Nine – Meet a young woman who does not want to sleep with you and become her best friend.
Have I? I hope so, although you’re not supposed to have the hots for your friend. But at least she doesn’t want to sleep with me, so that’s okay.
I kick back the covers and get out of bed.
Half an hour later, I’m showered, dressed, and heading downstairs to the kitchen.
We have a sort of unwritten agreement. She cooks dinner, and I make breakfast because she still feels a bit tired in the mornings.
I open the freezer for the large Tupperware box full of berries that she picked from the bottom of our garden. Maybe I can use them in a sweet sauce to go with the pancakes. A reward for her risking the forest of deadly pricks.
Speaking of the deadly pricks… What about him? The colossal prick MP who doesn’t deserve her? As her best friend, should I help her leave him?
The man who left her to cope alone and pregnant while he looked after his own career. She could do so much better.
Does he even know her, the real her?
Not just her looks but her personality. Her ideas and sense of humour, her courage. I mean look at the way she makes herself confront what scares her. Like the villagers, for example. She knows they gossip about her, she knows she didn’t make a good impression, so she makes herself walk there once a week for the shopping and is polite and smiley with everyone.
“You’re up early?”
Lessa speaks from somewhere behind me and I can tell she’s smiling. By now I know when she smiles, how it changes her voice.
I turn and find her still in pyjamas, leaning on the door frame like an attractive yawn.
All my good intentions evaporate as my body responds.
Stop looking! Cats. Dogs. Snakes. Cockroaches. Slugs. Spiders.
I turn away.
Stop it! She’s your friend, your best friend, is this any way to treat her?
Settle down or it’ll be a cold shower for you.
My erection shrinks back apologetically.
“Are you making a smoothie again?”
“No, but I can make a smoothie if you want.” I lift the hand blender out of the jug. The frozen berries have turned into a pulp. I dip a small spoon in and taste, still a bit sour and cold. I drop the spoon and put a hand to my cheek while trying to work enough saliva into my mouth to warm my teeth.
“So, what are you making?” She picks up the spoon that fell to the floor.
“Pancakes. Just making the sauce to pour on top.” I explain opening and closing cupboards.
“What are you looking for?”
“Sugar.”
“We don’t have any, I found ants in the bag and threw it out. Neither of us ever eats sugar.”
I stop and try to think. “How do you suggest we sweeten the berries, unless you want to dip your finger in.”
She shakes her head. “That is pathetic even for you. Try pouring honey into warm water then blending into the frozen pulp.”
“I thought you weren’t allowed honey?”
“I thought so too, but Elodie and her grandfather said organic honey is good for pregnant women.”
