21. Ollie
Chapter 21
Ollie
Dinner a few weeks ago was the fresh start we both needed, and life at Megan’s place is working out surprisingly well. Things are much more chill when we’re both home, and now I have the correct phone number for her, it’s easier to keep in touch when we need groceries and stuff.
She keeps it brief and civil, of course, and I force myself not to get too flirty with her even though the pull is there. Sometimes I wish she’d flirt back, but I don’t need the distraction from the van when there is so much to do before I can get on the road.
Megan is usually home before me, but I’ve quickly learned this woman has layers. I never know what I’ll find when I open the door. She could be marking essays or crying over a book, or doing yoga on a mat in front of the TV. That one’s my favourite, especially when I catch her on her hands and knees, though it really fucking shouldn’t be.
The flat is dark when I get inside, and I flick the hallway lamp on. Megan must be out or working late. I think I’ll tease her about that later, and ask why she didn’t keep me updated on her whereabouts since she asked me to do the same.
It’ll be a gentle tease, though. We haven’t had any bust ups like in that first week, and I’m not keen to take ten steps back with her.
My bones are cold and achy from laying bricks on a new site all day, and I want nothing more than to eat dinner on the sofa and put my feet up. It will be nice to have the flat to myself for a bit. I might even get my guitar out and have a little jam.
Unfortunately, those chill evening plans shatter to pieces when I find the living room pitch black except for a glowing figure in the middle of the room. A bright red face with two black eyes staring right at me.
I stumble backwards, clinging onto the doorframe to stop myself falling, but it’s useless. I hit the floor with a thud. My heart threatens to leap out of my throat, along with my involuntary scream.
“Ollie!” a voice yells. “Stop, it’s me.”
Megan?
Scrambling to my knees, I dare to open my eyes and peek back in. The mask is still there, hovering in the middle of the room, now with Megan’s unmistakable laugh.
“Fucking hell, I thought I was about to get murdered.” I clutch at my chest. “Oh my god, I can't breathe, what the fuck are you doing?”
“I'm sorry, it’s an infra-red mask.”
“I can see it's a mask, Megan. Can you take it off and fling it out the window? Or even better yet, bury it six feet in the ground.”
“I can’t take it off for another five minutes.”
“I think I’m having a heart attack.” I’m gasping on my knees, and what does Megan do? She laughs harder. “Why are you even wearing that thing?”
“It’s part of my skincare routine. It’s relaxing.”
“It’s terrifying.” I wave my hand in her direction while covering my eyes. “Never do this again.”
“You want to try it?”
“Not in a million fucking years. New rule, you’re only allowed to wear that thing in your room.”
Later, Megan gets a jumpscare of her own, when she walks into the bathroom while I’m shaving. I was sure I’d locked the door, but thankfully I’ve covered up with a towel post-shower so it’s not too awkward.
At least not for me.
Megan, on the other hand, stands in the doorway, slack-jawed and silent. I pause mid-shave, and watch as her wide eyes take a tour of my bare chest and down to my stomach. It’s a pretty big compliment, having a woman so blatantly admire your body.
“Megan?”
Her gaze falls lower still, stopping at the fluffy white towel. Beneath it, my cock twitches impulsively.
“Earth to Megan?” She mumbles something that sounds a little like ‘tattoo’. “Did you need something?”
Her eyes snap up to mine.
“No. Bye.”
I’ve never seen the woman bolt so fast, and I can’t help but wonder if living in such close quarters is having a similar effect on Megan to the one she’s having on me. Maybe I need to be shirtless around the house a little more often.