ROCK SOLID TENANT_SINGLE DAD ROMANCE

  ROCK SOLID TENANT

  Chapter 1

  Taylor leaned in, flicked my eyelash and watched the flakes from the eyeliner drop onto my creamy yellow bathroom sink. “There you go, an example of your flaky love life.”

  I supremely exclaimed at her, “Hey!” And shoved her gently on the shoulder for being so unreasonable with her subjective bullying. “Carl was an arse-hole. He would tell me how nice my breast was whilst looking at my breasts.” She tried to flick me again, but I shoved her playfully from the cabinet mirror to comb through my hair.

  Taylor laughed, “Well, at least he wasn’t looking into your eyes and saying that he loved you.”

  “He did do that when I asked him how high can his eyes reach?”

  “What was his response?”

  “He said to the mountains, which is where those basil green eyes of mine have caused him to fall in love.”

  “Maybe he was right?” Taylor was taking over the mirror again. The cheek, as her own mirror is bigger and more adequate for all the space she needs.

  “I only just met him at the time!” Is she mad!? “I hadn’t even gotten his name yet.”

  “Oh, whatever!” Taylor leaves the bathroom in a strop.

  I call after her, “I have some cookie dough ice cream in the fridge. Real free to add some calories.”

  A few seconds from the bedroom, Taylor comes out with; “Shut up, Megan. It’s expired.”

  “You blame me for everything!”

  Taylor was being a bitch again due to the fact that she got dumped by her one-night stand as she applied a red devil-hot lipstick to her mouth and popped her lips like a skipjack tuna fish. “If only I went down your route, Megan. Talk first, sleep with them later. You get everything!”

  Taylor was heading down the stairs. I bet to get the same ice cream that’s expired. I crept out of the bathroom and tip-toed all the way to the top of the starting stair newel to listen for that opening freezer. I heard it open and sniggered to myself. The ice cream was her guilty pleasure and she knew it. But her situation wasn’t a funny one. And Carl, well, he wasn’t just a one-night stand.

  “There are more important things then your love life right now. For instance,” I’m screaming from the top stair with my foggy lungs. I’d just recovered from a cold and a night out the day before. “We need to bring in some extra income here. The gas and electric bills are leaving us with problems since Carl moved out.” Yep. Carl used to live here. That’s another story. “Any solutions my lovely friend?”

  “Sell your body!”

  “I would, but I haven’t been to the gym.” I wouldn’t let her get one over on me. I head back to my room to finish getting ready for my booty call. I was kidding, but I was going to get laid.”

  Taylor’s second resolution as she came up the stairs with a spoon in her mouth, and with the open cookie dough tub was, “come off the pill.”

  “I’m not going down your route.”

  Taylor in her depletion, licks the spoon, “We can go down the boring route and place an ad on one of those websites?

  “See.” I give her a handclap for her most sane answer. “That’s more my cup of tea to our roommate programme in this three-bedroom house.”

  “I’ll do it at work.” Doom and gloom. Taylor scoops up a large piece of ice cream and stuffs it into her gob then walks out mumbling. “Shtell Markuth high for moi.”

  “Don’t spit ice cream all over the carpet. We just got that cleaned.”

  “Shuth up moaner!”

  …

  Marcus was stroking the outline of my spine; kissing the back of my neck and cupping both my breasts as he pummelled me from behind like he was a choo-in- train: chugging and jolting into my hole and whispering, “you like that, huh?”

  I liked his backdoor style because it wasn’t just full guns ablaze with no drama, he had a technique which involved gripping my waist and pulling me back to balance on his thighs whilst he power-dived into me! Like he was doing now. And I would throw back my hair like a commercial to sell the buying customer that hair dye along with my arms for him to clasp.

  I just bounced on his knee, literally, and he forces me to close my eyes and take the 70-miles-per-hour- heart-rate that he has us both reaching. I’m trying to be quiet. Don’t want to wake the next-door neighbors. Thin walls they say. Thin walls. We hear you and your girlfriend all the time. That’s what they tell Marcus.

  The bed started to creak as it shook beneath us. It wasn’t very stable. I was no longer able to keep quiet as an eruption plethora flushed my face red and I was experiencing that moment where my body was telling me to make some noise so that you can get your oxygen tanks back on the market. I did. Marcus felt chuffed. And then his palm came down upon my back and pushed me to lie down flat … I spread my legs and he adjusted himself so that he could lay on top of me and apply the stroke-stroke-stroke-stroke – oh god, there was no breaks this time. No breaks.

  The wall goes off; bang-bang-bang-bang, “Can you keep it down!”

  They interfere with the none-insulated walls as we hear their moans of stop it. Stop it. So clearly. Marcus was gripping my neck and holding my chin up, the wall they were banging were before us, and Marcus found it a turn-on to make plenty of noise so that they could remember that young couples do like to get frisky now and again. They were married and in their 30’s.

  Marcus thrusts deeply and held my neck up. He kept going and stopping. Stopping, kissing the side of my cheek, and then rowing my boat again. They banged. I started to fake moan without laughing. Marcus found it hilarious, then balanced himself upright like he was doing press-ups and let his rod poke the firehouse again and again with me burying one side of my face into the mattress and waiting for that groan of his to signal that he was coming home.

  Marcus used my back as a weight to go as deep and as slowly as he could. My crotch area was digging into the sheets and he was almost gyrating on top of me like a wiggly worm. Then he got back on top: push-down-push-down-push-down-push-down was what it felt … my o was reaching a higher level and his groan was more intense and tiring. But we didn’t get to finish: he came without even him knowing it.

  So random. Even he was taken by shock when he pulled out and fell back onto the pillow. I was confused. But then I shouldn’t be. I flipped over; crawled to lie next to him but pushed his hand away when he tried to rub my lady gardens. “You should get that checked? You’ve been tested right?”

  “You know I have. A premature mess can happen.”

  “But with you, it’s all the time.” I pat his torso. “All that gym and yet you’re erectile dysfunctional.”

  “Thanks for the boost in confidence.”

  “Marcus, you’re a personal trainer. What more confidence do you need?”

  “Telling me from time to time that you enjoyed it would be nice.”

  “I’m always honest with you.” –

  “No, you’re not.”

  The bouncing ball in me springs up, “Don’t start on me. Taylor’s had a go as well.” I’m getting out of this bed. They both just don’t quit about that. “It was a mistake.”

  He pats around the bed to find his black vest. I hand it to him and save him the trouble. “I never know where I stand with you. Isn’t it normal for that to be what the woman says?”

  “I don’t roleplay those lame games that everybody expects. If you want that, get one of those girls at the gym who’ll be more than happy to play.”

  “Megan, it’s been a couple of months.”

  “So, what?”

  “Isn’t it about time if you tell me what your feelings are for me?”

  I was already in his bathroom; putting on the hot
and cold water to wash my face and in-between my legs. It was a habit that I always did when sleeping with Marcus. I never felt bad for it. I closed the door because he was getting up to join me. “urgh.” I washed my face again and he knocked. “Can I have some privacy?”

  “It’s my room. I pay monthly for it.”

  “Use the one downstairs, I got a runny tummy.” I let him hear me open up the toilet and sat upon it. “I’m about to sit down … I hear him scrambling for the rest of his clothes and putting them on. Then the room goes quiet, and I know that he’s gone downstairs.

  I’d left by the time Marcus had come out. He rings my phone. I don’t answer as I get into my car: Nissan Pixo, baby blue and hand washed by some friendly Romanians a week ago who gave me a discount because they liked my legs and sparkling personality. I wouldn’t say I was running from him per-say, but I had my reasons for thinking long-term and being safe.

  I never liked playing it safe. But after the incident with Carl … I had forgiven myself for dropping my guard and believing that I didn’t need to find some stability in my life. Which wouldn’t make sense to somebody like Taylor who thinks I’m kidding myself and should let my inner stripper find it’s pole line and shake some tailfeather. Speaking of tailfeather, I’m flicking through the radio and see what music has to offer: rock, heart music, classic, more classic, free radio. I tune it some more and hear some rnb and gospel, but I’m not feeling any of that.

  My phone rings. It’s Taylor, so, I put it on the loudspeaker as it isn’t safe to drive and talk. “Hello, Taylor.”

  “Did you dump him yet?”

  “That wasn’t the conversation we had Taylor.”

  “It was. Think back to that night.”

  Taylor forces me to think back to that night. And I really don’t want to.

  “Dump him.”

  “Taylor, how many drinks have we had?”

  “This is your 3rd Sherry.”

  “The glass is huge!” It’s like the bottom of a toffee apple and could quench the thirst of 3-people-in-1. “Marcus is a nith guy.” I’m slurring my words. And this bar is not the same one that we came from before. What bar is this?”

  “Hermey’s.”

  “When did we … when did we …?” I was sure that I lost a heel. Or my purse. Then Taylor whips it onto the counter and calls the bar girl over who tells me I’ve had enough. Never in my life has that been said to me. I didn’t even ask her for a drink.

  “We got here after your 5th Sherry.” I knew Taylor was lying when my footing was pointing north-east, but I wanted to go straight. I was wearing a lace dress with a spider web design with some of my neck bare. My shoulders were naked, and I had on silk tights and brown cow skin leather boots. My hair was in a bun, and my olive brown skin tone didn’t feel dry. Normally I’d feel a mess when tipsy struck the right chord.

  I tried to walk to the female toilets, but my legs just kept circling and rotating around the platform. I kept bumping into couples, and then singles, and then the kind of gentleman who pulls out their debit card and would say, “can I buy you a drink?” Taylor came over and grabbed me back to the bar. “Dump him.”

  “I’m intoxicated.”

  “But you always tell the truth when you are.”

  “I feel so bad.” I hoped I wouldn’t cry. I can sometimes be an emotional tipsy-turvey. “I don’t even like him or find him that attractive.” I almost hiccup but cover my mouth. “But I’m teething like a toddler and need a distraction. He was there and available.”

  “You’re making up excuses. Marcus is a good-looking guy. What’s the real issue with you?”

  “Is this why you asked me to come out tonight? To find out my inner secrets.” I belch, and a few people watch me like that’s disgusting. But it’s normal. It can accidentally happen.

  “You find it hard to be loved. That’s your problem, Megan.”

  “Get me something stronger than boring ol Sherry. I want a few shots. A new life. Maybe a trip to the Bahamas or South Africa.”

  The bar lady pops up again, “you’ve had enough.”

  “I only implied that I wanted a few shots. A new life. And some sherry.”

  “Yeah, but you're implying it half way down to the floor. You do know that you’re on the floor?”

  I actually didn’t. Until the security guard helped me back up to my feet and then asked me if I was ok to stand on my own? I wasn’t. I fell right back down and stayed there because I felt mortified about wanting to dump Marcus. I didn’t have the guts to come face-to-face with that as a dispute. And the worse of it was he was so into me. Like, so, so, so, so into me. Each so goes up a notch! Why did Taylor have to remind me?

  “I can’t do it. Do it for me?”

  “Megan, I’m not dumping your boyfriend for you.”

  “Technically, we only sleep with each other. But he wants to move it to the next stage. Or he hasn’t asked, but I feel it’s coming.”

  “Talk to him. Be honest.”

  “You’re right. But can we please speak on this roommate situation?”

  “Yes.” Taylor sounded fed up. “I’ve placed the ad.”

  “What sort of preferences did you put down?”

  “Male or Female. 25-years and older. Is ok to share with vegetarians. Pets allowed. Can smoke. Parking is available. Tenner goes into the tin each week for kitchen supplies like toilet roll, bin liners, cleaning stuff. Blah-blah-blah. All that.”

  “What about professional or student?”

  “I said working professional only.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  I knew there had to be one inaccuracy. “You put males, only, didn’t you?”

  “What do you take me for?”

  “Army professionals?”

  “Megan …”

  “Tell me I’m wrong?”

  Taylor’s common line, “What do you take me for?” And then the confession, “ok. I sort of did put males only and army cadet or whatever. It makes story time that much better.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it being a woman. We only seem to share with males.”

  “Well, it’s set in stone.” –

  “Great.”

  Taylor mimics me, “Great. Don’t be so sour. We don’t need another red letter.”]

  “And I don’t need to be dealing with another army cadet.”

  Chapter 2

  I took the day off to help decorate the basement as the screening would be starting this week. I usually would hire a cleaner, but today, I wanted to clear every last crumb that Carl had left behind. The army boy himself had the poorest diet I knew with empty pot noodles, crisps half eaten, chocolates melted, and hard, processed pizza boxes stacked like cards: I counted 10.

  Cans of coke, pepsi, sprite, fanta, were squished and chucked into a white plastic bag where he placed all his rubbish. He had left in a hurry because I didn’t want him here anymore. Me and Taylor … our friendship was too strong to … I throw some of his tops into a bag, undies, a smelly sweater, and broken dog tags. He forgot his hard-toe shoes too. He’ll be back. And I won’t be here.

  I plugged in my pink Henry-hoover and made it snappy. No traces would be left. He had coins all over the place and I made up almost one pound and a couple of pence. The room became more bearable. His presence was leaving. He read, but car magazines and newspaper betting clips on the horses.

  I changed the sheets, and that’s when a photo fell as I shook it to fold and put in the wash. I bent down to pick it up: the photograph was of me. “That’s where it went to?” It was a photo taken when I had visited Kansas for a month. I took it just as I landed. I’d never been so happy, and it was one of my favorites. It had gone missing, and I suspected it was Carl but never confronted him about it.

  I placed it down to take letter on-top of Henry; switched it off because it was too noisy. And then instantly heard the door knock. I ran up the stairs to see who it was. I was pretty sure that screening didn’t start today. The room was
n’t ready yet. I opened it … “Uh.” Then closed it. Then opened it again and nearly lost my breathe at what I saw standing before me.

  He must’ve been at least 5’9 with a black tank and a string Adidas bag slung over his right shoulder. I could tell he was well built: solid and sturdy on his feet. His brows had that arch that made him look pissed off, but it suited his demeanor with his pinched in cheekbones and triangular cheeks. I would go as far to call him model looking, but that would be too much on that ego that he already had by the looks of him.

  I was intrigued more than eager to let him in. Too much like Carl. To similar. No. No. No. I can’t. He must be here for the room. Why else? “Can I help?”