It’s Sunday and I’m washing my car.
I always take great pride in my things, and my car is the second most expensive thing I own, so I enjoy cleaning it inside and out. I’m done on the inside, and I’m walking around just rubbing any missed spots with my leather cloth.
It’s a beautiful day, the sun is gleaming off the wing mirrors of my car, and I pause for a minute to inhale the cool air. I love autumn, but it is highly deceptive. I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie, but when I saw the bright blue skies and amber rays through my window, I’d toyed with the idea of cut off shorts and a vest.
I notice a scratch on the boot of the car, and I curse. It’s accompanied by a dint, so I know straight away someone has bumped it. I frown, pursing my lips as I glance around.
It’s parked on my drive, so it must have happened when I was out and about.
“Hey, excuse me,” calls a voice, and I blink, whirling around to see an absolute vision crossing the street.
He’s dressed casually, but his body is evident through it; all muscles and tight abs. His skin is almost bronze, like he has spent years in the sun, without the wrinkles. A strong jawline accompanies dark brown eyes, and he jogs over to me with a frown.
“Sorry to bother you, I’m Chris, I moved in a few days back…” he openly checks me out, catching himself with a low groan. “Wow, you’re pretty.”
“Can I help you?” I laugh, wringing the cloth in my hands.
He holds my gaze for a minute, before nodding.
“Has your power gone out?”
“My power?” I repeat, and he nods again. “I don’t think so, um, hold on.”
Not trusting this devilishly handsome man, I lock my car behind me, heading back into my house. The smell of roasted garlic chicken greets me, and my stomach growls. I flick the lights on, and the room is illuminated with a faint yellow glow.
I turn back, walking out of the door to see Chris running his hand over my boot. He is so sexy.
What the fuck, Jolie? You’re pregnant.
“I’m good, all working as it should,” I grin, eyeing his hand suspiciously.
He looks up at me, and I feel a pool of warmth between my legs. His thin t-shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Did you know you’ve had a bump?”
I panic, my hands moving to my stomach instinctively as he tilts his head back towards the car.
“Did you reverse into someone?” He teases, rising back to his full height.
He has to be six foot. I love a tall man.
“What? No, I saw it myself just now,” I replied, chewing on my lip. “Some idiot probably drove into me when I was parked or something.”
“Sucks. You’d leave a note, wouldn’t you? Some people don’t care,” Chris sighs, pushing his hands in his pockets. “Well, hey, I just wondered if your power was out. Must be a fault at my end.”
He scratches his head which is shaven, and I notice the diamond earring in his ear.
He reminds me of a famous footballer, but I can’t think of his name.
“Do you need anything?” I find myself asking, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. I have to be neighbourly after all.
“I just got back from the gym. I need a shower. All stinky,” he grimaces, and I try to swallow normally.
Stop checking him out.
“Ah. I was thinking more of if you need a cup of tea or something,” I smile, shivering slightly as the wind blows against me.
“Oh, it’s cool. Thanks though, I’ll let you get in. You look cold,” he coughs, and I realise he can probably see my nipples through my damp hoodie. “I know a guy who can fix that for you reasonably cheap, if you’re interested.”
I wonder what he’s on about, before he nods to my car.
“Oh! Yeah, that’s a good idea. Really cheap?” I ask hopefully, and he laughs.
“Yeah. Number fourteen. Pop over anytime.”
He backs away, and I realise we’re sharing a stupid grin. I chuckle to myself, shaking my head as I head back inside.
Have I just been chatted up by my new, sexy neighbour?
I mean, worse things can happen.
After cleaning my car I’m overwhelmed with tiredness, but most of all, hunger.
Making a roast dinner for one was pretty much a ballache, especially when there was no one to clean the dishes after for you.
But I loved roast dinners.
Whipped mountains of creamy mash, roasted honey parsnips, chilli and garlic roasted potatoes served with succulent garlic chicken that fell apart at the touch of the fork. I’ve even made stuffing and gravy, check me out.
Brad loved my roast dinners.
There it is again. Fucking memories.
I eat my dinner in front of the television, watching some country programme that depresses me greatly. All these rich couples who seem to have the most fantastic life, buying acres of land and building their dream home for their perfect family.
Meanwhile, I’m going to be a single parent with a strangers baby, with a broken heart left by my cheating ex, and all the while, I’m eye fucking my new neighbour.
It’s only when Sally and Martin on the screen fall out over which direction their floor to ceiling bedroom window will be facing do I switch over, pleased to see a documentary by Louis Theroux, on serial killers.
“Much better,” I sigh, polishing off my dinner to the sounds of Louis’s delicious voice.
I push my plate away onto the floor, swinging my legs onto the sofa.
I’ll clean up in a minute.
Before I know it I’m dozing, and when I wake up it’s to the sound of my phone. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton balls, and I’m disorientated by the now dark room, lit only by some seedy late night show on the television.
The stench of leftover food makes my stomach churn, and I groan before reaching down to answer the phone.
“Hello?” I mumble, pulling the screen away to see who was disturbing my sofa slumber.
“Can I come over?”
This is code for shall we fuck.
The problem is, I’m unable to resist him when I’m horny, which seems to be constantly lately. However, he cheated on me, so he can fuck himself.
“No, I’m tired.”
“That’s alright,” he says smoothly, and I bite my lip.
“I’m okay, ring someone else,” I yawn, feeling proud of myself.
“I don’t want anyone else.”
There it is, the familiar lurch in my stomach. It doesn’t matter that he cheated on me, I still love the prick. Brad couldn’t help himself though. He would fuck me and leave me, and given my current state that probably wouldn’t be wise.
“Brad, I’m not fucking you.”
“Come on, girl. I just want to hold you is all,” he yawns, and my resolve weakens.
I hang up before he can say another word, and turn my phone off. I’m not going there.
I drag myself up, grimacing at the cold gravy on my plate. I stick it in the dishwasher, before putting the leftover chicken into Tupperware for tomorrow. I bin everything else, and wipe the sides down so it at least smells better.
Checking the clock on the wall, I see it’s one am.
What the fuck, Bradley?!
I climb into bed, sleep overtaking me as I stroke my stomach softly. It’s strange being pregnant, because despite the fact I’m alone, I never really feel that way.
I’m used to being alone, other than my Aunt and my friends. A stab of guilt makes my eyes fly open, and I realise I need to tell my Aunt that I’m pregnant.