Page 18 of Holding On

"Did I ask for your opinion?"

She looks hurt for just a moment, but then takes a breath, lifts her shoulders back, and turns to the door. "Fine. I'll leave. Have a nice day, Mr. Baxter."

Dammit. What am I doing? Why am I being so rude to this girl?

"Hey." I stop her as she's leaving.

"What?" she asks, not looking back.

"Sorry. I just um...I don't have anything against you. I just expected Lois. That's all."

"I'll tell them to halt all services until she gets back." She goes out to the driveway.

"No. Wait." I roll my chair to the door.

She turns back around. "What?"

"I need you to stay. You were right. The place needs to be cleaned and it looks like you're my only option."

She looks ready to punch me. Shit.

"I didn't mean it like that. I meant—"

"Yeah, I got it." She storms off.

"Hey! Where are you going?" I call after her.

"To get my supplies," she yells back.

I watch her walk out to the driveway and take a mop and a broom from a red minivan. Is that what she drives? A minivan? Is she a mom? Or is that from the cleaning company?

"Is that yours?" I ask, pointing to the minivan as she walks past me into the house.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I just don't know many people our age who drive minivans."

She sets her mop down. "Where do you want me to start?"

"The living room?" I say it like a question because I don't know the right answer. Is there a protocol for cleaning houses? The maid we had when I was growing up just cleaned. She didn't ask questions. And Lois didn't ask where to start.

As if reading my mind, she says, "I asked because some people have a preference. For instance, if you're watching TV in here, I don't want to disturb you by running the vacuum."

"Oh. Don't worry about the noise. I could use a little noise."

She looks at me funny. I guess that does sound kind of odd. Rather than try to explain, I keep quiet and let her do her job.

She gets out a rag and some furniture polish and starts dusting the bookshelf on the side of the room. While her back is turned to me, I quickly lift myself from the chair and sit on the couch. Grabbing the remote, I flip through the channels, stopping on a baseball game. But I'm not watching it. My eyes keep going to the girl and that hot little ass of hers. The back of her dress lifts as she reaches to dust the top shelf and I feel my cock twitch. Shit.

I quickly glance back at the TV. She's the maid. I shouldn't be looking at her that way. And yet, my gaze wanders to her again as she bends down to dust the lower shelves. The move makes her dress rise and tighten around her ass and I feel another twitch in my shorts.

She turns toward me and I snatch a sports magazine from the coffee table and hold it over my crotch, pretending to read it.

She continues to dust and I can't help but sneak glances at her as she makes her way around the room. She's the perfect blend of hot and cute. Hot body. Cute face. She's not wearing makeup but her skin in flawless, tinted from the sun.

"The floors are laminate, right?" she asks.

"Yeah." I look up from the magazine I'm still pretending to read.

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