Dirty Seduction

I didn’t feel the need to hide the teabags from her this time. She would already be well aware of how budgeted they were. I dumped in an unhealthy amount of sugar and a splash of milk and handed her cup over.

“You are being spoiled this morning, Rosie.”

“Joke all you want,” she said as I buttered a fresh slice of toast. “But this is being spoiled for me. I could count the times I’ve had breakfast made for me on one hand.”

“Even when you were a child? Surely you were graced with morning toast back then?”

She dropped her eyes. “Mum worked late shifts. She was usually in bed. I made cereals mostly. So many times I ended up sweeping them up with a dustpan! I was so clumsy I’d drop the box all over the floor.”

“Tiny hands couldn’t handle it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Luckily they got bigger, and my accidents got smaller. I used to have to stand on a chair to reach the box from the cupboard when I was in primary school, but I got taller. Eventually.”

On seeing the sweet, genuine look on her face, I was assaulted by another weird flicker. The need to provide. I wished I had an orange juice to offer as she finished up her tea, which seemed to be a strange thought to have, but there you go.

“I should get ready,” she said, and I checked the time on the oven clock.

“Yes, you should.”Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

She brushed off her crumbs in the kitchen bin and turned on the tap to wash up her plate, but I took it from her.

“No, no,” I said. “I’ll clear up. You get dressed.”

No arms folded across her chest this time. I couldn’t help but see the points of her nipples.

She stood there forever before giving me another thank you.

I turned away, glad that I’d done so first, cursing my swelling dick. And I didn’t know quite how to react when she reappeared ready to leave for work a few minutes later, with her cap on her head and her tattered pink bag on her shoulder. Neither did she, it seemed. We both stood, staring, neither of us quite sure what to say.

The deviant part of me still wanted to tear her clothes off. The protective part of me wanted to drive her down to work like a parent dropping their child off at school.

“I’d better go,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe I’ll drop in that pizza sometime.”

I laughed an empty laugh. “Yes. Stuffed crust please.”

She’d reached the front door when I called her back.

“Rosie, wait.”

She did wait. Eagerly.

I stepped up close and put my hand on the door above her head to convey my seriousness. She was like a little fairy as I looked down at her.

“If that violent prick causes you any more problems, please make sure you call the police, regardless of what your mother tells you. She’s in too deep to see straight, but you aren’t.”

She nodded, looking weirdly disappointed.

“Yeah, I will do. Thanks.”

I didn’t move my hand away from the door.

“I mean it.” I paused, wishing I’d retreat and forget about it. “Please, keep me informed. You know where my door is.”

“Thanks,” she said again.

Shit, I shouldn’t be doing this. I pulled away. I let her go.

I hated how my heart thumped at the sound of her footsteps walking away along the empty corridor outside.

Fuck it.

I lit up another cigarette and watched her bob along the street on her way to work. She still had a spring in her step. I was still smoking as she turned the corner, and then I lit up another as I thought the evening through.

It had been close to disaster, almost more than I could bear.

Yet there was a tiny light at the end of a very dark tunnel because if Rosie was going to be visiting me again in moments of need, I’d have to make sure I was stocked up for it. She deserved that much, even if I didn’t.

I headed for my wardrobe, taken aback when I reached the bedroom door. The bedsheets were made immaculately. She’d folded down the corner like she had been in a five-star hotel. My shirt was hanging neatly on a hanger on the wardrobe door, and my flat pillows were laid even and smoothed out.

It was clear she’d most definitely been grateful. There was a folded-up note on the bedside table. The back of a corner shop receipt. Her handwriting was a pretty scrawl.

Thank you. I had nowhere to go. x

Neither did I, usually. I was normally in a self-contained pit, with barely any outside contact. I rarely spoke to my work colleagues unless we crossed paths by the photocopier.

Today I did have somewhere to go, though.

I picked a virtually identical suit as yesterday’s. Another pair of black trousers with another striped tie, and I did the unthinkable, even though it was teetering on the edge of unacceptable to my rational brain. I used the shirt Rosie had worn in bed last night, inhaling her sweet scent as I buttoned it up in the mirror. I made sure my tie was straight, and I made sure to give myself a fresh berating as I pocketed my wallet and set out for Worcester city center.

This shirt would be the closest I ever came to that girl. That’s what I told myself.

Maybe this time, for once in the past decade, I wouldn’t be lying.