need to wake myself up and decide what to do. I hope the bloody shower works.
****
Plenty of hot water leads to a happier Dylan and I towel dry my hair in front of the mirror. Despite the fact the guy reflected looks nothing like me, I feel more Dylan than I did, as if I washed part of him down the drain when I showered away the city. My blue eyes are red though, tired smudges beneath them and the beginnings of lines around make me look older than my twenty-four years. The proverbial sex, drugs, and rock and roll does that to a guy I guess. I rub a hand over my short hair, the sensation weird after years of pulling curls from my eyes. I hardly recognise myself, so hopefully nobody else can. When I open the bathroom door, I pause and listen in case my mysterious visitor has returned. The dark and quiet house confirms not.
As I shuffle into my clean jeans, a noise alerts me. The front door bangs and keys jangle as someone enters the house. I straighten and listen. Do I storm down there and give her a piece of my mind? No, I want to see what the owner of the underwear does. I'll wait; give her the surprise of her fucking life if she decides to come back up here.
After ten minutes, the movement downstairs stops. I grin to myself as I sit on the bed and wait. I wonder what kind of girl she is? I hope she's young, stupid, and easily scared off because I really don't have time for this shit. Whoever she is, she's ruined my escape plan by knowing I'm in Broadbeach. I don't want to have to move on when I just bloody got here.
A microwave beeps as the person sets about cooking something. Seriously? She's making a snack? Needs her energy for her imagined night with me?
I'm not waiting here; I want her gone. Let's see what lame explanation she comes up with. I grab a pair of her panties from the floor and tread quietly downstairs.
The stairs end in the lounge room, close to the sofa. A girl sits on the brown sofa holding a large glass of red wine and resting her head back on the cushions, eyes closed. She's pale, blonde wavy hair splayed across the back of the chair and she’s wearing the same blue and white flowery summer dress that hugs her in ways she probably doesn’t realise.
The girl whose car I rear-ended a few hours ago.
I fucking knew it wasn't a coincidence.
“Is this your underwear?” I say, hanging the panties on my index finger in her direction.
The girl jerks in surprise, turning confused blue eyes toward me before jumping up. With a shaking hand, she wipes away some of the wine she's spilt on her dress. I'm about to believe she has no idea who I am, until I catch her checking out my naked chest. The chick can't help but appreciatively gaze at the body I spend a fuck load of time in the gym to achieve. She's only human, right?
Pale face now pink, the girl snatches her panties from my hand. She balls them and shoves the offending item onto the sofa. “Get out of my house before I call the police!”
“Your house?”
I'm no longer sure the pink face is embarrassment, anger, or desire. Possibly a mix of all three. “Where the hell did you come from? Did you follow me?”
Me follow her? I'm too tired and hungry for this shit. “How is this your house? This place is a holiday rental.”
“Well, my Gran's house but I'm staying here.”
“That's a problem then.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm renting the place for a month. I arrived about an hour ago and thought the last guests must’ve forgotten some items of clothing.” I point at the underwear, enjoying her increasing embarrassment. “Then I get out of the shower and find you here.”
“Gran never said when I asked to stay...” She rubs her face. “Well, I was here first! You have to leave!”
I cock a brow. “I have to leave? I've paid for the place. Have you?”
She's out of her depth, and this is funny. I wait to see what bullshit excuse she comes up with next.
“You can't kick me out!” she blurts, face reddening further by the
****
Plenty of hot water leads to a happier Dylan and I towel dry my hair in front of the mirror. Despite the fact the guy reflected looks nothing like me, I feel more Dylan than I did, as if I washed part of him down the drain when I showered away the city. My blue eyes are red though, tired smudges beneath them and the beginnings of lines around make me look older than my twenty-four years. The proverbial sex, drugs, and rock and roll does that to a guy I guess. I rub a hand over my short hair, the sensation weird after years of pulling curls from my eyes. I hardly recognise myself, so hopefully nobody else can. When I open the bathroom door, I pause and listen in case my mysterious visitor has returned. The dark and quiet house confirms not.
As I shuffle into my clean jeans, a noise alerts me. The front door bangs and keys jangle as someone enters the house. I straighten and listen. Do I storm down there and give her a piece of my mind? No, I want to see what the owner of the underwear does. I'll wait; give her the surprise of her fucking life if she decides to come back up here.
After ten minutes, the movement downstairs stops. I grin to myself as I sit on the bed and wait. I wonder what kind of girl she is? I hope she's young, stupid, and easily scared off because I really don't have time for this shit. Whoever she is, she's ruined my escape plan by knowing I'm in Broadbeach. I don't want to have to move on when I just bloody got here.
A microwave beeps as the person sets about cooking something. Seriously? She's making a snack? Needs her energy for her imagined night with me?
I'm not waiting here; I want her gone. Let's see what lame explanation she comes up with. I grab a pair of her panties from the floor and tread quietly downstairs.
The stairs end in the lounge room, close to the sofa. A girl sits on the brown sofa holding a large glass of red wine and resting her head back on the cushions, eyes closed. She's pale, blonde wavy hair splayed across the back of the chair and she’s wearing the same blue and white flowery summer dress that hugs her in ways she probably doesn’t realise.
The girl whose car I rear-ended a few hours ago.
I fucking knew it wasn't a coincidence.
“Is this your underwear?” I say, hanging the panties on my index finger in her direction.
The girl jerks in surprise, turning confused blue eyes toward me before jumping up. With a shaking hand, she wipes away some of the wine she's spilt on her dress. I'm about to believe she has no idea who I am, until I catch her checking out my naked chest. The chick can't help but appreciatively gaze at the body I spend a fuck load of time in the gym to achieve. She's only human, right?
Pale face now pink, the girl snatches her panties from my hand. She balls them and shoves the offending item onto the sofa. “Get out of my house before I call the police!”
“Your house?”
I'm no longer sure the pink face is embarrassment, anger, or desire. Possibly a mix of all three. “Where the hell did you come from? Did you follow me?”
Me follow her? I'm too tired and hungry for this shit. “How is this your house? This place is a holiday rental.”
“Well, my Gran's house but I'm staying here.”
“That's a problem then.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm renting the place for a month. I arrived about an hour ago and thought the last guests must’ve forgotten some items of clothing.” I point at the underwear, enjoying her increasing embarrassment. “Then I get out of the shower and find you here.”
“Gran never said when I asked to stay...” She rubs her face. “Well, I was here first! You have to leave!”
I cock a brow. “I have to leave? I've paid for the place. Have you?”
She's out of her depth, and this is funny. I wait to see what bullshit excuse she comes up with next.
“You can't kick me out!” she blurts, face reddening further by the
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