Page 8 of Losing Control
“Just pain in the ass clients.”
“Tell me about it.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “My afternoon consisted of me trying to appease an existing client over an advert that she kept saying just ‘wasn’t right’ but she couldn’t explain to me why she felt this way. I sometimes wonder why I ever decided to work in a customer service setting,” I say with a chuckle.
“Well, I’m glad that you did because if you hadn’t, then I may never have had the chance to meet you.” His honesty shocks me, but I am saved from giving a response as he then announces that we have arrived at his place.
I look at the building to the right of me, and I am surprised to see that he lives in a block of run down apartments. I am not a snob by any means, but I am well aware that this is one of the roughest areas to live in. It’s not where I would have imagined he would live.
He pushes open the communal door and leads me up two flights of stairs. The faint aroma of urine reaches my nostrils and I can’t help but screw my nose up. Luckily, Michael is in front of me, so he doesn’t see the look on my face.
We stop outside a red door with the number thirteen on it. I have to stop myself from laughing at the unlucky number. A part of me wants to take it as a sign. Red door, unlucky number, it should set off alarm bells, but I have had enough bad luck in the last year, so I’m not letting a door colour and number fuel my ridiculous notions.
I watch as Michael unlocks the door and gestures for me to walk in. I do and am struck by the difference in appearance from the stairway to the hallway behind this door. The apartment looks immaculate, and from what I can see has been decorated in clean colours.
The cream carpet beneath my feet compliments the pale-yellow walls. The lounge and kitchen are open plan, with two separate doors on the right-hand side of the room. I presume one leads to a bedroom and the other a bathroom.
A black, two-seater leather sofa sits underneath a window on the far back wall, and opposite is a large flat screen television, with a coffee table sitting in front of the sofa.
There is a kitchen counter running halfway across the room, separating the lounge space from the kitchen space. A small table and chairs are situated in the middle of the kitchen space, with a fridge freezer just behind it.
I realise that I have taken far too long assessing Michael’s apartment, and when my eyes meet his, I find him watching me.
“It’s not much, but it suits me,” Michael says, seeming to need to explain himself.
“It’s lovely,” I reply feeling bad that he obviously thinks that I am not bowled over by where he lives.
“It’s not lovely, Lucy, but it does me.”
“Michael, there isn’t anything wrong with it,” I say, gesturing around the room.
“I don’t intend on being here forever. It’s just a stop gap whilst I save some money for a deposit to buy my own place.” I sense a bit of discomfort from him, and I desperately don’t want our evening to start on a sour note.
“You said something about cooking?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I did,” he replies giving me a look of relief. “Spaghetti Bolognese okay?”
“Sounds good.”
“Would you like a glass of wine before I create my special Bolognese?”
“Yes to the wine. And, special Bolognese?”
“Yeah, it’s a secret recipe,” he says with a wink. He has a twinkle in his eye and I like how the conversation is coming easier now that the focus is off of where he lives.
“Are you not going to share the secret with me?” I say in more of a flirty manner.
Michael takes a few steps towards me and leans down, his lips hovering just in front of mine. I feel the air whoosh from my lungs. With him this close, it’s hard to focus on anything other than his lips.
“If I told you, then I would have to kill you.” His words make me freeze and my breath hitches.
“What?” I whisper, feeling uneasy. He chuckles, and whatever the glint that I saw in his eyes was just now has gone. The warmth that I’m used to seeing from him has returned.
“Relax, Lucy, I’m just messing around.”
“Oh,” I say on an exhale.
I am not quite sure how to act, but I am quickly thrown off guard again as Michael’s lips brush against mine. I haven’t kissed anyone since Tom, so my body instantly tenses from the intimate contact. Michael seems to pick up on my hesitation as he pulls back slightly, breaking the contact between us.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to overstep the mark.”
