs Collins?"
"No," I responded quickly. "What about a Mr Hind?"
"Williams," she said, her voice indifferent.
A lightbulb went off in my head: Hind was her maiden name, and now known as the ex-Mrs Williams.
"You got married at a young age."
She gazed down at her hands. "It was a childhood sweetheart relationship. Until we weren't."
"Let's put a stop to peeling off scabs."
"Alright, noissue. I'm over it, sort of," she admitted. "Divorced by 21, everything got turned upside down."
As the silence stretched on, I finished the last of my martini.
"Shall we get something to eat?"
Her face lit up at the suggestion and her beauty shone brighter. The sequins on her dress emphasized her curves. Why had this broken-hearted Williams let such a stunning woman slip through his fingers?
I'd made a reservation for dinner in the hotel's restaurant at 8:30.
As we walked to the restaurant, an urge took hold of me. I extended my arm and her hand slid into it. This small action filled me with satisfaction.
The maître de approached and greeted me, then we were escorted to a private table for two. Moments later, a waiter appeared with our menus and a jug of water before disappearing backstage like a professional.
"A school night, but would you like some wine?"
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Are you desperately trying to get me drunk?"
On the verge of playing innocent, I grinned. "Only a little bit..."
Two glasses of chilled Riesling magically appeared and she smacked her lips, clearly enjoying the taste.
"What do you do, Mike?"
"I'm an IT consultant," I declared.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sounds pretty fancy."
"Pretty much," I said, then sighed. "I mostly work with small businesses, helping those bits of equipment they impulsively bought work, either as intended or with other pieces of questionable equipment."
She showed a lack of interest, unlike Klara, who didn't mind what I did as long as I brought in the money and paid her attention. Nikki, though, didn't appear indifferent or disrespectful.
I launched into my job description with enthusiasm.
"In college, during my second year, I earned some cash doing clerical work at an architecture firm. One of the partners had bought some CAD software and ordered his assistant, Clarice, to learn how to use it. Being good with computers, I sat beside her and we navigated our way through the software together."
"And Clarice?"
"Yes, I met her when I saw her in tears. The software wouldn't work, and they didn't have the latest technology. She asked if I could help her figure it out. We did, and after persuading her manager to upgrade her computer, she scored a much better job as a CAD designer at another company."
She focused on me with her captivating gaze as she sipped her wine. "Never heard of CAD before. Enlighten me."
"It's short for 'Computer Aided Design.' It started as a tool to help with technical drawing and made things easier for firms. It evolved into more detailed modeling, becoming quite popular nowadays."
"Did I lose you there?"
She playfully eyed me in amusement. "No, I was just getting heated up talking about it."
Michael smiled. "Either you've got great deflection skills, Nikki, or you can't tell a cohesive story."
I gazed at him puzzled.
"And what about you, Michael?" she inquired.
"I returned to college at the end of summer and didn't think about it again. Over Christmas, Clarice told me about a friend who was drowning and not waving. I helped her out somehow. From there, it all snowballed. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do after school. Word of mouth portrayed me as a problem solver. Eventually, I realized I was making a decent living."
"So, why the job interview?" she asked.
"It's not sustainable being a problem-solver. Computers are becoming better and cheaper continuously. Manufacturers are recognizing they must make things more user-friendly and easy to install to sell in large quantities. Therefore, I applied for a job in IT support at the university."
I sighed and stared out the window. "Being self-employed seems great until you're just waiting by the phone for a call."
We sat in silence for a moment, then I turned to face Nikki.
"What's your occupation, Miss?" I questioned.
"I am a librarian."
My eyes moved from her face to her body, and back up to her face. I laughed, feeling self-conscious. When I had finally stopped laughing, I wiped the tears from my eyes.
"You find something humorous?" Nikki inquired.
"I'm imagining you telling your friends how you met this guy who sounds like Mr. Bean..."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm thinking I should have spent more time in the stacks, Miss..."
We ordered food and drink and spent a pleasurable couple of hours sharing anecdotes, discussing current events, and our ambitions to travel. While it all flew by delightfully, we'd kept our romantic situations off-limits and stayed away from topics of her divorce and my own demotivation.
I finished my courage and posed the question.
"Would you like to see me again?"
She pondered my question for a long time before responding.
"I really hope so, Michael. You don't think I dress up for any old Joe, do you?"
***
Wednesday
Andy and I met at our usual spot in the Alex. Evie, the bartender, knew us well enough to know what drinks we wanted. This was a routine event. We grabbed our beers and headed to one of the small circular tables.
"How did it go, Reb?" asked Andy.
"Pretty good, I think. They'll let me know by the end of the week but I have a good feeling about it."
He chuckled and picked up his glass from the table. "Using the public sector's teat as a piggy bank?"
I sighed. "You've got a special talent for turning everything gross, you know that? And you're no stranger to exploiting resources!"
I mulled over when to divulge my latest news.
"I might've met someone last night..." I said non-committally, with one eye on my beer.
Evie, the bartender, looked at us for a moment and then laughed. She picked up a beer towel and threw it at Andy before telling him to order another round.
"It's been at least a year since Klara. As far as I understand, you're not swimming in women, Rebold."
"I'm a freelancer, Andy. I go wherever I'm paid. I don't have opportunities to form relationships because I'm never there for long enough. And..." I stopped myself. Andy was getting restless.
"You know, there are times when I don't like you, Fletcher," I said, surprised by my own words.
"Oi! None of that!" he exclaimed, avoiding a beer towel thrown at his head. He then wiped the spilled beer off the table and continued pressing for details.
"Her name was Nikki Hind."
"Why do I have the feeling I've heard that name before?" he pondered.
"Clara is a friend of Nikki's. Mr. Bean also used this name but with an extra 'e' and an 'a.'"
"Woah! Take it easy there!" he said, pretending to protect himself while a hint of admiration was visible in his eyes.
"And it wouldn't be good if Kathy found out you were messing around," I said softly as I took a sip of my drink.
He nodded, giving a sad acknowledgement. His girlfriend of four years was known for her blunt nature.
"So, how's it going? Tell us all about it."
"Well, fuck off, Andy!" I joked, feeling happy and embarrassed that he was happy for me in his own way.
There was a brief silence, a contented quiet that told me I was in the company of a friend. Then he sighed quietly and said, "She was a very determined woman, you know."
I looked at him in surprise.
"You were lucky to escape. We thought she'd never let you go."
He hesitated, wondering if he could actually say what he was about to say.
"Why on Earth did you tell her about the life insurance?"
I was taken aback. "I just mentioned it when we were preparing for the funeral. She was worried about where I'd find the money to pay for it."
He shook his head in sympathy. At the time, I had been all over the place. In hindsight, it was clear that she was trying to keep me away from my friends.
Klara didn't like any of the boys, not even Pete or Andy or Phil. She tolerated them with obvious disapproval. Phil would tease me, singing part of 'Young Guns (Go For It)' under his breath without caring if she heard it. ("We've got plans to make, we've got things to buy, and you're wasting time with some creepy guys,")
Remarkably, after our breakup, she even tried to get Pete to mediate. What happened next was so bad that neither Pete nor Evie would tell me about it. I think Klara and Pete might have had an intense discussion.
Thursday
I started my day with four messages on the answer machine. This was a good sign, but...
"Michael! When are-"
My finger pressed the pause button. It seemed she wasn't giving up. Klara had never failed at anything in her life. This felt like an obsession, an unfinished project.
Over the previous few days, I'd assumed that the last-ditch effort was the call from Klara's mom, who had always been friendly to me. More importantly, Mrs Ellington assured me that she'd communicate to her daughter how I needed some time alone. However, she couldn't grasp how it ended so badly between us. It was obvious that her daughter had done something, but I didn't want to upset her.
Fortunately, the rest of the messages were from potential clients.
The first was from a young man who didn't know how to express his issue clearly.
Hugh Barnes was around my age, a sturdy man with shoulder-length wavy brown hair and blue eyes, dressed in jeans and a checked flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He was relieved that I was approximately the same age, possibly because anyone older might have made him feel foolish.
He openly admitted that he'd bought his equipment after being persuaded by the salesman at PC World and had no idea how to use it; his only experience with IT being gaming. So, I opened his computer and turned it on to assess what needed to be done. Hugh prepared a cup of coffee for both of us while I waited for the updates to download through the dial-up connection.
He shared his circumstances with me as we drank our coffee. He was a plumber, and his father had lent him the money to start up his own business. A buddy had recommended that some IT knowledge might help him manage the financial side of things. We were dealing with a copy of Sage's manual.
"How did you find my number?" I asked.
"My aunt Clo says you're her savior. She's been telling me about how you saved her from a dead-end job and can now afford nice clothes and trips abroad."
I was confused. "Which aunt? What is her occupation?"
He laughed. "Clarice Edmonds. She runs her own CAD consulting business."
I laughed. "Well, tell her I'm proud of her and happy for the referral."
He smiled. "I will. But first, you need to fix my problem!"
Resolving Mr. Barnes' issues, my second call of the day was from a small engineering firm. They seemed to believe that hiring me to coax their problematic IT structure to function was more economical than replacing it with something reliable, like Windows 95, for example. A few of their computers were limping along on outdated versions, like pre-3.1.
At any rate, I didn't mind accepting the owner's money. His name was Spender, an irritable old curmudgeon. He'd glare menacingly while he counted out the tens, while I smiled sweetly, suggesting on past occasion that it would be more cost-effective if he followed my recommendations. Of course, we all have bills to pay, so I was happy to take his money.
The morning's call had rattled my thoughts, and as I drove towards the workshops, I couldn't help but recall how Klara had overstepped her boundaries as we lounged in the shade of The Plough's garden. The scene was etched in my memory, from the sunbeams piercing through the willow fronds to the knuckling mallard ducks fighting over the bread thrown by a young girl, to the refreshing coolness of my drink raiding the rim of my glass, as her words managed to puncture the fog in my head.
"With your parents' money-"
She continued speaking, but I didn't listen. When I got up, she must've assumed I was heading to the bar, but instead I went to my car and drove home. I remember that state of mind to be peculiar. I was numb, yet edging close to uncontrollable rage. I phoned a locksmith and had the locks replaced immediately. I locked the Yale latch on my front door. The phone rang, and I picked up the receiver long enough to hear "Michael!" before snatching the cord out of the wall.
Arriving at Spender's premises, I parked and took a few moments to apply pressure to my emotions. It was a Herculean task. I had been in a cycle of misery and anger, and the therapy had come at a high cost.
Eventually, I got out of the car, facing the scorching heat as if it were an open oven door. There was no shady area around for miles. I considered leaving the car windows open, but decided against it. Instead, I should've brought bacon and eggs to leave in the seatbelts to cook.
I was welcomed cheerfully by Spender's second in command, as if he headed an organized business. He offered me coffee before shrinking into the shadows behind a lathe. The other employees greeted me with a mix of grins and confused expressions. They formed a unique community where hierarchy was decided by natural selection.
In front of the malfunctioning devices, I dozed off from time to time, thoughts of clear blue eyes, curly blonde locks, and smirking lips flooding my mind. While attending to Spender's computers that afternoon, I found myself whistling- without charging extra.
Later that day, I visited a domestic residence. I navigated through the posh suburbs where terraced houses gave way to wide, leafy streets, and large detached houses with imposing brick walls and iron gates that concealed immense wealth. There were no numbers on these houses; instead, they had bronze plaques proclaiming elegant names like 'Montague House' and 'The Cedars'.
I was not aiming for one of these majestic buildings, but instead, I sought a street called Portsmouth Row. I finally managed to identify the location, a small private drive-way surrounded by even larger trees and mansions that exuded overwhelming wealth.
I parked beside the gate and exited the car, shaded by the canopy of trees above. The serenity of the place sent chills down my spine.
"Repeat after me," I muttered to myself, "'Werewolves do not exist, werewolves do not exist,' as I pressed the buzzer by the intercom on the gate, waiting for a response."
A brief burst of static responded, "Yes?"
"I'm Michael Collins. You requested assistance with a computer issue?"
The voice fell silent, but the gate opened. I entered the property. It's a puzzling phenomenon how these hidden sanctuaries mysteriously pop up in the midst of metropolitan areas. The roads are lined with houses, and one subconsciously assumes that's all there is, but concealed within the geometric confines is often a private oasis. Allotments, for example, or a tiny park, or even a lavish mansion like this. 2
Standing in front of my front door, I gazed up at its large size. It looked big enough for a coach and horses to pass through. Perhaps it was one of the inspirations for Gormenghast. The gigantic entranceway opened slowly and silently, revealing a woman in her mid-thirties with copper hair, a white blouse, and a smart grey suit. She wasn't Steerpike, but maybe she resembled Dana Scully. She examined me intently.
I wasn't interested in being judged. In this weather, a T-shirt, shorts, and sandals were sufficient for me. I maintained an indifferent expression.
"Collins?" she inquired. Her accent wasn't American, so it wasn't Gillian Anderson.
I glanced around, searching for anyone else, butered staying quiet. A frown briefly passed over her face as she probably wasn't used to my behavior.
"Have you come about the network issue?"
I sighed and turned around to retrace my steps to the gate.
"Wait!" she called out.
I stopped and turned. "You're wasting my time. You called and asked me to stop by. Here I am, so make up your mind; do you need something done or not?"
Her face turned a lovely shade of pink.
"You can come in," she managed to say.
I decided against causing a seizure and instead followed her into a vast corridor that could fit my whole house in it.
She marched past me, her heels clicking on the tiles, and signaled for me to follow her to a door beneath the impressive wooden staircase. Inside, there was a wall of monitors displaying static noise. I assumed that was the issue.
"Do you not have someone on site to handle this?" I inquired.
"We did, but they quit." She replied stiffly.
"Would it be accurate to assume it was not a friendly separation?"
She said nothing, and I assumed my guess was correct. I sat down and started working.
***
After a few hours, I had the network up and running again, and the damage was minimal – just a few settings adjusted.
She approached, peering over my shoulder, and her nearness made me acutely aware of her. She emitted a fresh, feminine scent. She turned her head to face me, and our faces were merely inches apart. There was a tense moment when it seemed like we might kiss, but it passed quickly. I have a policy of letting the lady make the first move to avoid appearing like a fool if she recoils.
As she handed me an envelope packed with cash, she said, "We will need your discretion."
"My reputation would be at stake if I chatted about such things," I assured her.
She nodded and then made a surprising statement: "We will call on you again if we have need?"
I blinked in surprise. I must have made a positive impression. I nodded, selecting not to reveal a hint of a smile. Because, seriously, the universe loves doing stuff like that.
***
On Friday, I struggled to fully wake up. I'm not a morning person. Ten o'clock marks my arrival in the land of the living. I walked down the stairs in my boxers and dressing gown to collect my mail from the large patch of sunlight on the carpet in front of the door. In the mix of brown envelopes demanding money was a white one with a recognizable logo in the top left corner. The letter from the university raised my concerns.
I placed the post on a toast rack in the hall for envelopes and items I didn't feel like dealing with immediately. I then picked up the university letter, which I contemplated as my mind wandered.
A knock on the door interrupted my musings, and I unlocked the door to reveal a surprising guest. Standing there in a white tracksuit and sneakers, with her hair tied back in a ponytail and a pink tinge to her cheeks, was the enticing Nikki Hind.
I gaped at her, and she smiled triumphantly. She looked tempting enough to devour. Lizard brain seized control of my thoughts and led them where they should not go.
"Hello," I mumbled.
"How did you figure out where I live?" she asked.
"I checked the Yellow Pages. I assumed you wouldn't have a separate business address."
I felt amused and proud that she had surprised me so. I refastened my dressing gown, struggling with the letter in my hand.
"Give it here," she urged, snatching the letter from me. "Is this about the job?"
"Probably so," I responded, managing to tie the cord that held my gown closed.
The woman handed me the envelope and looked at me expectantly, with the morning sun turning her hair into a golden aura. I stood there, hypnotized, until she tilted her head to the side.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
I glanced down at the white rectangular envelope. It held life-changing news, and I contemplated this as I slid my thumb underneath its flap. Seeing my hesitation, Nikki stepped towards me, inching closer.
"Well?"
"They've offered me the job," I told her, my voice shaky.
Her face lit up in delight. "That's fantastic news!"
She stepped back again and I noticed the door was still open. I regretted not doing more cleaning housekeeping earlier.
She watched me pour water into the French press in the kitchen.
"Who else lives here?"
"Just me."
"So, how do you afford this all by yourself?"
I hesitated, then decided to be honest. "I'm housesitting."
Her eyes widened. "Your friend's parents moved abroad, and they let you stay here as long as you look after the place?"
I nodded. "Yeah, they're wealthy enough that they don't need the rent money."
"Interesting. So, what's with the exercise?" Nikki asked, changing the subject.
I shrugged. "I don't usually move around much if I can help it."
"Not even to exercise?"
I grinned. "Uh, no."
"Why is that?"
"I suppose it's just my nature," I replied sheepishly.
She raised her mug to her lips, sipping her drink. I turned to the fridge for milk.
"Do you run, dance, swim, or lift weights?"
I shook my head. "No."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're not very active."
"Right."
"If you had any interest in it, I'd be happy to change that," she suggested.
I sighed, realizing how easy she could manipulate me. "That's kind of you, but I prefer my comfortable life."
She shook her head, amused. "Not a bad way to live. So, how often do you exercise?"
"I never do," I admitted.
"Not even once a year?" she asked, enjoying my discomfort.
"Nope."
She smirked. "Have you tried giving up cigarettes?"
I shook my head. "No."
She frowned. "Then how do you live?"
"I don't smoke," I responded, trying to sound confident.
"Then why do you carry cigarettes around?"
"I don't really smoke," I explained. "I have them when I'm in social situations."
She nodded, less amused now. "Do you know why your website is so popular?"
I shrugged. "I think it's my secret."
Nikki raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you're famous in Ireland for some reason?"
I nodded, slightly annoyed at her probing.
"How old are you?" she asked, trying to decipher my age.
"Old enough to have a job."
Her eyes widened at my cryptic answer. "So, still young?"
I cringed. "Yes."
Nikki leaned over the table, studying me. "You're quite fit. I could work you out."
She was making me nervous, which was a first. I tried to appear confident.
"If I was to ask you out, would you go?"
I hummed in thought. "Yeah," I responded.
"Tonight or tomorrow night?"
I looked at my watch. "Tonight's no good for me," I lied, making up an excuse about being busy. "Is tomorrow night okay?"
"Sure, I'm free."
Nikki crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "And what about this evening?"
"That's no problem," I said, my mind racing to cancel plans. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"I don't see why not."
She turned around and pulled down the zipper on her sweatshirt, letting it fall to her shoulders. The snug-fitting sport top clung to her body like a second skin. She straightened her back and looked at me.
"Better?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
She smiled but quickly fixed her sweatshirt. "Your house is beautiful. I'd hate to mess it up."
"It wouldn’t have mattered," I assured her. "I'd have managed to clean it."
She changed the topic again. "Would you like to go out tonight?"
"Sure," I replied. "What about tomorrow night?"
"I'm free," she clarified.
I sighed and promised myself to reschedule my plans. What's one night with someone as attractive as her?
The sun got increasingly hot as the morning wore on and didn't cool down for the afternoon. Nikki let me choose the venue, simply stating, "surprise me." But I was lost, not knowing what could impress her. While the sun went down would be great for being outside, that wouldn't happen until after 9pm. How to fill these couple of hours before that?
I debated the idea of going swimming but shivered at the thought of trying not to fantasize about Nikki in a swimsuit, particularly after our morning incident at the kitchen table. Plus, public pools would be packed.
That's when it hit me, and I looked in the phone directory for the Hilton Hotel's number. Though it would be pricey, it was affordable after my day's bonus, and most importantly, worth it.
"So, where are we going?" Nikki asked with curiosity.
I grinned and replied, "You'll see!"
Nikki glanced at me with intrigue but remained silent. She was wearing a white cotton T-shirt under an open white linen blouse over a white linen skirt and white pumps. She looked absolutely stunning, like a movie star. And she'd be the center of attention here. Were my clothes up to par?
We entered the hotel, and led her inside.
"Yet another hotel? It'll have air conditioning, right?"
"If you say so."
We paused by the elevators, and Nikki raised an eyebrow. She passed through the door while I followed, my cheeks burning. Nikki's hair danced with the wind as she stepped back to me, and she glanced at me with an amused smile. She was perfectly well aware of her effect on me.
The elevator took us to the top. Opening the door, I felt the warm breeze brush my face. I took her hand and led her up the stairs. She gasped at the rooftop view.
"Reservation for Collins," I told the staff that emerged to greet us, and she nodded.
We were led to a table for two in the shaded area. Nikki gazed out at the park and the silver river in the distance in awe.
"Michael, this is simply fabulous!"
As she leaned on the partition wall, the wind whirled through her hair. She appeared like a movie star, and I was lost in admiration. Her eyes slid to me, looking both mischievous and satisfied. She knew exactly how she affected me.
A waiter arrived with two glasses of champagne and some olives.
Nikki regarded them with a bit of humor. "Trying to impress me, Mr. Collins?"
I peered into my glass before answering. I certainly hoped so.
"If you are, am I?"
She smiled. "I'll let you know."
Then, her foot grazed my calf, and I almost dropped my glass.
She giggled. "Gotcha!"
"You devil!" I coughed dramatically.
She laughed out loud. "I was forgetting you're not a gentleman. We'll need to polish your manners. Though," she gestured across the placid view with excitement, "this certainly makes up for a lot. You have a bit of flair, Mr. Collins."
I grinned and spoke confidently. "I strive for it occasionally."
We had a marvelous two hours. I shared bread, cold meats, cheese, and pickles, accompanied by the rest of the champagne bottle. The bill for this rooftop adventure would wipe me out, but as Nikki's bright eyes widened in awe and my heart raced, it seemed worth every penny. Our conversation was rich and easy, consuming me with laughter and ease. We found no awkward silences, our chat bouncing about like a mountain stream, playfully tumbling and darting in the sunshine.
As the shadows grew longer, we left the rooftop bar for one of the riverside pubs. It undoubtedly would be swarmed in this heat, but we could relax with our drinks on the riverbank. Ambling through the park, her hand slid into mine. I let out a quiet sigh, enjoying the warmth and tenderness.
She stopped, looking at me while still holding my hand.
"May I kiss you?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. I could play the gentleman when I preferred.
Nikki smiled. "I've been expectant that you'd make a move for Monday evening. You must store more gentlemanliness than you let on."
"Still no answer?"
"How about this? Yes."
"Finally! Are we clear?"
She grasped my arm firmly and pulled me close, our bodies meshing together smoothly. Wow, we fit together so well! Our lips met and our tongues danced together, allowing me to finally run my fingers through her hair. Once we retrieved our breath, she rested her chin upon my shoulder.
"You're really good at this, Mr. Collins," she whispered. "You have hidden talents."
I became cautious, trying to ensure I didn't accidentally prod her with my erection. I recalled a taxi stand by the river with a couple of stationary cars in ideal locations. I took a chance.
"Why don't we forego the pub and go to my place instead?"
She grinned at me. "Wow, Michael! So forward. But what do you have planned?"
"Perhaps we could munch on snacks, have some beers, and watch a movie?"
She embraced me tightly, rubbing herself against me. "Alternatively, you could have your way with me."
I was hit hard by an intense lust.
Adjusted plan.
"I can certainly do that," I promised.
***
In the taxi, Nikki alternated between holding my hand and caressing my thigh until I moved her hand to her lap.
"Calm down, Nik! Two minutes!" I asserted.
The taxi driver glanced at us in the rear-view mirror and shook his head. We arrived at my home, and I handed him a ten-dollar bill and requested he keep the change. He winked at me and I grinned back at him. Nikki was already inside the front door.
"Hurry up, Michael, you'll miss the start of the show!"
Upon entering, I turned around to shut the door and when I turned back around, she pushed me against the door and gave me a scorching, intense kiss. My senses were racing, overwhelmed with desire. All I wanted was to bite her, mark her, claim her.
vows to / divorce-proof / her vow
As these thoughts whirled through my mind, I was suddenly sure of one thing. I moved her away from me.
"Unfortunately, this house was built with no special accommodations for your amorous intentions," I informed her.
"Will you actually carry me up to bed?" she teased.
"You're stronger than me, might even be able to carry me!"
Her eyes narrowed, and I had an unsettling feeling she might attempt to do so. I ducked around her grabbing arms and strode up the stairs, with her hot on my heels. In the bedroom, we stood facing each other over the bed, gasping for breath.
She dislodged her blouse and let it drop to the floor. Her gaze remained fixed on my face while she unzipped her skirt. She now stood naked except for her cotton tee shirt and white panties, her hands hanging loosely by her side. I had never seen anything so beautiful.
I removed my tee shirt and tossed it aside. As I approached her, I unzipped my shorts and prepared to strip them off. Before I could finish, she guided me back to the bed, sitting on top of me.
Nikki isn't a small woman and I'm not the tallest guy, and while I was relishing the sensation of her weight upon me, I realized my legs would soon begin protesting. Even so, I appreciated the fullness of her ass in my hands. She rubbed her face against my chest.
"Take your shirt off," I suggested.
"You take it off," she countered.
"Nah, I'm enjoying touching your ass too much."
She closed her eyes and tilted her face for a kiss. This wasn't a standard passionate smooch; instead, it was a gentle, leisurely kiss that alternated between lip and lip. Our breaths swirled together, exchanging oxygen, and it felt as though I was inhaling her. As her tongue delicately played with mine, I burned with the pleasurable sensations.
"Please remove your shirt," I requested.
She laughed. "You men always take twice as many words to say anything."
Reaching behind herself, she peeled her tee shirt off over her head. All she wore now were plain white cotton panties and a dainty lace bra. The outline of her nipples was clearly visible. I nuzzled into her cleavage, and she giggled again.
"Men!"
Klara was the one who always undressed herself.
"Do you need some guidance or do you like to follow instructions?"
"I'm a hands-on kind of person, but I'm sure you could find a book about it in your extensive library."
"It's not actually my library, Michael. It's part of the university."
I hit my forehead with my hand in embarrassment. "Of course, that's why you were at the Bridge on Tuesday."
"You're pretty unobservant, Michael. I'm going to have to spend a lot of time with you."
"Hopefully so," I mutter while taking in the sight of her round, beautiful breasts with dark brown tips.
"Do my breasts look good?" I asked, admiring her ample chest.
"I think so," she replied, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow and a twisted mouth, two facial expressions I was starting to enjoy. I leaned up and kissed her and felt her lips curve into a smile. A moment later, I had to move to take one of her erect nipples with my mouth. My hand became her other breast, kneading it gently.
"You have so many clothes on," she said as she ran her cool hands over my back.
"It wasn't an opportunity for me to undress."
"I'll take them off for you," she stated, climbing off my lap.
I groaned a little at the thought of losing contact with her luscious breasts.
She knelt in front of me and started pulling off my shorts and boxers. My fully erect cock stood out in front of her. It's not the biggest cock, but no one has ever complained.
"Let me try," she said, looking down at my cock.
"Lick me," I said, and her eyes widened in surprise.
"No guy has ever asked me to perform cunnilingus on them!"
"I want you to sit on my face."
Her eyes went wide again, and she scrambled out of her panties.
She carefully sat down on my head. This was one of the benefits of my relationship with Klara - she insisted on cunnilingus before intercourse, and I had learned a lot about pleasing a woman with only my lips and tongue. Now, as Nikki came down to straddle me, I hoped that that experience was put to good use. Her lips were moist above her dark luxurious curls. I could smell her arousal, and I dove in, licking her slit from her vaginal opening to the top. The taste of her was like nothing I've never experienced before, and the feeling of being buried drew out a sigh. I used my hands to encircle her cheeks, feeling her muscles tense under the skin. Her moisture was dripping, coating my face and making it harder for me to breathe. I alternated between long, slow licks and the flat of my tongue, and a teasing stroke of my tongue against her clit. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, and her big breasts with long nipples jiggled with each movement.
"You like that?" I asked, panting.
"I'll let you do that again."
"Not now," I said, flipping over and kneeling behind her.
She cracked an eye open at me, then glared at my hardening erection.
"So, you want to put that thing inside me?"
"Yes!" I said cheerfully.
She rolled over onto her stomach, and stuck her ass up in the air. I eased into her, feeling her lips stretch to accommodate my member. I continued thrusting until my balls rested against her legs, and she sighed loudly.
"That feels good!" [
I didn't argue. I pulled out and swiftly reinserted her, as her back curved to accept more of me. As I provided her with lengthy smooth strokes, I felt her fingers working on her clit and savored the little contractions that occurred. They began to come more frequently and increasingly intense, and Nikki's breathing became labored. I increased the speed knowing my own orgasm was imminent and astonished that I had lasted this long.
Her vagina squeezed me hard and she emitted a shout, her face contorting, her hands clinging to the sheets, and miraculously, I managed to maintain momentum until she experienced a second, even more forceful climax and I came with her, flashes of light behind my eyes and tendons on my neck standing out. I collapsed on the bed beside her, unsure if I'd injured myself and struggling to catch my breath. What a day! I began to chuckle, and she stared at me curiously.
I held her face in my hands and kissed her deeply. "This was a brilliant recommendation, Miss Hind!"
We sat in the garden in the dwindling light, cheerfully taking turns passing a joint back and forth, blowing the pungent smoke into the air and not caring who could smell it. A tortoiseshell cat slinked under the gate at the edge of the garden and, after casting us a brief glance, walked to the opposite side of the garden and leaped gracefully over the wall. Then it decided to return toward the house, completely ignoring us. Nikki made smooching noises at it but it still exhibited regal disdain. I chuckled at her lack of success.
Stoned, Nikki inclined her head to one side to look at me.
"I've met people who know you."
I was bewildered until I remembered Andy saying that Nikki looked familiar. She was still speaking.
"But I know people who knew you. From long ago."
I attempted to process this, but the drugs were interfering with my mental faculties. I still don't know what thought jam caused me to state what I did next.
"My parents."
"What about them?"
"They were killed in a car crash."
Nikki gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. "When?"
"Two weeks before my twenty-sixth birthday."
Her eyes were wide. "Oh, dear God! You were so young!"
I shrugged and found myself able to open that specific door. "Yup."
"What transpired?"
"They veered off the road, struck a tree. It all happened in a matter of seconds," I responded nonchalantly.
"Oh, Michael!"
I reclined and stared into the deepening blue sky.
"I'm an only child. Had to manage things on my own. Our lawyer, Mr. Jamieson, was kind, but he couldn't help me with the fact that I couldn't stand living in the house I grew up in. Every decoration, every angle, even the way the light streamed through the frosted glass in the back door ... Then, after I made the decision to sell, there was the annoying task of disposing of the items inside. We shared no interests, so most of the furniture was bought by a guy who said it would sell like wildfire in Australia. A library received my father's books. The most upsetting part was my mother's beloved china and glass. No one wanted it, not even the charity shops, who already had plenty stored in their basements. So, it was destined for the scrap yard at the recycling facility. I cried when I heard that."
"Oh, Michael!" she repeated and climbed out of the lounger to snuggle in my lap, wrapping her arms around my head and planting my face in her expansive cleavage.
"I'm alright with that," I murmured into her chest, "but don't feel you need to free yourself."
She chuckled and things felt good.
Discussing my parents' death seemed to have opened a reserve of honesty in me. "I lied to you," I said, enjoying the feeling of being straightforward with her.
She sat back and scrutinized me.
"Lied? About what?"
"The house. I don't have a housesitter. It's mine. I purchased it with the money I received from selling my parents'."
"Alright," she said slowly. "Why the fib?"
I felt rather encouraged by her usage of the word "fib."
"The last girlfriend I was seeing - the one when my parents died - saw my inheritance ... well, let's say I all of a sudden became highly desirable in her eyes."
"Holy shit! What a witch!"
I shrugged. "She was determined. Started ordering me around because I was unable to think clearly. One day, I snapped."
Her eyebrows furrowed and I was taken aback.
"I'm not 21!"
Now it was my turn to look at her, genuinely confused. "You mentioned it when we met at the Bridge!"
She shook her head. "I said I was divorced at 21."
"Oh." I considered this briefly. "So how old are you?"
"It's not polite to ask a woman her age," she said. "And how old do you think I am?"
"I thought we had agreed that I'm not a gentleman!"
"Smartass," she retorted. "Answer the question!"
I leaned back and examined her. Her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free but there was a certain maturity to her figure. I sighed contently and she chuckled loudly.
"You're such a moron," she said. "Pay attention!"
I studied her face, trying to remember something. It slipped through my mind before I could really grasp it.
"24?" I suggested hopefully.
She smiled wryly at me. "I'm two years younger than you. We went to the same school."
I was floored. How had I missed her?
"I used to be a bit different back then. I always followed what my ex-husband wanted. He didn't like me dressing up. Attracting attention. So, I dressed down. But you, you were always the talk of the girls in our year."
I stared at her incredulously. Me? I'd always known I had my admirers but nothing special. She continued speaking.
"You used to swoon over that tall, thin girl..."
"Swoon!" I exclaimed happily.
Her lips curled into a devious grin. "Yeah, the one with the name Holly Greenwood. She wouldn't give you the time of day."
My lips parted as I remembered the girl I pursued through high school. She was still speaking.
"So, when I saw you in the Bridge, I recognized who you were - or who you used to be at least. And I decided to prove something to myself. Here we are."
She looked down. "I hope you don't think I lied to you. Not like your ex, at least."
I chuckled. "You're a devious woman, Miss Hind, but I think we're even on the whole truth thing."
"Are you still going to ask me out again?"
"You can count on it. Many times."
She beamed a dazzling, slightly embarrassed smile. "I like the sound of that."
I had an epiphany while admiring her. Her eyebrows raised.
"You're not having a seizure, are you, Reb?"
I laughed loudly. My nickname sounded so natural coming from her. I hoped she would always use it. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to introduce her to my friends.
***
Saturday
In the morning, we were lying in bed together, looking out the window at the starlings squabbling on the telephone wires in the sunlight.
"I want to show you something. Get dressed."
Her excitement was evident, she tumbled off the bed and began dressing. As she pulled up her skirt zipper, she glanced down at the street.
"There's a woman staring at the house, Reb."
My heart sank as I looked and saw Klara Ellington glaring at the front door.
"Who's that?"
"Yep, it's who I think it is," I said neutrally. "Get my clothes. I want something that says we're together."
She rifled through my drawers, grabbing a pair of board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
"Any sunnies?"
I brought out my aviators with flair.
"Perfect," she said, enthusiasm in her voice.
She dug through her bag for sunglasses and posed us in front of the wardrobe mirror. My appreciation was obvious. She must have enjoyed my admiration because she lingered on the mirror with her hand on my shoulder, nails digging in lightly.
"So, I saw you in the Bridge and recognized who you were. I wanted to prove something to myself, and here we are."
She glanced downwards. "I hope you don't think I tricked you. Not how your ex would treat you."
I laughed softly. "You're a crafty lady, Miss Hind, but we're even on the whole truth thing."
"Are you still going to ask me out again?"
"Yes, multiple times."
Her face lit up with a radiant smile. "I like the sound of that."
As I left my room, I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror. She held the sunglasses up. "You think we'd make a good couple?"
I nodded. "You bet."
We stepped out, and Klara's face drained of colour. "Who is she?"
I unlocked the car without a word. "None of your business."
Klara jumped towards Nikki, fists flying. "You hit me!"
Nikki stood her ground, appearing totally unflustered. "Yes. And if I have to, I'll do it again."
Klara took a step back, rubbing her jaw. "I can't believe you punched me."
"Leave now," Nikki commanded coldly.
And with that, we got in the car, hearing Klara shout in frustration as I started the engine. She scrambled to her feet, muttering something I couldn't understand, as we drove away.
I glanced at Nikki. "Are we good?"
"We're better than good!" She exclaimed and tightened her grip on my hand.
In front of No.7 Norfolk Lane, I stopped the car by the curb and turned off the engine.
"Why are we here?" Nikki inquired.
"Come on," I replied, unfastening my seatbelt and opening the door.
A few minutes later, we were standing on the pavement, hand in hand, staring up at the large, old building.
Nikki gave me a sideways glance. "So, you're going to tell me this is yours, aren't you? Your smile's about to split your face."
"Yep! This is my fixer upper. Do you want to see the inside?"
"You're fucking bonkers. Any more surprises?"
I hesitated for a moment, but I knew the truth had been clear since yesterday.
"I think … I think I might … love you."
Her mouth curved into a smile of joy and satisfaction.
"I knew right away on Tuesday. Let me tell you something too. When I saw you, I knew then."
"Wow, you did, huh?"
My smile began to hurt my cheeks. Seeing the same expression on her face made it feel like the most perfect moment.
She pulled me close. "This house seems like it was built for a family. Do you want to make babies, Reb?"
"Here?"
Nikki burst into laughter and then cupped my growing erection in her hand. "Go on, then. Dare you!"
"Inside!"
We rushed towards the doorway, and I fumbled for my keys while Nikki groped my backside. The lock was old and complicated and not made any easier with her tongue invading my ear. As I struggled, she whispered filthy obscenities to me, and my cock threatened to burst from my shorts. If I didn't get through this damn door in two seconds, I would have her against it regardless of any onlookers.
Thankfully, the universe felt sorry for me, and the door eventually opened. We tumbled into the hall where Nikki broke off kissing me just long enough to gape at the room. My, what a mess! The plaster was peeling off the ceiling, and the paint was peeling off the walls. Yet, the space was double height, and a wide wooden staircase wound up the left side to reach a galleried landing on the right. The whole was illuminated by a lantern in the ceiling where the sunlight tried to force its way through the grime. Underneath a significant amount of debris was a classic black and white tiled floor in a diamond pattern.
"Oh, my God, Michael! This is incredible!"
I grinned at her. The house didn't hold a candle to the beauty standing beside me in yesterday's clothes, her eyes sparkling, her hand on her mouth, and her curls swaying around her face.
"This was the make-or-break point between me and Klara. My parents had a six-figure life insurance policy, and she couldn't fathom why I wanted to spend it on this. She kept trying to change my mind, but I had fallen in love with it as soon as I saw it. I could envision myself and ... my wife raising a family here."
She let out a little yelp and threw herself at me. I buried my face in her hair and inhaled large gulps of her. Then, her hand started moving towards my groin, and together, we passionately kissed, our tongues dueling as we panted. I pushed her shirt off her shoulders, causing it to slide among the clutter.
She wrapped a leg around me and pushed us even closer together. I could feel her mound rubbing against the base of my cock while her hand explored the inside of my shorts, fiercely gripping me.
We separated briefly for her to rest her forehead against mine, her eyelids fluttering with desire.
"Fuck me, Michael, fuck me!"
I dropped to my knees and nearly yanked her skirt and underwear down in one swift movement. Then, I buried my face in her sex, tasting and kissing the wet flesh. She placed a foot on my shoulder and spread her legs as wide as possible while using both hands to push my face into her pussy. Her juices flowed freely into my mouth, and I couldn't get enough of the tangy taste, diving my tongue inside her to search for more. I nibbled her clit and then sucked it between my lips to flick it with my tongue. She screamed and froze, her thighs trembling as she experienced her orgasm.
I somehow managed to lose my shorts and underwear while standing up, and my erection gently pressed against her stomach. Her hand guided it towards her entrance, and I slid into her smooth passage with no resistance whatsoever. I rested my hands on her hips upright, while hers reached up to my shoulders. She looked at me with a slight grin on her lips, admiringly.
"When imagining how someone would propose to me, I'd usually picture them on one knee, presenting a ring for approval. It certainly didn't involve having sex in a derelict building."
"Don't be unkind about our house. She didn't mean it," I yelled at the hallway.
"Our house?" she exclaimed. "It's going to require some effort..."
"Quite a lot of work," I added.
"A lot of work!" she laughed, and then placed her finger on my lips. "You were having sex with me, Reb." Her internal muscles squeezed me, causing me to shudder.
"Oh, right..."
I gradually withdrew, then rammed back into her. She gasped, her grey eyes wide and her mouth open. Then she took my head and brought it to hers, kissing me deeply while her fingers explored my mouth. As our kiss deepened, her hand rubbed her clit and her vagina tightened around me. My hips thrashed as I climaxed inside her.
We leaned against each other, and I noticed she was crying. I held her close and stroked her shoulders until the hiccups stopped.
"It hasn't even been a week," she said softly.
"Really?" I responded gently. "It feels like you've been a part of my life forever."
Tears started again, and she wept openly, hugging me in the empty grand hall.
***
Sunday
"And these bunch of dropped-out chumps are my friends," I said as I waved my hand towards the ones sitting around the table at the Alex.
Andy stood up and extended his hand towards me. "You must be Nikki."
She cast a sideways glance, and Andy started laughing. "He didn't tell me anything else about you."
He shifted his view to her left hand that hung by her side. A ray of sunlight reflected off the diamond, dazing him. He rushed across the table, wrapping he arms around me in a gigantic bear hug. Pete and Phil stared at us, and I felt embarrassed. They too stood up and joined Andy in giving me crushing hugs. I believe I might have shed a few tears when they let go.
Nikki wrapped her arm around my waist and leaned in, whispering, "You have good friends."
Read also:
- Yes, Darling
- Recruitment Specialist Chapter 9
- Madam Inanna's Life in FLR Continues: Part 2
- Day Two of The One-Way Voyage
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