12. Ollie
Chapter 12
Ollie
My new bed is comfy, the house is warm and quiet, and with nobody playing loud music or shouting in the hallways, I slept better than I have in months. Maybe years. I woke late and, even though Megan was nowhere to be seen, I decided to keep out of her way and work on the van.
My plan is to fit a divider between the driving space and the living space, but I want to do everything to the best standard which means removing the seats and cleaning years of grime from underneath them. It’s taking forever to buff out a few rust spots, but I keep going until the light fades, and make a note to buy a battery powered lamp so I can work in these dark evenings. Rain has battered the van all afternoon, but it’s a good test of the vent installation. Getting the shell watertight is the first hurdle van-build folks have to overcome.
When I unlock my new front door, I find Megan bent over outside her bedroom, her peachy backside tight and high in sleek black leggings.
I throw my eyes skyward, clearing my throat until she snaps up, spinning to face me with her hands behind her back.
“Oh, hi.” Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, her cheeks are flushed, and she looks shifty as fuck.
I drop my keys in the bowl on the hallway side table, and slip my shoes off and tuck them underneath. “You OK?”
“Yup. All good.”
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
I look down at the floor, and the first thing that catches my eye is her stripy, fluffy socks. The second thing is the screwdriver and loose screws scattered around her feet.
“Doesn't look like nothing. Is something broken?” I angle my body to look behind her but she plasters herself to the door. “I can help with stuff like this.”
“Honestly it’s fine.”
She’s pretty insistent, so I head for my room, wait a few seconds, then poke my head back out. I find her bent over again, tongue poking between her teeth in concentration as she picks up the screwdriver and resumes her task. At first I think she’s fitting a handle, but then I spot the new piece of hardware that definitely wasn’t there this morning.
She’s so busy twisting in a screw that she doesn’t notice me step back into the hallway. I lean against the wall behind her with my arms folded until I can’t wait any longer.
“Why are you fitting a lock on your door, Megan?”
She shrieks, dropping the screwdriver and clutching at her chest. “Don’t do that to me. Jumping out on people is not allowed in this house.”
“Noted. So what’s with the lock?”
“I got it just in case,” she eventually mumbles.
“Just in case what?” She refuses to look at me, and slowly I put the puzzle pieces together. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”
“Well, I don't really know you.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I knew moving in here was a bad idea. She had no say in the matter and, from experience, women like Megan don’t like being told what to do.
It pisses me off, though. I fitted a lock at my old place because I knew everyone there was sketchy. Megan doesn’t know me, but she immediately assumed the worst.
“Can I fit a lock on my door?”
“Why would you need a lock?”
“Well I don’t really know you,” I mimic her words and she looks up with a scowl that’s more cute than intimidating. “What if you’re a pervert who’s going to come and assault me in my sleep?”
Her mouth twists into a pretty little pout. “Fine. You can get a lock if you want to.”
“I don’t want one. And you don’t need one either.”
She sighs heavily and gets on with finishing the job. As pissed off as I am, I’m too soft to let her finish without seeing her mistake.
“That’s on the wrong side, by the way. It’s one thing if you want to keep me out, but right now you’ve set it up so I can lock you in.”
I head for the living room, hiding my smirk as she muffles a frustrated groan behind me.