“I can handle heat,” he said and walked to the utility room next door, where he deposited his top in the washing machine and came back in shirtless. My eyes roamed to his large, hairy pecs, which were damp and shiny with sweat …
I apologise, reader, I got a little distracted there. I cleared my throat. Ollie knew exactly what he was doing. We both knew it. So, when he came up behind me while I sat at the table, we both knew it as well. He put his hand on my shoulder to read my screen.
“Making progress?” he asked casually.
I looked a smidge to my left. His crotch was beside my face. The outline of what was in his shorts would be obvious from space.
I cleared my throat a second time and bent down further to peer determinedly at my screen. “Yup, got through some thorny bits,” I said. “Hortensia should be pleased with the edits. Think I’ll be ahead of the deadline too.”
I dared to dart a look back over my shoulder. Still there. Neither of us mentioned that Ollie seemed to be sporting a semi, which I could have sketched in thorough detail through the gossamer fabric of his running shorts.
“Your shoulders are tight,” Ollie said in his low gravitas voice. “Do you want me to rub them?”
Oh, God, I wanted him to break me in half. But no, he was an ex for a reason. This domestic routine may have been lovely – a parody of how well we had got along when we lived together – we had never been this nice to each other.
I was about to answer when there was another crash. Oh, thank God! The cats. I jumped up and nearly hit Olliein the dick with my shoulder as I did. “Gotta go see what they’ve broken now!” I said and departed the room.
That night, Nigella rang and gave some much-needed good news. “Jed’s been taken off life support and is breathing unaided!”
“Sweet baby Jesus, what a relief,” I said. Ollie came in from the kitchen, where he was making … something … involving salmon and looked inquisitively at me. “Jed,” I mouthed.
He gave a thumbs up and walked back into the kitchen.
“Yes, he’s obviously not out of the woods yet, but the immediate danger has passed. There are all sorts that can go wrong, and we won’t know about long-term damage until he’s more stable,” she added.
“I’m so glad he’ll be okay.” Truth be told, I’d completely forgotten about Jed, but no one needed to know what a selfish prick I was.
“Have the police made any progress yet?”
She gave a disgruntled sigh. “Not a lick, in my opinion. Roz said they’ve spoken to Doris but it’s not like they’ve been going door-to-door.”
“Do you not think they are taking it seriously?”
“It seems to me they’re treating it as some sort of robbery gone wrong,” she said.
There was a noise from the kitchen. Ollie swore loudly, and a pair of little furry fluffballs both scarpered into the room across the hall. “Cats!” he yelled.
“Who’s there with you?” Nigella asked a little too casually. “I spoke to Verity today – congratulated her on a very well-worded statement – and she said you were at her house in Surrey.”
“Just, um, Ollie,” I said equally as casually.
I could hear her eyebrows going up from here. “Oh, shut up. He’s my friend.”
“Your friend who dumped you for a twenty-two-year-old rather than try and properly work on your problems.”
“That wasn’t what … Nigella,” I asked, “everything okay with your relationship?”
She scoffed. “Of course, Matteo came back as soon as he heard about Jed.”
There was a very pregnant pause as I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.
“Uh-huh. Okay, well, my ear is always available to be talked off if there is something.”
“Not at all changing the subject,” she said, obviously, changing the subject. “But the number of reporters at your place has thinned out. There was only a couple today. I think – barring any disasters – you’ll be all clear to come back by the weekend. All these copycat leaks have taken the focus off us and poor Guy. Did you see what that Northern Irish MP has been getting up to? Honestly, I can’t work out how it’s pleasurable, but if the washing machine isn’t going to electrocute him, who are we to judge?”
Ollie came into the room holding a bowl of food in each hand.
“Gotta go. Dinner is served.” I hung up.
