Since the divorce I've dated on and off, but I'm busy and a dad, and the apps are sometimes more trouble than they're worth. After a good week I'll have momentary motivation and unpause my profile and seek out a fling. I'm handsome, in my late 30s, with blue eyes and a well kept beard, and so I usually have little trouble finding someone to hookup with, but nothing really lasts.
It makes sense that things don't last of course, I look after my kids every second week, so my attention is always partial. When they're with me I want them to be staying in a proper house, so I stay somewhere only just within my means. A few months ago I decided that I needed to supplement my income and find someone who could stay half the time.
I put out feelers to FB groups and online listings. It's a weird ask but I thought it couldn't hurt to look. I charged below market rate but the first 5 people I saw were clearly untrustworthy or didn't read the ad.
Then I met Belle. She suited perfectly. She worked every second week on tours interstate and our schedules aligned. There was however one problem: the optics.
She was 28, with sincere and pretty brown eyes, long legs and a kind of country girl aesthetic that you don't see much in the city. Even if she wasn't my type sharing a place with a woman ten years my junior isn't exactly the best look.
So I did my absolute best to make everything above board. I printed out a lease for her, and emphasised repeatedly that I'd respect her privacy fully. I work long hours on my week without the kids so I figured it would work out. I could keep it formal and everything would be fine.
It went great. She was conscientious, kept the kitchen spotless, rarely entertained guests, and we saw each other only in passing most of the time. The money she paid in rent made everything easier and I hoped things would continue like this as long as possible.
Then one Friday I came home a little earlier than usual, at the end of a long week. I'd met with clients over lunch to celebrate a finalised contract and I'd had a martini to celebrate, maybe two. Walking in the door I couldn't wait to unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt, remove my tie and sit down at the kitchen bench to another well earned drink. The plan was to get a bit tipsy, heat up some leftovers and watch something mindless to destress.
As my bowl circled the microwave and I sipped greedily at a gin and tonic I could hear Belle's keys turn in the lock at the front door. I'd momentarily forgotten I might see her, and I stood up a little guiltily to be caught drinking in the kitchen at 3pm on a Friday.
She smiled to see me, a bit of mischief in her eyes as she spied the blue bottle on the bench.
"Long week huh?"
"Yeah, too long... I'll be out of your space and upstairs soon"
It was a hot day and she'd clearly been at the beach, towel and beach bag in one hand, hair still with the remnants of sea strands and a pleasant smell of salt and sunscreen as she passed me.
"I won't judge you drinking alone if you pour me a glass, I was in the sun all day and that looks divine! Then I'll let you retreat to your bedroom"
Her laugh was playful as she sat at the kitchen bench, her long legs displaying a light sprinkling of sand.
"I appreciate the offer of mercy" I poured her a glass and dramatically slid it across the benchtop to her with a smile, realising that I was a little more tipsy than I'd thought.
"While I've got you here I want to run something by you, I was talking to friends about it today"
This was more conversation we'd had in weeks and I sat down across from her, my curiosity piqued.
"Sure, hit me".
She sipped her drink.
"So I've come to think that for most people love is doomed."
I let the mirth reach my eyes.
"You're pretty jaded for 28."
"Hear me out! It's a proper theory."
"Sure, educate me, philosopher."
"So I think that it's a matter of timing. By my age all the good men are already in relationships, almost always with the wrong women"
"How do you figure?"
"Well the kind of man who has his act together, with prospects and principles, is gets snapped up quickly, and usually by a women who will do whatever it takes. That kind of man will end up with the first woman who fits the story he wants for his life, and he won't be discerning because he won't have enough experience to know either way."
"I can see how that might happen."
"So then the men left are players with prospects but no principles, the principles with no prospects or those with neither."
"So incels?"
She laughed.
"Yep, and then you have this second wave, when those men with principles and prospects realise that their life partner is unsuitable, and their marriage falls apart, by which point all the women suitable are over dating, because they've spent ten years or whatever dealing with unsuitable men."
"It's a bleak picture you're painting Belle."
"Is it untrue though?... I mean look at you"
She paused before delivering the second line, weighing her words and I raised an eyebrow.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You're a gentleman. I deal with men your age all the time, and most of them are sleazy. The ones who aren't total pigs are either unhappily married or divorced, and the latter are usually oblivious to the women who inevitably hit on them."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, though you're probably judging my ex too harshly."
"That's exactly what I mean! You've got emotional intelligence! And you keep me at an arms length, even though you could've made this weird quick."
"Speaking of arms length I think I'm far too tipsy to offer a proper critique of this theory."
The microwave dinged and I stood, noticing with a flush that I'd been holding Belle's gaze intently as she leaned forward on the table offering an unintentional glimpse of the top of her breasts cupped in the bikini under her loose t-shirt.
"But I'll think about it, I'm going to watch something mindless while I sober up over dinner and prepare myself mentally for the weekend."
"Gird those loins, I'm going to wash off the sea".
Walking up the stairs to the loungeroom I surprised myself with the way the thought of soap dripping down her skin rushed into my mind. It'd clearly been too long since my last date, and I needed to have a look on the apps after I finished my meal.
Some scrolling, some salmon and rice and 20 minutes of a bad action film later I heard bare footfalls on the stairs. There was no rule about it but usually when we were both home Belle watched shows on her laptop and left the loungeroom to me.
She was comfortable, her hair still up in a towel, wearing loose pyjama bottoms, a ribbed singlet and a robe, a large bowl in her hands.
"Sorry to crash your depressing evening-in but you look like you need a real movie night, so I made some popcorn, just microwave but hey beggars can't be choosers".
"That's very kind" I said sincerely as my mouth watered at the smell of butter.
"What's this?" She said, "it looks terrible".
"Oh it is"
"Perfect!"
She set the bowl of popcorn to make a barrier between us and I felt a little gratitude, even as I became oddly conscious of the sound of my chewing.
The movie played and we sat in something like a comfortable silence, but my intention was thoroughly divided. A few minutes in she lifted her legs up under her onto the couch, her calves and bare feet stretching towards me. I set the empty bowl of popcorn on my lap to cover the growing arousal I tried and fail to quell. It was hard to shake off the scent of her shampoo and the elegant curve of her leg.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra underneath her singlet. The outline of her nipples through the fabric made me squirm in my seat. I wondered if the tension was on my side alone, and if it was as obvious to her as it felt to me. As she shifted in place the shoulder of her robe slipped, and she left it there, the bare skin only increasing my discomfort.
When the movie finished I breathed a silent sigh of relief, her proximity made me feel a kind of intoxication that cancelled out my growing sobriety. I could tell that my arousal would be visible in the grey work pants. As the credits rolled I waited for her to stand, because I definitely couldn't.
"Well" she announced, "that was suitably terrible, I guess I should hit the hay." Standing her robe was slightly askew and the couch-marks on her thighs did nothing to detract from their pull.
She turned and, to my horror, stared down at me, towards the heat that had grown thick against my leg. I hoped that the horror was absent from my face as I stumbled for words.
"Well, I'll need that won't I."
I continued to stumble, then realised that she was talking about the popcorn bowl.
"Oh, yep. Of course."
She reached down, grabbed the bowl and sent a shiver through me with the touch.
As she lifted it away there was no way the outline of my reaction wasn't visible, but she left it unremarked, her face unreadable save for the hint of a smirk as she turned and walked down the stairs.
This is Part One, Part Two will follow soon!