22. Ollie
Chapter 22
Ollie
February downpours mean my exterior painting job gets called off, so I take advantage of a free afternoon and limited daylight to measure inside the van. I’m not far off being able to install electrics, then the solar roof panels, and from there I can start building out the bed base, kitchen units, and other storage I’ll need on the road.
One job leads to another, and by the time I’m headed inside, I spot Megan’s car pulling into a space closer to the building. She darts out and, despite the heavy rain, struggles to pull an enormous box from the backseat.
“I’ve got it,” I call out, rushing to her side. She hands it over, but it’s heavy as fuck, even for me. “Jesus, what’s in here?”
“Books,” she huffs, grappling with a second box. “Well, parts of books.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll explain inside. Go, go, go!”
Fat raindrops soak us as she locks her car and hurries to the door as fast as she can. Balancing my box on one knee, I rummage in my pocket for my keys, then shove her inside and out of the rain.
“I am sick of this weather,” she screams, grunting with every step towards the elevator. Inside she drops her box to the floor, shoves her damp hair out of her face, wiping water from her face and neck. “No wonder you’re so eager to leave the country.”
Ironically, the weather is way down on my list of reasons for wanting to leave, but now is clearly not the time to get into it. We struggle into our place, and I follow her to dump the boxes in the living room. She grabs a towel to ring out her wet hair, then hands it to me to do the same. I give my head a quick rub and push my curls back behind my ears. My hair’s getting long, but I like it this way.
“Did Dad tell you what happened?”
“No, our job got rained off today.”
“First, I got a flat tire on the way to work and he had to come and fix it because apparently I can't remember anything from the lesson he gave me when I was fourteen. So that really did a number on my efforts to seem like a strong, confident, capable woman.”
While she talks, she shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it to dry off by the radiator.
“So I was late for work, and I got told off, even though it was absolutely not my fault, and I’ve been soaked to the bone all day.”
She pulls off her boots and flings them down the hallway. I watch her steady herself against the doorframe, reach up underneath her skirt, and tug her tights down and off. My brain turns to mulch when she slips out of her cardigan, lifts her shirt and pulls it up and over her head. She drops everything in a wet pile at her feet and I— I lose the ability to breathe.
“Then, some absolute b-word ate my lunch, so I had to eat plain pasta from the school canteen, which was cold, and now I have to figure out who’s stolen my best lunchbox.”
Her skirt goes next, and once she’s pulled the zipper at the base of her spine, it floats to the floor. She steps out of it, leaving her in nothing but plain black underwear. Her make-up is smudged from the rain and my stupid fucking dick pictures all the other ways she might have gotten into this state.
“And to top it all off,” she carries on rambling, picking the pile of clothes up and carrying them to the laundry basket in the bathroom. “I discovered last year’s students removed a handful of pages from several copies of Romeo and Juliet as a prank, so now I have to go through that box and check every single one.”
She makes a noise like a charging animal, squares up to me with her hands on her hips, and huffs out a huge sigh.
“I am cold, I am hungry, I am livid, and I just want this day to be over already. How was your day?”
My day? My what? I am frozen, both in place and in my thoughts of stripping her out of the rest of her clothes and falling to my knees at her feet.
“Er—”
Her chest heaves from her outburst, and I try so goddamn hard not to look down, really I do, but it’s impossible. The little freckles catch my attention first, then the tiny bow between her tits, the soft swell of her stomach and the underwear that sits high on her hips.
“Oh my god,” she shrieks, one arm flying to cover her bra, the other to her groin. “What am I doing?”
Driving me out of my fucking mind is what you’re doing.
She darts into her room, and I definitely stare at her arse this time. There’s a fair chance I won’t see her for the rest of the evening while she panics over inadvertently undressing in front of me, so I quickly change, then open the boxes and assess the scale of her book problem. There must be hundreds in here and I sucked at Shakespeare so I don’t even know where to begin.
I tip them all out and start separating them into two piles, one of complete books, and another of ones with missing pages. Thankfully, the pages are numbered, and I soon have a good system going, flipping through and easily spotting the damaged copies.
I’m almost halfway through when she reappears, more than fully clothed now in sweatpants, a pink hoodie, and fluffy socks. “What are you doing?”
“Figured I’d make a start while you were getting dressed.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Why wouldn't I help you?”
“Nobody helps me,” she says flatly.
“Well, I am. And now you can help me by flipping through that stack.” I point to a pile by my side, and she kneels down to get stuck in.
“Unfortunately, most of them have pages missing so far, but the ones in that smaller pile are fine.”
She sighs heavily, grumbling to herself as she works. “Imagine ripping pages out of books. The audacity.”
“Yeah, as pranks go, this one sucks.”
“I think I’d still take this one over the imported stink bombs they let off two years ago. The assembly hall has never been the same since. Were you a prankster at school?” she asks.
I hated school. I wasn't academic, and I sucked at sports, so my father made his feelings about me wasting his tuition fees clear. Most of my teachers were mean, old bastards who seemed to hate kids, and I can count my good memories from that place on one hand. Bullying was rife, and my classmates were a bunch of spoiled, precocious little shits. I don’t know how Megan does it.
“Not really. I’m guessing you were a good girl?”
“I had my moments,” she laughs, but doesn’t elaborate, which leaves me wondering what she considers bad girl behaviour.
It’s late by the time we’re done, so Megan makes a quick stir-fry and we eat in silence while watching an episode of some old TV show she’s into. She’s yawning by the end of it and soon it’s time to say goodnight.
“I didn’t mean to show you my boobs earlier, by the way. Hattie and I used to get changed around each other all the time, I just forgot who I was with for a second. Sorry.”
“Hey, no need for that. It’s always nice to see great boobs.”
She blushes, biting her bottom lip to hold back a smile. “Well, hopefully you won’t see them again anytime soon.”
If only she knew seeing her boobs is pretty much the only thing I want to do these days.