‘So singer girl, whaddya think? Everyone’s busy. Nobody will notice if we shut the door and make out …’
The tanned, fabulously ripped man in a white singlet and very low-hanging sweatpants gestures to the long bench covered with cushions.
‘We’d just about fit if you were on top. You up for it?’ he says. ‘The doors don’t lock, but we can be quick!’
Oliver (sex addiction) and Keera are cleaning the dining room after dinner.
She glares at him.
‘Fuck off, Oliver,’ she says, scraping the remains of food off a plate.
‘Or – fuck Oliver?’ he says, sidling up close to her, not touching but being way too close.
Oliver is the perfect person to practise boundaries with.
He’s good-humoured and surprisingly unthreatening, so Keera finds it easy to say no to him.
Keera’s sure she’s partnered with Oliver for chores so she can learn how to say no.
She feels as if she’s several steps ahead of him in her rehab – Oliver’s addiction is still pulsing through him relentlessly.
‘No,’ Keera tells him again, even more firmly.
‘I’d make it lovely for you …’ he wheedles.
Oliver’s West-Coast gorgeous, which is why he wears singlets day and night irrespective of temperature, to display his muscles.
He has the face of a movie icon with wavy black hair and eyes that can suck a woman’s soul out.
This is just his outside look, though.
Inside, Keera knows he’s a lonely, desperate man who has the emotional bandwidth of a lettuce.
Group therapy has revealed that Oliver can only feelanythingwhen he’s with a woman sexually.
Otherwise, he’s a black hole of self-hatred.
Now, he trails one hand along Keera’s arm hopefully.
She elbows him hard in the ribs.
‘I said fuck off, Oliver,’ she says as he bends over in pain. ‘Boundaries, remember them? You get thrown out if you step inside anyone’s boundaries.’
‘I didn’t,’ he says now, sulkily, and arranges his beautiful body onto a chair, instantly looking like a male model awaiting a fashion photographer.
‘You did.’
‘Don’t tell,’ he pleads.
‘Get up and help, then,’ she orders. ‘I’m not doing your share of the cleaning-up work too.’
‘You talked about one-night stands,’ Oliver says crossly as he slams plates upon plates. ‘I overheard you talking to one of the other women. It wouldn’t matter to you, just five minutes is all I’m asking.’
‘What part of the privacy don’t you get?’ Keera rages.‘I was having a private conversation with another person sharing painful past stories and you’re treating that overheard discussion like I’m a menu card showing what’s available.’
‘Sorry.’
Finally Oliver looks repentant.
