[18+] Mark just wants a quiet life. With plenty of action at work, he has no interest in bringing the drama home with him. But he does need a flatmate, and when blonde bombshell Zoe crashes onto the scene, she's more than he bargained for.
Zoe is a...
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May 2014
MARK
Zoe answers the door wearing black skinny jeans and a tight white t-shirt. The clothes hug her body like a second skin. It's casual, and that reassures me in an odd way. If she's not dressed up, hopefully it means she's still comfortable enough around me not to make the effort.
Or she just doesn't care. But I'd like to think that's not the case.
For a few seconds, we survey each other in the doorway. I've changed out of the stuffy suit, into dark jeans and a white shirt with the top two buttons undone. Smart casual was what I'd aimed for. Ed watched me with a stupid smirk on his face as I tried on different outfits, but he's grown smart enough not to say anything.
Zoe clears her throat and drags her eyes back up to mine. "Is this like an actual date, or...?"
It's not the best start if she thinks we're on different pages thanks to one of us dressing up more than the other.
"Just two friends catching up," I say.
"Right." She steps back and gestures for me to come inside. "What do you want to drink? Got some mini whisky bottles in the fridge, or I can call down to the bar for—"
"Water's fine."
Her brow furrows. "You sure? It's all on the house."
"I don't drink anymore."
"Oh." She shuts the door, then leans back against it, palms flat against the wood behind her.
Just like in her office earlier, we assess each other. This time, though, she doesn't seem as hostile. It's like she's changed out of her workwear and back into the Zoe I used to know. I latch onto that thread of optimism.
"You look good, Zo. It's great you're achieving your dream. I'm proud."
Her bottom lip wobbles, and instantly she bites down onto it. Vulnerability shadows her face. I instinctively take a step closer. I've not touched a woman in three years, and yet the urge to wrap my arms around her is overwhelming.
"Sorry," I murmur. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"You've not." She waves off my apology with a small laugh. "It's just been a long day and I need a glass of wine."
I take a seat in one of the armchairs as she pours herself a drink from the mini bar. It's a nice room, but there's no personalisation in it. No evidence that she lives here.
"You said you stay in here sometimes?" I ask.
"In the hotel," she replies, handing me a bottle of water. "Different rooms, depending on what's free."
Fingers curled around the stem of her wine glass, she sinks into the chair opposite me.
"Can we start over?" I ask. "As much as I enjoyed the tête-à-tête in your office earlier—"
