Page 28 of Pelvic Flaws

“That’s great. You sure though, because you don’t really sound it.”

“Oh God, no,” I cried. “I’m definitely sure, as long as you are. To be honest, I should be taking you, as a thank you for my car and Isaac’s drawings.”

“No need, honestly. I didn’t do any of it for you to pay me back. I did it because I wanted to.”

I sighed and mentally fanned myself, feeling hot for a whole other reason. It was still hormone related, but not the aged ravaged ones.

“I’m beginning to find out that you’re a very nice man, Mr. Michaels.”

“I am.”

I couldn’t see him, but I knew Dex was smiling. The sexy one I’d seen before that showed the little crow’s feet at the side of his eyes – not that I’d studied him much.

“What are they saying?” I heard Annie ask.

I turned to see Isaac leaning across the ironing board, trying to listen. I found some strength from somewhere and being the loving mother that I was, I shoved him. Trying to keep his balance, Isaac grabbed the board. As it wobbled, I grabbed the iron and lifted it just in time, as Isaac fell to the floor, pulling the board on top of him.

“Aagh,” he cried. “Shit, Mum.”

Annie burst out laughing as Isaac groaned on the floor, and I watched, holding up the hot iron in one hand and my phone in the other.

“Everything okay there?” Dex asked.

“Just one second, Dex,” I said calmly, as I turned and unplugged the iron. “Annie get that off your brother.”

“Do I have to,” she laughed. “Let me get a photo first.”

“Just help me up, Annie, you idiot.”

Annie lifted the ironing board and righted it.

“Thanks,” I said, placing the iron back. “Okay, Dex, I’m back.”

“Oh thanks, Mum,” Isaac moaned. “I’m fine, just in case you were wondering.”

“Oh my God, that’s so funny.” Annie clutched her sides, watching her brother flail like a fish out of water.

“Stop laughing and help me up.”

“You sure you’re okay there?” Dex asked.

“Oh yes, it’s just Isaac messing around.” I gave a quick glance to check my son wasn’t hurt, and turned to face the wall.

“You have my full attention, I promise.”

“Good to know darlin’,” he said, his deep voice full of sexual promise. “So, when can I take you on this date?”

I really wanted to shout, ‘I can be ready in twenty minutes’, but even I, who hadn’t dated in over a year – not since an awful online dating experience with a software programmer who brought his own pickled egg to eat with dinner – knew you didn’t appear too keen.

“That’s up to you,” I said, cringing at how asthmatic I suddenly sounded, due to the fact all the oxygen in my body had gone to my head and hadn’t left any for my lungs.

“Okay, how about tonight?”

I was shocked, feeling certain he’d say sometime later in the week, or the month, or even the year.

“Tonight?” I squeaked.

“Too soon?”

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