Just Rose

9

The week passed with little to no drama. Life slid back into the norm for Rose and she pushed the encounter from her mind, trying to focus on just getting on as before. She began work on her new commission, which took most of her days lost in her imagination. Paint flowing onto paper and locked away from everyone. Abby came by and never mentioned anything about Rob or the dance again. Not that she needed too, and Rose quelled every urge to do so herself, in a bid to get her childish crush under control.

Rob had kept his distance and even in passing, a small polite smile, which never looked genuine and never any conversation. He was keeping his distance, being a gentleman and his usual attempts at humour with her were gone. Rose felt deflated and tried to push it all down deep inside. Tried to ignore the ball of anxiety building up inside her and push the heaviness away. Disappointment becoming her constant companion where Rob Munro was concerned.

Matt thankfully never re-appeared. Anytime she heard any sounds resembling a motorbike roar, she would hide in her cottage adamant she wouldn't answer the door, but luckily, he never came knocking again.

Life settled back into pre-dance days and when Rose finally got around to cleaning out her clutch bag she found a folded sheet of paper pushed neatly inside. She didn't recognise the light cream paper and pulled it out to unfold its silky smoothness. It was the prize certificate of a slave for the day with Rob Munro's name on it. Obviously put there by Abby when they had found her bag under a chair that night. Her stomach flipped. Not sure what she should do, she pushed it back into her bag, but then pulled it slowly back out.

There was a mobile phone number under his name on the printed card. Directions to contact your 'slave' to finalise details. She stood motionless, pondering it for a moment, silently gazing at the number. A thought began to form in her head, slowly and surely and building into a very stupid idea.

Had it been almost a week? Surely, he wouldn't still be mad, right?

Despite Muffins large knowing eyes. watching her in dry speculation, she knew if she hesitated that she would lose courage, so immediately grabbed her phone. Punching in the message and number and hitting send as soon as earthly possible, in case she changed her mind. Once she did her common sense kicked in fully and forcefully and regret washed over her. She looked at the sent text 'I believe I have slave services to recoup!' It was so desperate and corny.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

What the heck did she do that for? Was she really so desperate to see him that she had lowered herself to this? Forcing him to come to her?

The agony of waiting for a reply that you really regretted even sending was far worse than she could imagine. Her hands began to shake, her stomach flipped, and her nerves went into overdrive. No guy had ever made her feel this crazy scared over a stupid text. What was she doing?

'I believe you do!'

Beeped onto her phone seconds later, making her stomach flip and butterflies take hold.

Argh, what the heck kind of response was that?