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‘Cheers! Here’s to not killing each other over the next month,’ Matt says, clinking his glass against mine.
* * *
I wake the next morning desperate to wee. Wine does that to me, probably not helped by the water I drank before going to bed to make sure I didn’t get a hangover. Without thinking, I leap out of bed and pad across the living room to the bathroom in my T-shirt and knickers. I turn the handle and throw open the bathroom door, only to be confronted by Matt, who is completely naked apart from a small towel wrapped around his midriff.
‘Sorry!’ I say, hurriedly closing the door. I now have three problems:
I still really need to wee, and it looked like Matt was in the middle of shaving. I’m not sure I can hold on until he’s finished.
It’s only his first morning here, and I’ve already flashed my knickers at him. This is not a great start.
The image of him with just a towel on is burned into my brain, and a lot of surprisingly filthy thoughts are accompanying it. That is a body I would very much like to get to know better. This is a complication I really don’t need, especially as I’m stuck with him for a month.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Matt’s voice calls from the other side of the door. ‘I couldn’t find the lock, so I gave up in the end.’
‘There isn’t one. It hasn’t been a problem to date, but I’ll ask Mick to look at it while he’s working on your place. Umm, Matt?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m bursting for a wee. How long are you going to be?’
‘Probably about five minutes. Do you need me to come out?’
‘Please.’
The door opens, and I’m confronted by his body again. I notice that he has the word ‘Laura’ tattooed over his heart, and there are a few drops of water still on his chest and arms. I have a sudden urge to grab the towel from his midriff and wipe him down, before…
My brief pornographic train of thought is rudely interrupted by my bladder, and I dash into the bathroom and plonk myself down on the toilet, sighing with relief as I let go. I wipe myself, pull up my knickers and wash my hands. As I look in the mirror, I realise I have more problems to add to my list:
If I was going to flash my knickers at Matt, why couldn’t I at least have been wearing a decent pair? These ones were white originally, but they’re so old that they’re now a sort of light grey, the material is so thin that you can easily see my pubic hair through it, and it’s starting to fray and come away from the waistband. Not the look I’d be going for if I knew I was going to be showing them off.
He’s outside the bathroom, waiting to come back in, which means that I have no option but to flash him again, plus I’ve got to navigate pastthatbody, and I don’t have anything to distract me from the fantasies piling into my head any more. Some of them are so outrageous, I’m not even sure they’re physically possible. What on earth is wrong with me?
This is a disaster. I like Matt as a person very much, but this has caught me completely by surprise. How on earth am I going to keep my hands off him for the next month? I’ve always had what I consider to be a healthy sex drive, but it’s like someone has flipped a switch and I can’t think of anything else all of a sudden.
‘For God’s sake, get a grip, Daisy!’ I tell my reflection, firmly.
‘Are you okay in there?’ Matt calls, from the other side of the door.
‘Yes, fine. Just coming out.’ I force my hands to stay at my sides as I open the bathroom door and come face to face with him once more. Stupidly, I let my eyes drop. That towel really is very short, and I can clearly see the outline of his penis pressing against it. That’s more than I can cope with, and I flee to my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me.
‘The bathroom’s free,’ Matt calls, a few minutes later.
I wait until I hear his bedroom door close before wrapping myself in my towelling dressing gown and crossing to the bathroom again. I strip off and step into the shower, letting the water cascade over me as I consider this highly unwelcome development. Apart from anything else, we’re work colleagues, and I’ve read enough agony aunt columns to know that getting involved with people at work is a really bad idea, because you’re guaranteed a toxic environment if the relationship doesn’t work out. That would be even worse for Matt and me, because it’s just us in the kitchen most of the time.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I mutter, as I wash my hair and condition it. What the hell am I going to do?
By the time I’ve finished in the shower, dried my hair, and got dressed, things are in a slightly better place. Matt is dressed, for one thing, although I’m still far too easily able to envision his body under his rugby shirt and jeans. Katie has also returned, looking tired but happy, and I’ve never been more grateful for a distraction. Matt is obviously a little embarrassed too, as I notice he’s not meeting my eyes.
‘Did you have a good time?’ I ask Katie.
‘Brilliant, thanks. We’re going to do it again next week, if that’s okay with you?’
‘No problem from my side, as long as Bronwyn’s mum doesn’t object to you getting under her feet. What did you watch?’
‘We took it in turns to choose. I’m not sure Bronwyn chooses films for the story; she seems to be more interested in the lighting. We watched some French film with subtitles because she was obsessed by the way the director lit one of the characters’ eyes. It won a load of awards, apparently.’
‘And what did you choose?’
