[18+] Mark just wants a quiet life. With plenty of action at work, he has no interest in bringing the drama home with him. But he does need a flatmate, and when blonde bombshell Zoe crashes onto the scene, she's more than he bargained for.
Zoe is a...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
March 2009
ZOE
Mark is a perfect example of an evolved robot as we say bye to my parents. He's polite and engaged, thanking them for their hospitality, but his previous laidback attitude has vanished.
As soon as we're alone in the car, a blanket of tension descends. He says nothing, turning the key in the ignition, shifting into gear, and pulling off. I fix my gaze on the road ahead, watching the narrow country lanes turn into busier stretches of motorway.
After an hour without talking, I crack.
"Mind if I turn on the radio?" I ask.
He'll say no—he always does—but it's an excuse to disrupt the silence.
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Okay... Can we talk, then?"
His knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. "Go ahead."
I press my lips together. That's not what I meant, and he knows it. He's giving me the chance to come clean, but I don't fancy making this journey even more awkward. I'll stick it out for the remaining few hours, and then we can hash out my lack of transparency when we're home.
"Thanks for offering to help with my accounting rotation," I say. "I don't think it'll be very long. Probably a week or so. It's just to give us an understanding of profitability, margins, net, gross..."
He flicks on the indicator and glides into the middle lane to overtake a lorry.
"Richard good with numbers?" he asks.
Yes. Richard has an A in A-level maths. But that's not what he's actually asking me. He's once again giving me an opening, and the more I dodge them, the more I'll look like a coward.
"It's not serious," I murmur, slouching in my seat and casting a gaze across at him.
His face is emotionless, eyes concentrating on the road, flitting between various cars, assessing danger and risk.
Nobody makes me feel safer than him.
"How many dates?" This time there's a definite cold edge to the question. Because he knows I've kept it from him.
"I don't know."
"That many?" He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, like he's both annoyed and disappointed.
"I didn't lie to you that night. I wasn't feeling it. But he's a really nice guy and I wanted to give him a chance."
Another lorry ahead kills our speed. Mark eases off the accelerator to wait for a gap to overtake. I prop my elbow against the door and rest my head in the palm of my hand, guilt trickling through me with every minute of silence.
