Page 75 of Ewan

Yeah, why would a man do to a woman what he did to me?

Was he jealous?

Yeah. Maybe? But why? I was working.

What did I do? Nothing.

I took orders and smiled at our clients while collecting tips.

He was so deliciously annoying about having to defend his position. And I fell for all of it.

Truth be told, I loved it.

I loved that he drove me home. And I loved that he was honest with me to some degree.

I didn’t like that he had given me the runaround, but in the end, I said,‘You know what? Fuck it. What do I have to lose?’

I kissed him and took his breath away. I could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t that I’d mastered the art of kissing and bringing a man to his knees, but he liked me anyway.

He liked me being frivolous and taking a risk with him.

He liked me going for it. For him. I had no plans with that kiss. I just wanted to do it and did it, and the way he reacted to me increased my confidence tenfold.

I liked him then, and I liked him even more when I opened the door, and he kissed me like he meant it.

Like he had withheld that kiss for a while, and he didn’t want to give it to me, afraid that I might run for the hills.

I wanted to run for the bedroom, but I knew what kind of cat-and-mouse game we were playing.

I’ve never been more in sync with a man in my life.

I know we don’t have all the answers, and we are doing things, random things, to see what comes out of them, like him wanting to be my driver.

Are you kidding me?

He is the man who will be my driver? And my bodyguard, I suppose. And who knows what else?

Having a towel wrapped around my damp hair, I slather on moisturizer to keep my skin soft and smile.

A smell of coffee drifts from the kitchen.

I take my makeup case and mirror with me and bring them to the kitchen table before shuffling my way to the counter.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, and getting a whiff of it, I move back to the table.

My bathrobe and slippers keep me warm. Too warm, perhaps. Or maybe it’s the thought of him.

Ewanblank blank.

Who knows who this man is?

Who cares?

I smile again.

I’m sure every bad decision in the history of bad decisions started like that. With a big ‘Who cares?’.

Later, I blow dry my hair and look in the mirror.

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