Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Thank fuck I’d resisted the temptation.
I stripped off and got in the shower, realising all over again just what a piss poor existence I was inhabiting. It was nothing more than self-inflicted punishment, which would be very, very justified, if only there wasn’t a girl in the room next door relying on my goodwill.
My daughter, Grace, used to have at least ten different hair products cluttering up the bathroom cabinet at any one time. Everything from shampoos and conditioners to hair masks, to serums, to hell knows what else. We had a broader selection of teas and coffees in our kitchen than most local coffee houses, and always had a fresh bowl of fruit overflowing on the side. And as for the furniture, my wife had an incredibly high bar for quality. She wouldn’t so much as sully her ass by taking a seat on the chesterfield in my living room.
I only wished I had a small selection of the things here that I used to take for granted. For Rosie, not for me.
I was in the bathroom long enough to be optimistic that she’d be asleep when I got out of there. I wrapped myself in my bathrobe and was about to leave but good sense prevailed for once. Walking around in just a bathrobe in the presence of the angel of temptation would most certainly be a recipe for disaster. I pulled my boxers and suit pants back on, along with my shirt and left the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, patting myself on the back before I stepped out of there. I pressed my ear to the bedroom door and heard nothing, hoping she was managing to rest at least a little in this place. She’d need her strength for another long day on her feet tomorrow. I knew her schedule. I’d been trying to avoid it for long enough.
My own sleep was unlikely to bless me this evening, so I resorted to TV as I lay on the sofa, interspersed with cigarettes by the window. The washing machine was working its magic in the background, and I kept the sound down low on the TV. I must have managed to doze for a few hours when I opened my eyes to the hint of dawn. I lit my first cigarette of the day out of my window, and this time I made sure it was open to its fullest, leaning out as far as I could go. I didn’t want the smell tainting Rosie’s work clothes.
Her uniform was clean and folded for her on the arm of the sofa when she appeared in the living room at just gone eight. Her eyes opened wide at the sight. Her hair was wavy, ruffled, and her eyes were still sleepy as she found me there. I got another horrific pang of need. She appeared even more beautiful than usual. She was the personification of temptation itself. A goddess that could be soiled by lust.
“What time is your shift?” I asked her, and she folded her arms across her chest, shyly self-conscious in the cold light of day.
“I start at nine thirty to get the kitchens ready. I need to leave at nine.”
I pointed to her clothes. “All ready for you.”
Her smile was so grateful it took me aback.
“Yeah, I saw. Thank you. That’s amazing.”
I turned to the kitchen. “I only have toast for breakfast, I’m afraid. I haven’t been shopping yet.”
She caught me up as I reached the toaster, still smiling, still grateful, still in my shirt.
“Toast is awesome.”
I smirked as I got the bread ready. “Hardly comparable to your delicious pizza slices last night. I have a lot to make up for.”
“I’ll bring you more next time. You’ll have to give me your menu choices. AND I’ll do you a stuffed crust. How about that?”
Next time.
I didn’t respond.
The toaster popped up the crappy white toast and I slathered cheap spreadable butter on for her. You’d think I was a Michelin-starred chef by the way she gave an mmm as she tucked in. I scoffed at that.
“Steady on with the compliments. They aren’t at all warranted.”
“It’s great,” she said. “It’s always nice to be treated.”
“Even if it tastes like garbage?”
She laughed as I flicked the kettle on.
“It doesn’t!”
I laughed back. “If you really believe that that is good toast, then I’m going to have to re-educate you. Your bar is way too low.”
For a moment I felt a strange flicker of something I’d long since forgotten. Fun. The sparkle in her eyes was alive, and her giggle was addictive.
“Another slice?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
I didn’t feel the need to hide the teabags from her this time. She would already be well aware of how budget they were. I dumped in an unhealthy amount of sugar and a splash of milk and handed her cup over.