Page 9 of Then Came You

Her porcelain skin is ghost-like, and the broom is still rattling in her hands. I momentarily look at the broom, causing her to drop it and fly her hands over her heart.

“Are you insane?” She screeches, making me flinch.

She reaches into her pocket, and a second later the music stops. It’s only then she realises she’s over the shock and what she’s done when her face flushes red and eyes close in humiliation. “Blade,” she breathes, reopening her stunning eyes and focusing them on my body. “Are you okay?” She examines me, indirectly avoiding my face.

“I’m fine, but I can’t say I’ve ever been attacked by a broom before,” I try to lighten the mood. I won’t tell her my ribs took a good beating. I don’t want to make her feel worse than she already does. “I’m sorry for sneaking up on you. I tried to call out, but the music was deafening.”

“Philanthropist by day, noise policy by night?” she asks, cocking her head to the side, the tips of her hair gently tumbling over one shoulder. I like that she doesn’t seem intimidated by me, but there’s still a reserved shyness about her.

“Or am I a Bad Omens enthusiast, and I was just following their sound?” I volley back. I startle her with my fake knowledge of the band I just Shazamed a minute ago, if her wide-eyes are anything to go by and raised eyebrows.

“You know Bad Omens?” Not wanting to be called out, I evade the question. I don’t know why, but I need her to think I’m cool for some reason. I do want to know what she thinks about my age, though. She must know I look closer to her parents’ age than hers, surely?

“Don’t think someone as old as me can know a band like Bad Omens?” I arch an eyebrow, curious to see how she responds. She replies exactly how I thought she would. Shyly.

She bites her lip and shakes her head, exhaling a low breathy laugh.

“I don’t know how to respond that doesn’t offend you,” she offers sheepishly. There’s a glint in her eyes which tells me she’s enjoying our playful little banter.

“So, you think I’m old?” I laugh, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I don’t miss her eyes raking over my biceps or how the sleeves ride up my forearm that gives her just a peek of my colourful ink. I bet she didn’t count on my body basically being a colouring book.

“Now, you’re putting words in my mouth. You’re older than me. Not old.” A smile tugs at her lips, making my heartbeat kick up a notch. Does she realise what she’s doing to me?

“How old are you?” I can’t help myself anymore. I need to know. She unknots the messy bun on her head and lets her pink waves cascade down past her shoulders. She’s breathtaking.

She purses her lips, squints, and shrugs her shoulders.

“I’m 22. You?” Christ. I should see her age as a big warning sign that says ‘Do Not Enter,’ but all I’m thinking about is entering.

I blow out a breath, fanning the strands on her face. “43.” I watch closely to see if there’s even the slightest hesitation over my age on her face, but I see none. Instead, I’m greeted with a shy smile curved on her lips and a twinkle in her deep honeycomb eyes.

Biting her lip, she asks, “And what brings you to my part of town?”

“I was shopping around for a haircut,” I smirk, hoping she finds me seeking her out endearing.

I’m taking a chance and shooting my shot. I haven’t felt this pull toward someone maybe ever.

It’s now or never.

“Huh, you don’t say?” Her smile is shy and little, but it knocks me for six.

“Know any hairdressers available?” I ask, praying and hoping she picks up on my not-so-subtle way of asking her to hang out with me.

“I think I may know one,” she finally exhales as if she’s been holding her breath, waiting for my answer.

My hair certainly doesn’t need a haircut. I had it done a week and a bit ago, but I’m not missing a chance to get to know her better. I’ll shave it off if that’s what it takes.

“How do I make an appointment?” I’m trying to play it cool, but I have no idea if cool is even in my repertoire anymore. I casually put my hands in my pocket to wipe away the sweat. There’s something about her that makes me feel like a nervous 15-year-old again.

“How about I do you now,” she gasps as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “No. Wait. That’s not what I meant. Oh God,” she blushes, stammering over her sentences. I feel as big as Mount Everest seeing the effect I have on her, and also a little relieved, I’m not the only one that’s nervous. “I mean. How about I give you a wash and haircut to repay you for this morning?'' She composes herself, by puffing out a short breath.

She’s taking a huge leap of faith here. I can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t do this sort of thing often. I see her pulse thrumming beneath the skin of her neck. Her invitation and her reaction to me have me practically fist-pumping.

“You don’t have to repay me, but I’d love to have you…do me.” I laugh, unable to help myself. As much as I want to ease the tension boiling between us, I also want to see her flush. She doesn’t disappoint, her cheeks blooming like two red apples. She shakes her head and giggles.

“Take a seat at the basin,” she tips her head in the direction of the sinks.

For the next ten minutes, I have an out-of-body, orgasmic experience.

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