coffee and confessions
Rachel
Hmmm, this is going to be harder than I thought.
I look down at Evan's cock hanging free in his pants.
Rachel, you can't think of his cock every time you think of a word like hard.
Fuck, I just looked at it again.
So, in my dreams, it had always gone that we would do the dirty and he'd realise that I was the best bonk ever. We'd fall asleep in each other's arms, and I'd be there all night. The next morning, he would realise I was there, declare his undying love for me, and voila - happy ever after. Huge white wedding. Three children.
I was not expecting to be told I was a mistake and to have the bloke doing his best to turf me out of his house. He's fooling no one if he thinks acting casual and lounging around is going to make me think he's accepted what I said. He’s had a personality transplant, fake bastard. Oh no, I’m not fooled, not in the slightest. But, well, I may as well make the most of his easy-going manner, cos he's bound to become a right ratty twat when he wants to sleep and won't let himself.
I head into the kitchen. It's full of plain white units with a strip of black glossy bricks set between the worktop and upper cupboards. I spy the coffee machine in the corner and take out the bit that needs filling with water. I turn to Evan.
"Can you show me where you keep the pods, mugs, spoons, etc."
He smiles as if he couldn't think of anything nicer to do and opens every single cupboard to show me what's inside, including the inside of his fridge and freezer. As I expected, Evan lives on microwave meals, jars of curry, and pasta, and two-minute microwave rice. He gets his nutrition from his Sunday lunch at his mother’s. How the hell he's maintained such a great body must be a testament to the large fruit bowl on the kitchen table, overflowing with oranges and apples. I take out two mugs from a cupboard which I wash in the sink because I don't trust a twenty-five-year-old bachelor boy to clean properly.
Then we both spot it, at the same time. There's a key in the back door. Not a chance mate. I leap for the door at the same time as Evan. The key is in my hand and Evan forces my wrist around until he prises it out of my grip. So, I poke him in the eye.
"Holy fucking Jesus Christ, you crazy bitch. I'm blind."
He's not blind, but he is keyless. He dropped it clutching for his eye, and I put it down my knickers. The only way he's getting it is by getting in my pants. Either way, I win.
He takes his hand away, his eye red and watering. He shakes his head in disbelief. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"You're trying to get me out of the house. I'm not going anywhere."
"You can't get home from my garden. It's fenced off."
"Then why did you jump for the key? I firmly believe you'd have locked me outside until I agreed to go home."
"I was going to put it out of your crazy ass way so that in the event of a fire, we could get out without being burned alive. Just in case you've swallowed the front door one, and I've got to wait for nature to take its course before I get it back."
"Ew, I have so not done that, you sicko. But don't worry, to get to the kitchen one, the fire needs to be in my pants."
He looks at my jeans, eyes wide. "You put my kitchen door key down your knickers?"
"Yup. Want to open the door, you’re going to have to open my legs."
"You're disgusting."
"I aim to please."
"You can keep the kitchen door key. I don't need it. I will have a coffee though. I'm starting to get a headache, I can't think why."
Five minutes later we have two fresh coffees, and Evan takes me around the rest of the house. "So, this is the living room. As you can see I've no dining room. The kitchen does both. Other than that, downstairs, there's the bathroom which you've already seen, and a small utility room which, to be honest, is full of bikes and the crap my mum gave me when I moved in."
The living room is a decent size and quite square in shape. His leather couch looks like it could do with a good clean. It has cup marks on the seats. Blokes can be disgusting. "Have you got some wipes so I can clean the sofa?" I ask.
He looks at me like I've mentioned that I'm married to an alien.
I roll my eyes and push past him, back into the kitchen where I grab his tea towel and wet half of it under the hot tap. I then come back and clean the sofa.
"I'm surprised your mum lets you get away with keeping a pigsty of a house."
"My mum doesn't come here. That's why I go there on a Sunday. Keeps her sweet and away from here, plus I get a decent meal for free every week."
"I was surprised when you moved," I tell him. "One moment you were there, the next you were gone. I thought with you going to Uni in Sheffield you'd have stayed at home and made the most of the free rent."
Stay at home. Yeah. That had been the plan...