Page 13 of The Naked Cleaner

“I told you I can’t pay you, so you get this instead. Mum helps, and I cook for some of my clients so it’s not that much. As long as you enjoy it.”

He drags me back into the kitchen, and gets all enthusiastic talking about overnight oats and bloody vegan-sausage stew and there is coconut yoghurt with pomegranate seeds and home-made granola which makes me all cross-eyed with confusion.

“It’s really good, I promise.” He laughs and my dick jumps. Totally unexpectedly, which makes me blush.

He’s cute. He’s annoying and weird and chaotic, and kind of slow in the nicest sense of the word, and the nudity? Weird. Very weird. Him standing here tugging at his sleeves and itching the skin on his neck where there is no doubt a label driving him mad? It makes me feel bad. He makes me feel bad. Not about him, but about myself. Because I should be a better person. I should be grateful. I should make him a cup of tea or whatever he tops up his caffeine reserves with. I should be nice, when instead I’m standing here grunting like a loser scrunching my nose up in disgust over yet more spinach in Monday’s lunch salad.

He itches his neck again and sighs as he closes the fridge door.

“Just throw all the containers in that box, and I’ll come back next week and pick them all up.”

“Will you do this again? Next week? Bring me food and help me…”

Yeah. That’s me. Expecting people to do stuff for me. I haven’t even offered him a sit down, and here I am, demanding meals on wheels like a loser. I am a loser.

“Would you like me to? I love cooking, so it’s not like it’s a hardship. If I do this, could you do that invoicing thing for me?” He looks excited, though squirming with unease.

I do that with people. I’m no good with people. It’s easier to behave like a jerk and let people treat me like one back. Then people keep their distance, and everyone is happy.

I like it when he’s happy.

He scratches his neck again, and I lose it. Obviously.

My arms kind of grab him and I swing his whole body around until his neck is in front of my face and my fingers are tugging at the fabric until I find the damn label. I hate those too, the way they scratch against your skin and the double ones are the worst with their little annoying flaps with the size on, and this one in his hoodie is a fucking triple one with that little plastic tag thing still attached.

I’m obviously the rudest fucker on the planet, because I tug at him so he moves with me, and I yank open the top drawer and rummage around with one hand as the other is holding the hem of his hoodie in a firm grip until I find the scissors.

Then I cut the whole thing off, the way I would do with my own clothes.

His breath hitches as I stab the blades into his clothing, chopping away with all the precision of an elephant in an embroidery factory. At least it’s all gone. I cut the last little pieces of annoying polyester out of his life and let my fingers rub his skin, where angry red marks can be seen.

“Better?” I say. And then I blush. Like an idiot. What the heck am I doing?

He lets his hand rub the back of his neck, and turns around to face me. Big grin on his face.

“See? You can be nice when you want to.” He laughs softly. “Thank you.”

I mean to say something snarky back. Something rude and off-putting to get him to leave. Leave and leave me alone.

I can’t think of a single thing to say. So, I shrug my shoulders and look over towards the floor, littered with paperwork, and two plates still on the floor, both licked clean. It was that good. It was really good.

“You didn’t drink your water.” He says.

Chapter Six

Louis

I know the exact second when he gets what I am about to do. It’s just that little sparkle that ignites in his eyes, then he shoves me out of the way and sets off down the hallway with me hot on his heels. I beat him. Of course, I do, pushing him out of the way as we both collide in the narrow doorway, me diving headfirst into the perfectly made bed that I kind of lovingly made up earlier, and him bouncing against the doorframe before pretty much landing on top of me, flattening me on the bed.

“Get out of my bed, Motherfucker.” He almost shrieks as I am wetting my pants with laughter. Literally. I’m actually wearing pants, and anyway I got there first, and there is nothing he can do to get me out of his bed now.

“Motherfucker.” I squeal, trying not to die from the look on his face. Because he is all flushed with embarrassment and anger and laughter, all in one. “You know the drill Pontus, drink your damn water and I will quite happily get out of your bed.”

I am not going anywhere. I am quite happy lying here on my front with Pontus crawling all over my back, using his knee to try to tip me off the edge of the bed, as I have my hand on the wall, edging me firmly in my space.

“I am not going nowhere, mate.” I hiss out, and he is huffing and puffing behind me.

“My bed. My house.” He huffs, and gives me a well-placed shove at the same time as his arm falls hard on my elbow, and yeah. It’s not dignified. Not smart. Not clever. Me, all fucking almost two metres of me, crash onto the floor with a very... well, embarrassing thunk.

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