Playing House

by Willsin Rowe

  In that moment it barely mattered he was drunk. His skin was on mine, and his words were everything to me. It was almost the reverse of when we met that first time. Alcohol plus breakup made all kinds of words pour from a person’s mouth. But it didn’t make those words true. And while my body was more than willing to wrap itself around his little finger—or any other part of his anatomy—there was no way my heart would survive another trampling. Especially from a man I’d come to rely on, and crush on, like no other.

  Mark reached up and batted at my hair as if he were a cat. His smile had changed from sexy to goofy, but it did nothing to make him less attractive. In fact, the honest desire in his eyes sent thick pulses of heat through my entire body. After the number of times I’d fantasized about having him on his knees before me, or me before him, this should have been a dream come true. I’d spent weeks telling myself there was nothing going on between us, no looks, no sparks, definitely no flames. And clearly, as much as I’d wanted it to be a universal truth, it turned out it was only because he had a girlfriend. Of sorts.

  My rules about getting involved with a housemate were clear and strong and so, so sensible. Unless there was some kind of future to it, you ended up burning yourself a big fat hole in whatever relationship you already had. But having Mark here, his mouth only millimeters from my skin, his eyes begging me to kiss him, was burning a big fat hole through my resolve.

  Before I could weaken completely, I shook my head and stepped back from him, letting his head wobble without the support of my thigh. I still held his hand and dragged at him with all the strength I could muster. At least, all I could muster without giving him a flash of bare pussy.

  “Come on, you friggin’ lummox! Get to your feet. I need to get back to bed.”

  “Ooh...” He had a stupid sing-song tone to his voice that made me think of that idiot Patrick and his schoolboy snigger, sending a cold shiver through my body. If anything, that was the perfect antidote to the toxic lust which had been filling my head and betraying me.

  At that moment, Mark’s eyes met mine again, and suddenly cleared up, like he’d felt the change run through me. His face went pale and he released my hand immediately as he clambered to his feet.

  “Holy hell. I–I don’t know what… um. I lost my head there. I’m s–so sorry I woke you up.” Even his speech had cleared up, become less slurred and sleepy. “I broke up with Gabs and I’ve been… well, people usually say it’s drowning your sorrows. To me, though, it felt like a celebration.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.” He looked sad but not devastated.

  “Are you okay, Mark?”

  His warm brown eyes skipped around my face, and I felt myself flushing slightly at the close scrutiny. “I will be. Let’s face it, that was never gonna last. I’m just kicking myself for staying with her for months when I…”

  “When you what?”

  He ruffled his own hair as he sighed. “I was ready for so much more. It’s stupid, I know. But I was just coasting along with Gabs. And it seemed so easy at first. It was like fast food. Like… like fast food that delivered itself. But it was damn hard work as well. How the hell did that happen?” He looked into a nothingness only he could see and shook his head. “I thought it was perfect. Thousands of men would have cut off their arm to be with Gabs.”

  I couldn’t help myself. He looked so confused, and a little forlorn, and I couldn’t help myself. I just rested my hand on his upper arm. Letting him know he wasn’t alone.

  He turned to me with a completely kissable frown on his face. “I feel like an absolute prick. A selfish, arrogant bastard.”

  “Why on Earth would you feel that?”

  “Because… because I had a beautiful woman who was always, y’know… ready to go.”

  “I don’t need to hear about that.”

  “And I came to hate the sound of her voice. And the sight of her. And all the things she wanted to do.”

  “It happens. My ex obviously felt that way about me.”

  Mark surprised me by spinning around and spearing his fingers into my hair. I had no idea where he was going with it all, and without any real thought I pressed my palms to his chest. Maybe for protection. Maybe just to cop a feel.

  “There has never been a bigger idiot on the face of the Earth than the man who let you go, Luce. Except maybe me. The man who’s wanted you since he first met you and done nothing about it.” He pressed me back against the wall and leaned forward until his forehead thumped against the hard surface. “Why is everything so damn complicated when it comes to women?”

  His voice boomed in my ear and it sent thunderous pulses straight down to my clit. “Hey, it’s not our fault.”

  “Never said it was.”

  The temptation to put my arms around him was almost too strong to bear. I had to bite my lip to distract myself. “If it was easy, where would the fun be?”

  He straightened up and stepped back. “That’s true.” He placed his palm over the top of my hand, the heat of his body radiating through into my skin. “All those games you girls play. And you’re the worst. In a really fun way.” Gently, he peeled my hand from his chest and planted a tiny kiss in my palm. “And really, that’s the biggest problem I had with Gabrielle.”

  My throat had dried up the instant his lips came into contact with my skin. “Wh–what’s that?”

  His lips smiled, but there was a resigned sadness in his eyes. “She wasn’t you.”

  I felt a weakness inside me that was borne of strength. To think I had the power to attract a man as beautiful as Mark was certainly a trip. But apart from him suddenly being single, nothing had changed. We were still housemates. We had to see each other every day. If we did this—this thing that we both clearly wanted so badly to do—what would it mean for every other part of our relationship?

  “Mark, I’m flattered, I really am. But I’m not sure we should do this.”

  He slid his other hand around the back of my neck and drew me forward. “Do you always have to be sure?”

  “Yes, Mark. I do.”

  His mouth was so close to mine that I could feel his breath inside me. I wanted to pull back. My brain screamed at my arms to shove him away, turn and flee, lock my door, lay out traps. But my stupid, stupid heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t move.

  Mark’s lips skipped across mine as if searching for a place to land. As if he was giving me one last chance to come to my senses. To be certain. I pressed my hands to his waist and rested them there, the trim hardness of his abs so warm through his shirt. My only reason for touching him had been to push him away, somehow escape the beauty of his embrace. With every passing second, that kept failing to happen, and my mind just got more and more confused. He, at least, was drunk. What was my excuse? A wonderful, special cocktail of loneliness and lust, I’m sure.

  His heat washed over me and in that instant I wanted nothing more than to plaster myself to him, to take him to my bed, or let him take me to his. To let him work out his pain and confusion against the willing softness of my body. In that moment, and for as long as it took, we’d both be in heaven.

  But it was what came after that meant it was simply out of the question. He was the best housemate I’d ever had, even including Toni. He was getting damn close to being my best friend, too. And friends didn’t grind their bits together. That was kind of an automatic rule.

  As he pressed his lips to mine, this time with far more intent, I turned my head and stepped away from him. “Mark, no. We can’t do this.”

  “I reckon we can. And what’s more, we should.”

  “No, Mark. You’ve just broken up with Gabrielle.”

  His body deflated. “You’re right, Luce, I know. This is stupid. I just feel so empty.” He must have caught the dubious expression on my face. “Not because I broke up with her. But because when it comes down to it, you’re t
he reason I left her.”

  “I never asked—”

  He cut me off immediately by holding his hands up in surrender. “No, no, I know that. It was my choice, and my doing. You’ve just… you’ve blown my tiny mind away. I’d let myself think women like you were a myth. You’re so smart and funny, and you value the same things I do. Not to mention you’re so damn sexy.”

  “Gabrielle is a model!”

  “Yeah, she is. She’s beautiful. But you know what? Who cares? Nothing she has could compare with you. Not in my mind, at least.”

  The scared little animal inside me suddenly lashed out, and I pushed him away so hard he hit the other wall. “Don’t fuck with my head, Mark!”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Anything more he wanted to say was lost in the slamming of my door. The thought of getting my emotions under control at that moment was ludicrous. I couldn’t even tell if I was more fearful or angry, but they were both in the mix.

  Catching my breath. I leaned back against the door and closed my eyes. My anger, I knew, came from disappointment as much as anything. My fear was more about the immediate future.

  Mark had seemed somehow different from all the other guys. More caring, more genuine. Now to find out he was exactly the same—that he’d tell such obvious lies just to get some easy sex—was a horrible feeling.

  The door grew warm against my back as I waited for Mark to move away. I was surprised when the first sound I heard was him flopping into his bed. Even under the influence of alcohol and testosterone, he still moved like mist.

  I followed that lead, tip-toeing to my own bed as if the sound of my feet would bring him crashing through the wall and scooping me into his arms.

  A half hour passed and sleep remained elusive, so I clambered out of bed, pulled on a pair of black yoga pants and a lemon tank top, and crept out to the living room. The only thing even remotely worth watching on TV was an old black and white movie. If that didn’t send me to sleep, then nothing would. The sofa was comfy enough, and the emotional turmoil of the evening worked its magic, too. Within a few minutes my eyelids grew heavy.

  The next thing I knew it was morning. The sun was far too bright, even behind the curtains, which told me I’d slept later than usual. The bustle of activity in the kitchen brought me fully awake, but it was the delicious smell of bacon cooking which punched its way into my nostrils and forced out a long, hungry groan from my belly and my throat at the same time.

  Mark leaned around the doorway to the kitchen. “Ah, you’re awake, Luce?”

  “Mmph.”

  He disappeared again, only to clatter about, sounding like an enormous scorpion in an amplified wok. “You hungry?”

  “Absolutely famished. Are–are you making me breakfast?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Boy. You really don’t get hangovers, do you?”

  He popped his gorgeous face back around the doorframe. “Just wanted to say thank you.”

  “Uh, f–for what?”

  The long-awaited return of his cheeky-boy smile almost turned my self-control into melted butter. “For being there for me last night. And for not… uh, being there. If you know what I mean.”

  “Gee, whiz, I think I could take a stab.”

  “Well, it means the world to me that you listened, and you put up with my behavior. And also that you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

  The thought had never actually entered my mind. Sure, I’d wondered what would happen if I’d slept with him. And about the consequences of resisting. But just because I couldn’t let myself sleep with him didn’t mean he couldn’t live here. In fact, the very idea of waking up one morning in a house without him tightened me up all over. “It’s fine, Mark.”

  He kept his back to me as he cracked an egg with one hand and dropped it into the frypan. Even cooking looked like some intricate form of dance when Mark did it. “No, it’s really not fine. It’s unacceptable behavior on my part, and I hate that I might’ve muddied the water here.” When he turned to face me there was a little color in his cheeks, and he seemed to have trouble meeting my eye. “But thank you for pretending. I was pretty messed up when I got in. You, thankfully, were an adult about it. And you helped me get off the floor. Figuratively as well as literally.”

  I felt the blush spreading across my face and down my neck. “It was nothing.”

  “It was way more than nothing. And I’m really sorry I overstepped the mark.”

  I waved it away. At least he seemed as keen as I did to put it behind us. “Well, we both… I mean, I almost…”

  He looked to have reddened a little in the face as well. “That’s such a relief. Brekkie’s nearly done.”

  “We all screw up once in a while. I knew it was the alcohol talking.”

  Mark froze for a moment, then turned back to his cooking. “Is that what you think?”

  “Isn’t that what it was?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment, just shoved something metal at the contents of the pan. “Sure. That’s what it was.” He filled a plate with the food of the gods and shot me in the heart with that smile of his. “Thanks for being so cool, Luce.”

  There was simply no way I could concentrate on breakfast now. Okay, so I was still organized and grounded… but now I was cool, as well.

  12

  For the rest of that day, I worried over how the dynamic in my house could have changed beyond repair. My natural instinct was to pick at every thread of possibility, analyze every word and action that passed between us in the heat of that moment. But it was the thought I might actually drive Mark away that kept me grounded.

  For his part, he kept his distance without pulling away emotionally, and that was exactly the kind of move I needed from him. By the end of the day it felt as if nothing weird had gone on at all.

  Monday morning was a rare delight. Mark’s roster meant he worked some weekends, and as a consequence, he was occasionally given week days in lieu. This particular day was one of those, which meant I was the first to rise. Unlike him, I was able to rise, shower and get ready without bouncing off every hard surface like a damn pinball, so he was still in bed by the time I left.

  Driving to my precious store had become a kind of meditation. I could get around the traffic without any hassle, and still dwell on any of the hundred cute things Mark did every day. Just picture it, catalog it and push it into the memory banks. By the time I arrived, I was usually completely ready to open up and twiddle my thumbs all day.

  Of course, that often depended on Patrick and whatever mood he was in. Damn, it was almost like having Cameron back, at his worst, only without any of the fringe benefits that came with it. I at least used to get passable sex from him. And now I’d had the chance to put all the pieces together, I realized I got better-than-passable whenever he’d been feeling guilty about running around behind my back. I neither got, nor wanted, any of that from my creepy mailman. All I wanted was my mail and to be left alone.

  After the tense scene with Patrick the other day I’d been making sure to open my shop on time—or early—every day. I still couldn’t convince him to slip the mail through the slot in the door instead of handing it to me, but if I was on time he couldn’t get pissed at me for delaying the rest of his route. Toni had urged me to call his superiors and make a complaint, but if I tried that and it did nothing, who knew how the man would take it? At least the damage control I’d been doing had made him back off a little.

  How lame was my life that a good morning could be defined by opening my store before a sweaty creeper could get in my face? Still, by that definition, this had been a good morning. Sitting at my desk with not a whole lot to do, I reached into my handbag to get out my phone. Which wasn’t there. Dammit, ever since Mark had moved in I’d been forgetting even the most basic things. It was as if my brain had relinquished its dogmatic hold on order, which was an even more f
rightening thought than dying a spinster. I blamed my mutinous body, and the ocean of pesky hormones ebbing and flowing through it.

  Being without my phone shouldn’t have felt so strange. I spent hours without it every day, but that was always with the knowledge it was a few feet away, ready to spring to life when I picked it up. Knowing it was all the way back at home gnawed at my mind like a fork in the spoon tray. In desperation I picked up my landline phone and dialed my cell. There was always the chance I’d left it here, or it was hiding in my handbag. Given how dazed and confused I’d been in the past weeks, anything seemed possible. Unfortunately, I was not that lucky. I’d have to live for the day without it.

  As if that wasn’t enough to throw me off kilter, Patrick arrived with my mail a little later than usual, at nine-twenty. I could have taken my time, rather than feeling rushed. More than anything, though, when he pushed through my door I longed for my cell phone. Just so I could have it under my desk and dial for help if needed. Though he’d never actually threatened me, I simply found his presence threatening.

  “Good morning, Lucy. You look radiant today.”

  “Thank you, Patrick.” I had never once returned his compliments, and he never once seemed to notice.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, Patrick, not really. Well, I forgot my phone this morning, and I feel almost naked without it. That’s all.” I could have kicked myself for using that particular phrase, but to my surprise he let it slide past.

  “You should try ringing it, ’cause then it’ll make a noise. You’ll be able to hear it if it’s here somewhere.”

  I managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes. If he ever quit the postal service he could have a brilliant career in mansplaining. On the other hand, it seemed he meant well—for the most part—and of course he had no way to know I’d already done exactly that.

  “Here, I’ll take care of it.” Patrick pulled out his own cell phone and scrolled for a moment before pushing the dial button. “It’s ringing.”