Chapter 11
Sean looked at the soaking wet, curvy woman, and his brows shot up when she mentioned showers. He licked his lips and said 'Uhhh," again. What had happened to his faculty of speech? He hadn't been this tongue-tied since he was a teen.
He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, you can use the one upstairs... in the guestroom." He turned and walked slowly back to the house. Still acting stunned.
Jo picked up the football and stumbled after him. Cringing at the feel of her wet clothes. She would have to strip on the deck, she couldn't go inside the house like this.
"Sean," she called out. "Can you get me a robe or something?" She tried to jog to catch him up. "Sean?"
She stared at his wet back. Yeesh, he even looked good from the back. She shook her head to get rid of those thoughts. "Sean! I can't go in the house like this!"
She stopped on the deck, put the ball on the table and tried to pull her jeans off. She struck an unexpected problem. The wet jeans clung to her so well, she could not pull them off. Oh dear god, she was going to have to ask him for help. She blushed at the thought. The other option of wrecking them was just not on her list of things to do. D&G were expensive. It crossed her mind that it would be safer to ask a complete stranger to help. She actually looked around for one. "SEAN!"
"Coming, I'm coming!" He bellowed. It echoed. Oh, shit! That just sounded so wrong.
She stood on the deck looking like a drowned rat with her jeans undone and stuck at her hip level. The alcohol was affecting her again and she swayed a little where she stood. She tried to pull out her t-shirt to cover herself.
Sean appeared in the open slider, a huge white bath sheet in his hands. He stared at his half-undressed partner. "What are you doing?"
Jo blushed again. This was some kind of nightmare. She mumbled something he probably couldn't hear and then she tried again. Her voice was still tiny. "I can't get my jeans off by myself." Oh kill me now, she prayed. He had probably just got that erection to go down and now she was asking him to help take her pants off? What if she just left his house, got in a taxi, packed her bags and went home? It couldn't be worse... could it?
He just looked at her.
"They're wet... and tight... and..." Okay. [i]Stop talking Jo.[/i] She waved at herself in what she hoped was a self explanatory gesture. "Wet," she repeated obviously.
"Oh." Sean couldn't believe he was going to have to touch her. Her bare legs. Oh my God! Can this day get any fucking worse? Christ, man,don't think about fucking.
"Um, maybe if you sit on the lounge? I can... uh..." He was standing there, a confused frown making a little 'm' in the center of his forehead. He waved his hands vaguely around, not sure where to put them.
Jo swayed a little; tried to take a step, couldn't and fell on her ass. She was drunker than she thought. "Here's good," she said shooting (a little late) for dignified. She leant back and held her feet up at Sean, supporting herself on her elbows.
He grabbed her jeans at the ankles, but all that did was slide her whole body across the deck.
She giggled. Shit, he was going to have to peel her out of them. He sighed; might as well get it over with.
He crouched down and actually closed his eyes as he reached for her hips. He had them down to her knees before he remembered the towel. Oh, well. Too late now. He yanked them the rest of the way off.
Jo was still giggling until a thought wormed its way into her befuddled head. Undies. He was probably going to take her undies with the jeans. She clutched suddenly at herself but it was too late. She had grabbed them, but they were around her thighs.
When Sean felt her grab at something, he looked to see. His eyes popped and he backed off so fast he sat down, flat on his ass "Here!" He threw the towel at her and scrambled up. And turned his back to her, trying to give her a little dignity... way too late. All he could see was that triangle of blonde curls... And now he was hard as a rock again. He fled into the house, shaking.
Jo clutched at the towel, and the small measure of dignity he had tried to give her. She groaned out loud. She had flashed her partner. She was a first class idiot. She pulled up her panties, clambered to her feet and tried to remember where he had said the shower was. Upstairs?
She made her way carefully through the house. She desperately wanted to have a bit of a sticky beak, a look around, but that might be the final straw. She found the stairs easily enough. She had no idea where Sean had gone. He was probably smacking his head into a wall somewhere at his appalling luck in partners. She could bet he and D had never had problems like this.
She had reached the bathroom; it was across the small hallway from the guest room. It looked occupied. Clothes were strewn everywhere and the bed was rumpled and unmade. She knew he lived alone.
Two years... two years and he was still sleeping in the guest room. This must be the house... the scene of the crime. Oh poor Sean. She remembered how he had looked that morning; he looked exhausted. Assuming he actually ever slept. She smacked herself. They had nearly kissed in the kitchen of her house. No wonder he had such a strong reaction.
She didn't know what to wear after her shower. She would have to wear his clothes until hers had washed and dried. Right now, she thought she could probably could get in a cab dressed in one of his shirts... and run. Cab drivers in LA must have seen worse.
She baulked in the door of the bathroom. If he was sleeping here then he showered here. She closed her eyes and had an image of how he would look in a shower. Sean... wet... with a hard on. It made her mouth go dry and other places go wet.
"Stupid," she said aloud. She glared at herself in the mirror. "You are so stupid. What are you doing? This is not like you!" she told herself off.
She was such a mess; wet and covered in sand. It was a wonder he wanted to kiss her at all. She turned the shower on.
What about you? her internal voice asked. Do you want to kiss him?
She groaned out loud. God help her; yes she did. She stripped off the rest of her wet clothes. They fell with a plop onto the bathroom floor. She wrapped herself in the towel and went to raid his wardrobe. She found some t-shirts pushed haphazardly into the shelves. This would have to do. She held it up against her body. It was big enough on her to serve as a dress.
Undies.
She would rinse them out and wear them wet. There was no way she was going pantiless around him. Already did that.
She showered. He didn't own any shampoo so she just rinsed her hair out as best as she could. The water temperature changed at one point and she wondered if he was in the other shower. She had probably forced him into the master bedroom. Maybe that was a good thing? Two years was a long time. But not really... to have lost someone in such awful circumstances.
Poor Sean.
She dried her hair with the towel and slipped the shirt over her head. She sniffed at the neck of it. It smelt like him and cigarettes. She wrapped her wet clothes in the towel so that she didn't drip on the floor. Her jeans must still be on the deck. She went to get them.
The laundry was off the back of the kitchen. She rinsed everything out in the sink to get rid of as much of the sand as she could and then she threw them in the machine. She put it on the shortest wash on the dial. She hung her bra over the sink.
Still no sign of Sean. She cleaned up the remains of their lunch, and put any leftovers in the fridge. The fridge looked awfully bare. Not a lot of food, just ancient looking condiments and beers. He really wasn't looking after himself. She stood in the kitchen, at a loss as to what to do now.
She went back out onto the deck and sat in a chair, looking at the surf. She pulled her knees up against her chest and pulled the t-shirt down to her ankles. She waited.
Sean was all kinds of fucked up. He'd stripped a woman he hardly knew in his own home. Christ, outside on the deck where his neighbours and the whole world could see. And the worst part was he'd enjoyed every second of his fingers touching her. Soft. Warm. Silken.
Then he embarrassed her by pulling down her underwear. She probably thought he was some kind of animal. Couldn't control himself. Well, that part was obvious... to both of them. He'd seen her face when she saw the raging hard-on he had on the beach. Shocked. Then he touched her and did it again. Shit, he wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to get near him again.
And now what was he supposed to do? She was upstairs in his shower. He had to get cleaned up; had to get her back to the office. He couldn't even call a cab. How would he explain her leaving with him and coming back alone? He was gonna lose everything. Job, house, friends... he didn't think even D would forgive him for something this stupid. Might as well just eat the gun now.
He crept back in from the front and peeked around. The house was quiet except for the washer running. He had to get out of these wet clothes, he was starting to shiver. Using the hose on the driveway to get the sand off really hadn't been a good idea. It was fucking cold.
He caught a glimpse of her sitting all hunched up on the deck. She looked miserable and he didn't blame her one bit. He was an asshole. He really had treated her like shit from the get-go. Never gave her a chance.
He snuck up the stairs and peeled out of his wet things. Just threw them in the shower. Rummaged around for some clean stuff. Found his Reeboks. Hoped his boots weren't shot.
Returning to the kitchen, he thought maybe coffee would be a good idea. Found the can, plugged the machine in and filled it with water. Now what? Stacy always made the coffee.. He took a deep breath. Looked outside. Blonde, not brunette. But she liked coffee, so she should know?
He went to the sliders. Fuck, she even sat there like Stace, when she was thinking. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and called to her. "Jo? You want some coffee?" It came out pretty strangled-sounding. He cleared his throat to try again as she turned to him.
Jo looked up at him in surprise. She thought it might have been the first time he had said her name. He usually called her JB and even that had only been once or twice. "I would kill for a cuppa," she said vehemently.
He gave her a lop-sided smile and shrug. "You know how to make it? My wife always did it." His voice broke a little on 'wife' but he managed to complete the sentence.
She smiled back at him. He was trying. "I'll swap you for a blankie or something. I'm freezing." She hopped off the chair and padded, barefoot into the kitchen. She studied the coffee machine. Typical man. She checked the filter, spooned in some coffee, turned it on and listened with anticipation as it started pumping through the water. She knew he had no milk in the fridge and drank his black. She might have to do the same.
"Yeah, it gets chilly quick, out here on the beach." He called from the main room. He wandered back in with a big, fluffy comforter and draped it over her shoulders. She recognised it as being the one from the couch. "How's that?"
"Bewdy," she said. She tucked it around her and clasped the edges in her hand. She had found a couple of mugs on a mug tree, rinsed them under the tap and put them on the bench [counter-top] ready. She felt really awkward. "I put my clothes in the washing machine... they shouldn't be long... should we try real football now?"
"I'm sure we can find something."
They stood uncomfortably in the kitchen until the coffee machine had finished and Jo had poured it out for them both. "Got any bikkies?"[biscuits=cookies] she asked.
"Nah," he paused. "Sorry."
She shrugged. "No problem." She clutched the comforter to her and jigged her head at the TV.
Sean headed into the living area, and picked up the remote. He flicked quickly through the commercial channels; daytime TV sucked. Maybe he could find a recorded game on cable... at least it would give him something to stare at besides her naked legs.
Nice, shapely legs with some muscle. And so pale they almost glowed. He flashed on an image of his hand on her thigh. The contrast in their skin tones amazed him. He wanted to see what his hand would look like on her breast... her ass. Idiot! Just stop!
She followed him into the lounge room. She could tell which corner of the lounge was 'his' spot. She took the other corner of the lounge, sitting and tucking her feet up under herself and the blanket. She watched him as he set up the TV and searched through a hundred channels. She held the mug in both hands.
"Sydney has just got extra free to air channels. We used to have only five until about a year ago. Cable TV has more but I never had the time for it. Waste of money," she chatted.
Sean found something he was happy with and threw himself down into his spot, with a noncommittal grunt.
Jo was still feeling a little wrung out; she was jet lagged, a teensy bit drunk, physically she felt tired and emotionally she was exhausted.
"Tell me how it works," she encouraged Sean.
He launched into a complex explanation of American football. He pointed out players to her, explained the statistics graphs they displayed occasionally and was more verbose than she had heard him be so far. She asked a question here or there, and drank her coffee. He started to get caught up in the game.
She got up at one stage when the washing machine beeped and moved her clothes to the dryer. She put the towels in as well to fill up the dryer and make sure the clothes dried quickly. She topped up her cuppa while she was on her feet and settled back onto the lounge.
She liked listening to him talk; his gravelly voice was unlike anyone else she knew. It was very distinctive. Maybe it was the smoking. And his accent. It kind of changed according to whom he was speaking. She supposed she did that too; changed her diction and her language with different groups. They were not so different really.
It started to get dark outside. She put her now empty mug onto the coffee table next to Sean's feet. She understood why he loved this house. The view was worth it. Watching the sun drop below the horizon. In Sydney the sun rose over the sea; she was all turned about here.
Her eyes closed. She fell asleep.
He watched her doze off, feeling drowsy himself. Poor thing, she'd really had a couple of rough days. His eyes drifted shut.