Nick

I only caught a glimpse of her. A flash of pink as she darted from the bathroom, her presence confirmed by the sound of Jane’s bedroom door closing across the landing. I don’t know how long she’d been watching, but the thought of her blue eyes staring at my nakedness through steamy glass makes my balls tingle all over again.

I remind myself that this is unacceptable. I also remind myself that this is also going to be short-lived. A dirty flash in a very dangerous pan, but one I’ll relive over and over in my fantasies when little Laine is long gone.

I rap at her door and give her a few seconds before turning the handle.

Her eyes are wide as I swing the door open and step inside, the bedcovers up to her chin, her pretty cheeks flushed pink. She looks guilty. Embarrassed. Gorgeous.

It suits her, and does nothing whatsoever to ease the temptation.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I say, as though I haven’t got any inkling she’s just watched me whack one off in the shower. I cross the room with her eyes following me all the way, and her eyelashes flutter as I pull the curtains wide. Bright morning sunlight falls perfectly on her blonde hair. She looks so innocent, a little angel in a little girl’s room. “I hope you slept well?”

She smiles a relieved smile, and she’s so beautiful here, in this room. Her presence brings the place to life again.

She nods her pretty head. “I did. I slept really well. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“Your clothes will be dry,” I tell her, wishing I didn’t have to. “Let’s go down, get some breakfast. Are you hungry? You must be hungry, Laine.”

She nods again, then throws back the covers, swinging her tiny feet out onto the floor. “Breakfast sounds really, really good.”

She looks so warm and cosy wrapped in Jane’s pink dressing gown. The urge to hug her is strong, to feel her tight against me. To hold someone again.

I take a breath. “Let’s see what we can rustle up.”

She follows me downstairs with bouncy steps, and her feet barely make a sound on the wooden floor as I lead her through to the kitchen. I pat one of the stools at the breakfast bar and she hitches herself up, adjusting her pink robe with a delightful little hint of self-consciousness that makes my mouth water.

I know I should show restraint and offer her a regular breakfast. Muesli or yoghurt, like I’ll be having, maybe some toast with marmalade, but that perverse little thrill is tickling through me, and I veer away from sensibility enough to pull out the box of frosted puffs I picked up from the petrol station last night. I shake the box and hold it up for her to see, a grinning cartoon leprechaun gracing the packet.

“Do you like cereal, Laine? I thought you might like these.”

How my dick twitches as her eyes light up. “I love frosted puffs! How did you know?!” she says.

I shrug. “A lucky guess.”

“They’re the ones with the marshmallow stars, aren’t they? I begged my mum for those when I was little!”

Little. She looks so little. Perched on the stool.

I pour them into a bowl and pick her out one of my smallest spoons. A little spoon for a sweet little mouth.

She beams up at me as I place the bowl in front of her, as though I’ve just bought her a show pony, not a cheap box of cereal. I pour the milk, ask her to say when.

“When!” she giggles, and stirs the bowl with her spoon, watching the marshmallow stars drift around. They turn the milk pink.

I get us both an orange juice and sit myself down opposite her to eat my muesli. I watch everything. The way she scoops out just the right amount of frosted puffs with her stars. The way she closes her eyes as she crunches them. The innocent enjoyment in her smile.

I would happily watch little Laine Seabourne eat frosted puffs forever, and I feel a jab of resentment at the knowledge that I won’t. It pains me that such a sweet, gracious girl has nobody waiting back at home to look after her. Nobody there to keep her safe.

But that’s not my business, nor my problem.

“Tell me about Jane,” she says, and it catches me off guard.

My breath catches in my throat. “About Jane? What do you want to know?”

She smiles. “Where is she? I guess she doesn’t live here anymore?”

“No,” I say. “Jane’s long gone from here.”

“All grown up,” she grins, and it’s the perfect opportunity for a subject change.

“So, how does it feel to be an official adult?” I ask. “Eighteen is a big milestone.”

She shrugs. “I don’t feel any different. I’ve kinda had to be an adult for a long time. Well, as much of an adult as I can be.” Her smile doesn’t mask her sadness, not quite. “I mean, it’s my mum. She’s just… she worked, when I was little. It was hard for her to take care of me. She tried.”

Somehow I doubt that.

“So you had to take care of yourself?”

She nods, “Yeah. Nothing wrong with that though, right? It’s good to be able to take care of yourself. I cook a mean toasted sandwich. Microwave meals? No problem.” She giggles, but it sounds false. I don’t answer and she sighs. “Jane is really lucky to have a dad like you. I’d have loved to have a dad like you.”

“Thank you,” I say, and the words almost stick in my throat.

“I mean it,” she says. “Her room is amazing. The writing on her wall… her fairytale castle… all the toys she had…”

“Toys don’t mean anything,” I tell her. “It’s love that matters.”

Her spoon stops mid-air, and her eyes stare into mine. “I wouldn’t know.” She shakes her head, checks herself. “Sorry. Way too much information.” She pulls a stupid face, tips her head to the side. “Stop talking now, Laine.” She dips her spoon back into the bowl and stirs the cereal.

“No,” I say. “Don’t stop talking. Not unless you want to, of course.”

She fishes out a pink star. “These are really yummy.”

I take the hint. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“So much,” she says. “Really, really much.”

She finishes up the bowl, and spoons up every last drop of milk. Then she waits. Watches me finish my muesli with a gentle smile on her face.

We sit in silence a for moment, and there’s a feeling in me, a desperate urge to tell her she doesn’t have to go home to an empty house, where nobody really cares about her. To tell her I like her. To tell her I want to take care of her, the way I wanted to take care of Jane all those years ago.

To tell her the truth.

I tell her nothing, just put our empty bowls in the sink and gather her clothes from the laundry room. She takes them from my arms, tells me thanks, and I force out the words I need to say.

“We’d better be getting you home.”

* * *

Laine

The journey goes too quickly. The world zooms by outside the window and my heart thumps at the horror that this is it. Goodbye.

I really don’t want this to be goodbye.

My palms are hot and clammy, and my fingers are fidgety. They twiddle around and around as I try to think of a way to make this last.

I just want to see him again.

My emotions are churned into a big messy ball in my stomach. It feels weird, uncomfortable, these feelings for Nick twisting and turning, so confused. I felt so safe in Jane’s room, cocooned in this floaty bubble, like cotton candy at a spring fair. I felt so safe there, so safe in Nick’s house, that I wanted to be Jane.

And I still want to be Jane now.

But I watched him. I watched him in the shower. I watched him and I liked it. I thought about him touching me and I liked that too.

I like him.

I like him like that.

The combination feels icky. Weird.

Fluttery and weird.

I can’t straighten it out and it won’t go away, so I just keep staring out of the window and praying he’ll let me see him again.

I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.

He asks me for directions to Kelly Anne’s house and I want to lie, tell him she lives far away, that I can’t remember how to even get there, but I don’t. I point him onto her estate in Newhaven, and he indicates onto her street.

I direct him into her parents’ driveway and hold my breath, scared he’ll say his goodbyes and disappear now I’m back on home turf. He doesn’t.

He puts the car in neutral and says he’ll wait for me.

I smile in relief.

“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Just a minute.”

He nods, smiles, and I fumble with the door handle, trip over my nervy limbs as I bundle out of the car. I pull my cardigan around myself as I ring her doorbell, and I can smell his lavender fabric conditioner. I love the way it smells.

It’s Kelly Anne’s mum who answers the door. She takes my arm and welcomes me in, yelling to Kelly Anne upstairs to announce my arrival.

“Go on up,” she says. “She’s still in her pit.”

“Thanks, Mrs Dean,” I say.

She tuts at me. “It’s Mary,” she says. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s Mary?” Her smile is kind and laced with that little bit of pity I’ve grown used to.

I smile back at her then make my way upstairs. Kelly Anne’s bedroom door is closed tight. I don’t bother knocking, just let myself in and navigate the trail of dirty laundry until I’m at her bed.

“Kelly Anne?”

She groans, rolls over, and sleepy eyes barely focus on me.

“Kelly Anne, it’s me.”

“Laine? What are you doing here? What time is it?” She gropes for the phone on her bedside cabinet, checks the time and groans again. “Urgh, not even midday.”

“You took my keys!” I snap, and all the fear from last night comes rushing back. “My phone, too! My purse and my ID! I was stuck out all night!”

She comes to her senses, props herself up on her elbow with a confused expression on her face. “What?”

I shake my head. “Jeez, Kels. You took everything! It was all in your bag!”

She raises her eyebrows. “No,” she says. “It wasn’t. It totally wasn’t!”

I feel my jaw hit the floor, gawping as she roots around the floor for her handbag. She pulls out the contents. Lipstick and condoms and a load of crumpled receipts.

“But where…” I stammer. “What…”

“On the table!” she said. “You were in the toilet. I left your stuff right on the table for you! I even scribbled a note on a beer mat!”

“But there wasn’t…” I think back to last night. To the horror of returning to my seat to find it occupied by other people, no Kelly Anne in sight. No Kelly Anne in the whole club.

“I left it with those guys…” she continues. “The ones we downed a shot with at the bar… they were right there, at the table next to ours…”

I can’t hide the horror. “You left my stuff with a load of drunk guys and disappeared? You left my money and my keys and my phone with total strangers and bailed on me, on my own birthday?”

She covers her face with her hands. “Shit, Laine. I was wrecked. They seemed alright…”

“But they weren’t alright. Clearly they weren’t alright.”

She stares at me, and her eyes are pink and hungover. “You got home though, right? No harm done.”

“No. I didn’t!”

She sits up in bed and I’m so angry, my nails are digging into my palms, thinking about what could’ve been, all because she was too busy getting down with some random guy. “So what happened?” she says. “Where did you go?!”

I try to start from the beginning, but the words won’t come. I don’t want them to. I don’t want to tell her about Nick, or the guy in the alleyway, or being rescued. I don’t want to tell her about Jane’s room, and frosted puffs and watching him come in the shower.

It feels tickly, and raw. And private.

“So you don’t have my stuff?” I say. “Not any of it?”

She groans. “Sorry. I’m really sorry, Laine. I pulled an asshole move.”

At least she knows it.

I try not to let it upset me, just like always. Try not to take it to heart. Try not to comprehend the scale of the disaster on my hands now I’m in the cold light of day and still don’t have any of my things. But it’s hard. It’s really hard.

“I’m gonna go,” I say, and my voice is tickly.

“Go?! Go where?”

“Home…” I say. “I’ll see if I can get in… through a window…”

She throws back the covers and starts gathering clothes from the floor. “I’ll come with you.”

“No!” I say, and my tone makes her stop in her tracks. “It’s fine… you’re still hungover, and I’m…”

“You’re locked fucking out,” she says, like I don’t know that. “It’s the least I can do.”

And it is. It is the least she can do. But it’s too late for that now, and I don’t want her help, not with Nick outside.

I back away, heading for the door, tell her again that it’s fine, that I’ll cope, that she should get back to sleep.

She doesn’t need all that much convincing. No real surprise there.

“Let me know you’re alright, yeah?” she calls after me. “I’ve got so much to tell you about Harrison. That was his name, you know! Harrison! And he was so hot!”

Harrison.

That’s the guy I have to thank for nearly losing my virginity to some asshole in a back alley.

I say goodbye to Mrs Dean on the way out, and do my best not to cry before I break the news to Nick.