Excerpt: Three Month Boyfriend

Chapter 2:
It was Monday. The early morning sun was gently shining through the windows, bathing Martha’s room with a pale warm glow. Martha however was awake; wide awake. It hadn’t been the morning alarm that had woken her but the sound of the muffled crashing and banging outside room 242. Gruff men were loudly swearing as they attempted for a third time to angle a sofa through the thin door of the apartment across the hall.
Martha’s floral pillow was smothering her face, trying to block the sound of the movers. This was not the way she wanted to begin her first week of freedom till she began her contract. It took two days after the meeting with her editor for Fran to get back to her about when her new publishing contract was to be signed. After that, the process for getting her contract signed was speedy to say the least. She had four months to gather any material she needed. After that, she would start writing her first contracted novel.
It did not take long for Martha to begin her rough synopsis for her novel. She already had typed out the draft for chapter one. Fran’s suggestion had sown itself into her mind and was now fruiting with ideas. The plot outline was yet to be refined but it was enough for her to work with. Martha had placed her novel aside for the time being. She planned to devote her first week to painting her apartment pale yellow.
The noise outside was growing ever louder and the curses ever gruffer. Martha furiously threw back her bed covers, slipping her tiny feet into her pale blue ugg boots. Her hair was a tangle of blonde, the shape of the chic, French bob wild and crazed with sleep. Without her sophisticated apparel she looked rather plain, standing there with frizzy bed hair, a pink flannel nightgown and blue ugg boots. But she didn’t care. She was going to get her Monday morning lie in.
She slammed open her door, a blazing fury in her bright eyes to add to the effect, “What in god’s name are you doing at this hour of the morning?” she demanded, her hands on her hips, “I don’t need to listen to that crude tradie talk of yours gentlemen.”
The two movers looked between her and each other before setting the lounge down. She looked crazed standing there, like a younger version of the mad lady who spent her days on the front verandah with a rocking chair and many eccentric cats. The taller and broader of the two men stomped towards her. He appeared stronger than she was as he towered over her. Martha took in a deep breath not letting his size intimidate him. Small things come in big packages.
“If you don’t like it,” he said roughly, “You can buggar off else where.”
A quick glance at his left hand indicated that he was married. To this Martha turned her cool eyes to his, locking them in her stare. She said nothing at first, a small almost mad smirk lingering at the corners of her lips, “Is your wife satisfied?” She inquired, tilting her head to one side.
“What?” he asked, not sure where she was going with this.
“Well.” Martha began in a conversational manner, “If you make love as well as you move couches she should go looking for a new man.”
He stood there, unsure of how to respond. It was clear that she had openly insulted him. Here was this woman, dressed in plain clothes commenting on his sex life. There was a flush of red climbing up the veins of his neck. Taking in a deep breath to control an outburst of anger he turned away from her, indicating to the other mover to resume what they were doing, ignoring the mirth emanating from him. Under his breath he muttered, “Saucy bitch.”
“I know I am.” And with that Martha turned around and slammed the door behind her. It hadn’t fixed the situation but it did feel good. She could continue on with her day now.
After a shower and some breakfast, Martha got ready to go out. She decided there was no point staying indoors as the movers would be at that all day and at least one of them would be taking no effort to make his movements quiet.
Staring at her reflection, Martha smiled. She was having a good day today. She was in control and free for four months. Free. That was the only word racing through her mind. Free. Free from stress, free from angst about her next book, free from worry about money. There was nothing chaining her to her desk today.
Slowly, a memory she had tried relentlessly to suppress since her coffee with Fran, snuck into her mind. She was never going to be free from her past. The face in her reflection fell, the corners of her red painted lips thinning. After some time a sigh escaped them. She was all but free from the memory of him. The memory of when she had believed in romance, believed in…love. To her horror a tear trailed down her cheeks. The memory was still raw, and throbbed like an open wound. It seemed that no matter what she did she would never escape it. She had tried placing distance between them but that had failed miserably. Her last resort was to fling herself mercilessly into her writing. But she wrote about the love she never had. She longed, hungered for the intense emotions she wrote about in her books. In her room she was alone while her heroines got the love they deserved. Yes, she had been right. Romance was only for fiction.
Over time she had buried her heart deep within her, locking it away where it was safe. She would never be hurt again. She would never be swept off her feet. She had once believed in romance, but never again.
Martha brushed away the tears, pulling herself together. Stepping into the hall again, she watched the two movers for a moment. As she left she called out, “I will be back in a few hours. Make sure this is done by then!”
Behind her back she could hear the bigger of the two making some remark about her which she was sure was negative. She didn’t care. It was water off her invincible back.
She strode out of the building, swinging her bag over her back. She decided she would grab a quick coffee and some paint before heading back to her apartment. The movers should be finished by then, if not, then they would at least be on their lunch break. Plus she could do to get out for bit.
It took a leisurely ten minutes to make her way towards Sydney harbor front. When she reached her favorite café she sat in her usual spot by the window and promptly ordered a skim cappuccino. It was a great place to do some people watching. The waiter bought it over after a few minutes, a sheepish smile on his face. It was the same waiter who had blushed so violently the last time she had been there. She merely returned his smile with her own, thanked him and returned to the window.
She loved watching all the people walking past. It was amazing thinking about all those people with their own lives, hopes, dreams and stories. They all had their own purpose in life. She smiled as she sipped at her coffee. It was fodder for a creative brain like hers. She was never good at English in school. It was funny how life turned out. She bit down a sigh.
It was near midday before she made her way back to the apartment with two cans of pale yellow paint in each hand. They were rather weighty. In hindsight she should have taken a taxi. Despite the insistent aching of her arms the walk and coffee had done her good though, despite the hefty weights. There was a nice flush in her cheeks as she ascended the stairs towards her room. The men had finished as there were no pieces of furniture in the hall save for one large plastic bag. Was it rubbish? She placed the cans of paint by her door above the stairs before approaching it tentatively, giving it a poke. It didn’t feel like rubbish. She opened it up. All there was in it were a collection of clothes. They were male clothes from the looks of it. Were these out for charity? They seemed to be in good condition. Some of them were new. As she sorted through them she saw many of them were designer label and no doubt expensive. She placed a finger to her lips in thought. It must be her new neighbors as she could not think of anyone in the building that was well off. But then she was not good at keeping up. She shrugged, picking up the bag and making her way down the stairs again.
“Where do you think you are going with my clothes then?” A well-humored, British accented voice bounced off the walls about her, causing her to stop mid step. She turned around sharply, to see a man standing by the door of 242. He was smiling at her, one hand on his hip the other slightly indicating at the bag in her hand.
She gaped for a moment, caught completely off guard. She felt herself take a step forward, when her booted foot caught itself in one of the cans of paint, locking it tight. Martha was thrown off balance, her arms flailing in a vain attempt to stay upright. She was sure she had heard something crack as she tumbled down the stairs, the bag still clutched in her hands. She cried out in pain landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, her face red and blotchy with tears and humiliation. Talk about an entrance or in Martha’s case a very comical exit. There was a numbing throb in her ankle. Damn, she must have sprained it. It hurt like hell.
The man rushed down the stairs, crouching down to see if she was alright. “If I had known I looked that bad I wouldn’t have come out of my room.” He laughed. His voice was light and full of humor. There was a cheeky sparkle in his eyes, despite their concerned expression. “Are you alright? That was quite a tumble. I must say it was very impressed.”
“Thanks,” she replied through gritted teeth. She forced a smile, though she could not hide the pain from her eyes. She made a move to get up, but collapsed as soon as she placed weight on her right foot. “I’ll be fine once I get up,” but as soon as she tried to walk again, her body gave way.
A strong hand caught her about the arm this time, holding her tight against its body in quick yet light motion. When Martha looked up at him, her heart thudded in her chest. There was a charge that knocked the breath out of her, a gasp escaping her perfect red lips. She was looking into the face of the man. His smile played at the abandoned strings of her soul. Strings she had thought were severed a long time ago. The solid touch of his hands around her waist sent her mind into a spin. His hair was dark and he was slightly taller than her, but he wasn’t mysteriously striking. He looked… ordinary. He was slender though filled out at the same time, his body clothed in a light linen shirt and jeans. She went to draw away, but the solid comfort of his body as he held her made it hard to drag her away. His eyes were intense, boring into her. They were a strange, light blue, a similar shade to hers. Yet they held such sensual mystery she could not wrench herself away from them, even if she wanted to. She wasn’t aware she had been clutching the bag of clothes the entire time till she dropped it. He made a move to pick them up, giving her an inquiring look. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked.
Was she going to be alright? Martha’s voice was caught in her throat as she stared at this stranger. Something deep within her, the part which she had kept so firmly locked away was drawn to him. She was swept off her feet at the worst possible time.

“I’m sorry,” Martha said her eyes focused on the tea in her hands. “I didn’t mean to take off with your clothes. I thought someone had left them there for charity. They do that a lot in this building. There has been many a time where I have had to pick up a bag of clothes from a neighbor’s door.”
The man sitting opposite her laughed, a goofy like grin on his face, “Don’t worry, there’s no hard feelings about it. It was an honest mistake really. I mean a plastic bag full of clothes left outside does look a little suspect doesn’t it?”
She laughed, “Thanks for being so understanding Mr. Longbourne,”
“Vince,”
“Vince.” She bit her bottom lip to prevent her from giving into a sheepish blush. This was ridiculous. She had only just met the man. Something within her stirred. An emotion she thought she had buried long ago. Her eyes watched hungrily as he moved his cup to his mouth and took a swig, lingering even though he had placed it back down. “Is there something on my face?” he asked when he noticed that she was staring at him.
Her teeth came down harder on her lips, as she shook her head. She forced her eyes away from his, turning her head. The throbbing within her became more intense. She had put it down to the sprained ankle.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no. I…” Now she felt her cheeks going red with extreme embarrassment. How could she tell him that it was the way he was making her feel, that was wrong? It reminded her of that feeling she got as a school girl when a cute guy she sort of liked came and sat next to her in class.
“It’s my ankle. I think I might have sprained it when I went tumbling down the stairs.” Oh god, that was lame! She closed her eyes, placing a hand to her face so as to hide her humiliation. The first day of her freedom was not going well. It was a Monday. Go figure.
“With those boots I’m surprised you managed to make your legs move. They look expensive too. Here, let me take a look at your ankle.” He placed his coffee cup on the box beside the couch. “Just take off your boots and we will take a look at this foot of yours yeah? Which one was it?”
“It’s the left one.” She replied quickly.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, crouching down, “I have successfully completed my first aid course. It comes in handy when you are saving damsels in distress that make a habit of falling down stairs.”
“Well, I will make sure I do make it a habit if it means being invited in for tea with attractive men.”
“How do I get these off?” Vince said, busying himself with the boots. He was tugging at the elastic ties across the front.
“Ouch! Careful! That hurts!” she reached down, trying to swipe his hands away, “It doesn’t open like that! There’s a zip on the side,” she reached for it, but his hands were quick. They unzipped the boots easily. He took the top of the boot and slowly slid it down her leg so as not to cause any unnecessary pain. His fingers were gentle as he ran them down the length of her leg. Oh god! When did she last shave? This was close to the worst day of her life, or the best, she wasn’t quite sure.
His touch sent shivers down her spin and she tried hard to repress the urge to moan. He propped her ankle on his knee as he slowly ran his fingers along it. He prodded around gently, registering her complaints. It was burning in pain. She must have sprained it pretty bad. Well so much for painting her apartment this week.
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to take your other boot off. I need to check if this one is swollen.” He held out his hand for her other foot. She winced as she lifted it up. He unzipped it, slipping it off as gently as he had the other. This was proving too much for Martha. What was wrong with her?
“Yeah, it’s definitely swollen.” He said, resting both ankles on his knee. He ran his hands down the sides of them, “does it hurt?”
“Like hell” she said.
“Sorry about that. Let me help you to your room.” Vince reached forward and lifted her effortlessly from the chair she had been sitting in. “Are you good at hopping?”
“I’m the queen of hopping.” She laughed. Her left ankle had always given her problems during her high school days. She was a klutz on it most of the time and stairs always bought out the worst in her balance, “I used to spend my school days hopping from one class to the next.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a right leg the size of a footballer.”
He held her around the waist, pulling her tightly into the curve of his body. He felt secure and sturdy. Her boots were in his other hand as they made their way to her door across the hallway. “Keys?” he held out his hand to her.
After a few moments scrabbling about her bag she withdrew them, placing them in the door. Click, click and the door was open. “I should be fine from here. I can hobble on the furniture till I get to my bed. Thanks Vince.”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
“Yeah,” She smiled at him, taking her boots from his hand. “I’ll catch you later.”
“If you need me just give me a shout. I’ll come running don’t you worry.”
As she heard the door to his apartment close, she finally let out a sigh. She didn’t doubt that if she ever wanted him he would come and that disconcerted her.