The pavement is dry, a marked improvement since the last time she trod the same sidewalk beneath a steel-grey sky, hefting two one-gallon paint cans through the sleet. It's still cool outside; early spring, but light jackets are enough to ward off the evening chill.
They wander down the street, following Kwame, who peers carefully at the street numbers along the way, hampered by the lack of streetlight. The sound of music thumping can be heard from half a block away, and it's around eight pm by the time they arrive at Wheeler's front porch
Two young men sit on the front steps, hunched over and swaying over their beers. The door is ajar, and Kwame climbs to the top of the stoop, glancing back at Linka for confirmation.
She nods slightly in return.
"Is this it?" Gi asks.
Kwame shrugs. "I think so."
"Where do you think that leads?" Gi asks, one hand clutched in Lee's, the other pointing toward the steps leading downward from the street.
"Probably the basement," Lee replies, and Linka purses her lips knowingly.
"Two entrances?"
"A lot of people sublet their basements to earn extra money for that reason," Lee says. He nods toward his friend. "You have a basement in one of your places, right?"
"I have a cellar," Lee's friend confirms, placing his hand on the rail and smiling at Linka. "It's not legal, though. Don't think the previous owners went through the proper channels. Tenants are usin' it as an extra bedroom."
"Ed owns three investment properties, Lin," Gi says, throwing an arm around Linka's waist and squeezing her tight as the others file inside. "How cool is that?"
"Wonderful," she mutters.
"Real estate agent —"
"Great."
"He's cute," Gi says under her breath, pulling Linka back in an effort to put some distance between themselves and her newest possible suitor. "I see potential."
"Stop setting me up!" she seethes through gritted teeth. "I am not interested!"
"Hey, it wasn't me! Lee already had plans with him tonight…"
Linka sighs, smoothing the sides of her floral wrap-dress against her thighs. Having spent longer than usual selecting what to wear tonight, Linka isn't really sure why she bothered. Wheeler has only ever defiled her in woollen pyjamas and paint-splattered jeans and tee-shirts, so the dress is a major improvement.
The front hall is teeming with people, and they squeeze their way through the throng, moving toward the back. Linka allows Gi to lead her on, glaring at two jovial, cackling women who aren't paying attention and sloshing spirits and grubby handprints all over her fresh, Fog Mist walls.
"Unbelievable," she mutters, glancing back at the damage. Kabir looks around with interest, and Ingrid stays close to Linka as they make their way toward the back
They pass into the kitchen which is thankfully less populated. The bench is covered in chips, dips and trays of what was once hot food, now reduced to a few left-over cold slices of pizza and sausage rolls.
There are four new bar stools at the counter, and only one of them is vacant. There's a new pull-down blind on the window, too, cutting out the view of the yappy dog and the clothesline.
It's warm inside, and she cranes her neck, searching for him, but Kwame beats her to it.
"Could you have invited any more people?" she hears Kwame laugh.
Gi's delighted shriek fills the air. She drops Linka's hand and practically leaps toward a familiar figure leaning against the rangehood.
"What the hell —" Wheeler utters, dumbfounded, and his bourbon and coke skitters aside as she slams into him with more brute force than her petite frame would suggest. He grips the counter with one hand and wraps the other around Gi's waist, hauling her up.
"Hey, you!" she laughs, hugging him tightly. "Surprise!"
"What the fuck are you guys doin' here?" he asks, incredulous. His eyes are already scanning the room, evidently looking for someone else. "I thought you were still in —"
"Boss-man pulled some strings," she giggles breathlessly as he drops her to the floor. She steps back, allowing Kwame to bear-hug him. "It's so good to see you, Red."
"Yeah, you too."
"I wasn't aware you had this many friends," Kwame comments sarcastically.
"Don't even know half these people. They brought beer and snacks though, so I ain't complainin'." Wheeler's gaze finally settles on Linka. His eyes light up upon seeing her, and she stares down at her open-toed tan heels, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
The introductions are made to the newest members of the team, who all seem excited to meet him. Kabir first, then Ingrid. Gi moves onto Lee next, who shakes Wheeler's hand enthusiastically, and then Ed, who does the same.
"You already know Russki," Gi says.
He nods, bending down to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "Yeah, I know Russki."
The vodka and orange in Linka's hands is near empty.
She has no idea what time it is, but the evening is beginning to wind down. Kwame and Kabir are holed up with a few others on the back deck with a portable gas fire burning.
They're back to arguing, so Linka leaves them to it.
Lee and Gi have disappeared. She assumes Lee has either dragged his inebriated girlfriend to the nearest cab stand, or they've found a quiet corner to retire to.
Several times throughout the night, Wheeler has tried to get a moment alone with her, but to no avail. Everyone wants a piece of him, and he's pulled in every direction except toward her.
So, Linka makes the most of the situation.
She wanders through the party, recognising a few faces, with Ingrid rarely leaving her side. They find themselves perched on vacated barstools in the kitchen, discussing labor laws and corporate greed with an exuberant trio of Wheeler's workmates for the next half hour.
At one point, Wheeler appears out of nowhere, nudging alongside her, reaching for a handful of peanuts and adding his own generally pessimistic opinion on the topic.
His other hand disappears under the counter, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her dress. He strokes her leg discreetly, his thumb tracing lazy circles along her bare skin.
She stares down at her lap as his hand slips between her thighs, squeezing gently, but like before, there are too many people wanting his attention, and he's gone before she can react.
By chance, they cross paths on the stairwell around midnight. He slips an arm around her waist as she steps down from a higher rung to meet him, smiling warmly… and they're interrupted by a loud group of guests departing.
He's gone again.
The universe isn't lining up.
The basement looks so different.
It's warm and homely, and set up properly, with no sign of the lumpy mattress and junk.
A flat screen television is mounted to the wall.
A live-edge floating shelf sits beneath the it, freshly sanded and oiled, stretching from one end of the wall to another.
She remembers the circular saw and the sanding equipment from last time, and the scent of fresh wood shavings. Wheeler had crafted it from scratch, and the finished product looks amazing, in all honesty.
The couch is new, too; an oversized, plush three-seater. Tan-brown in colour, there's a chaise attachment on the far right, and the coffee table is littered with drinks and food scraps.
There's a metal loop still embedded in the far wall opposite the boiler, and Linka's face heats up, recalling the last time they'd made use of that feature.
He's finished renovating, for all intents and purposes. The property is liveable, and in a way, the knowledge does nothing to dispel the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Because there's nothing left for her to do anymore.
There's no longer a 'proper' motive she can hide behind for being here. It forces her to acknowledge the truth… that her reasons for turning up on his doorstep day after day are no longer innocent.
For the past few months, Linka has arrived with a paintbrush in hand, and the very best of intentions.
She leaves in a state of dazed, sexual delirium… and that's what she's here for. Make no mistake. That's why she's here now, waiting until the party ends, biding her time.
She's here to see him.
She wants to see him.
Linka is here, waiting to throw herself into unspeakable acts with a man she's sexually attracted to, someone she's harbored a crush on for longer than she can remember.
He's opened her up in every sense of the word.
Physically, emotionally, figuratively.
Sexually.
Honesty and communication have been part of the 'therapy'.
Admitting what she wants has become second nature.
Linka spends the remainder of the night on the basement couch downstairs with Ingrid, struggling to hear one another talk over the top of the basketball game playing on the television.
There were half a dozen guys down here with them at one point, collectively groaning and yelling obscenities at the screen when the opposing team scored points.
They disappeared at half-time, and now it's just the two of them, along with some random older guy — one of Wheeler's neighbours — passed out on the floor in the corner.
Ingrid is falling asleep; curled up on the couch with a glazed expression.
With a sigh, Linka rises to her feet, heading for the linen press. She steps carefully around the mess, climbing the stairs and picking up half-empty red plastic cups.
Retrieving a blanket, she heads to the kitchen, gathering more trash along the way. Most of the guests have gone, but Wheeler sits perched on the edge of the counter, in the middle of a conversation with Kwame. Wheeler's eyes follow Linka around the room as she empties the contents down the sink and dumps the cups in the recycling bin.
She throws him a tired smile and heads back down to the basement, draping the blanket over Ingrid's prone body and sinking down beside her. Lying her cheek on the arm rest, she watches the television until her eyelids grow heavy.
A slamming noise wakes her.
She sits up and yawns, running a hand through her hair, her legs curled up and her feet prodding Ingrid's.
The television is on mute, and the lights are on, but all is otherwise quiet.
Flicking the television off, Linka wanders into the kitchen but finds it deserted. The gas heater still burns outside, and two shadowy shapes can be seen reclining on plastic chairs through the glass.
Linka treads upstairs, running her hand along the banister, the same one that had splintered her palm with lethal efficiency on that first visit, when they were on the verge of something more than a benign yet empty friendship.
The door to the guest bedroom is closed.
Opening Wheeler's bedroom, she wanders inside but finds it empty. Her eyes scan the room, taking in the calming Fog Mist walls, the queen-sized bed and grey pin-tuck headboard, more recent additions.
A portable oil heater sits by the window, and the blind has been drawn shut. Two cardboard boxes sit below the window, yet to be unpacked. There are dirty clothes strewn about and a damp towel lying beside the bed, and the corner of her lip quirks, not at all surprised by his lack of tidiness.
The bedsheets are rumpled and unmade, and an image pops into Linka's head; a vision of herself lying upon them, nude; her limbs tied to the bed posts, spread out before him like a banquet.
She wraps her arms around herself, lost in thought, just as a soft clicking sound disturbs the silence.
Startled, she turns and observes Wheeler's hulking figure leaning against the closed door, blocking the exit, his fingers resting on the locking mechanism.
She didn't even hear him come in.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Wheeler's blue eyes never falter from her face.
Linka takes a tentative step toward him, the sound of her heels making a dull thunk over the oak floors, but he makes no move or issues any sort of demand.
She studies him intently, appreciating the opposing balance they bring to one another. Small and slight, as opposed to large and lean. Her softness, against the hard line of his own body. Her shyness, contrasted with his brash and unyielding confidence.
By God, she wants him.
No.
She needs him.
Linka needs him to be rough tonight. She needs to feel the stretch of him deep inside her, their bodies slapping together violently while his hand tightens around her throat, caught in a frenzy of forced, back-bowing compliance.
She'll resist for the sake of resisting, but it'll be an empty gesture.
Shifting restlessly, Linka finds herself already damp between the thighs. Her breasts are swollen, aching to be touched, and her heart races… and he's saying nothing, and he's doing nothing.
He just stands there, his intense gaze making her weak at the knees.
"Tell me what you want," he says finally, and the rush of relief makes her dizzy.
"Tie me up." She takes another tentative step forward, holding her hands out to him, her wrists pressed together in an offering of contrition… or an act of penance.
She's not sure which.
Shaking his head slightly, it's almost as if he's unimpressed by her response. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me," she pleads, her head spinning with desire.
"Why?"
"I don't want to wait any more," she breathes, bewildered that in just twelve short weeks, she's switched from burying her feelings deep down to demanding sex with a forthright urgency.
She's switched from paint jobs to blow jobs, from DIY to BDSM behind closed doors.
Decorating by day… and defiling by night.
She wants it all.
"Wheeler —" she whispers.
"Take your dress off."
Her trembling fingers unthread the bow at her hip holding the dress together. Unravelling the ties, she unwraps the fabric and lets it fall to the floor, leaving her clad in a pair of black lace panties and a matching balconette bra.
That morally bankrupt look has returned, the one she knows so well, the one that promises discomfort but guarantees immense satisfaction at the end of all things.
His eyes flash darkly, and his nostrils flare at the sight of her, and Linka understands she's in for a long night ahead.
He'll make it worth the wait. He always does.
"Take the rest off," he says huskily.
Reaching behind, she unhooks the fabric. The straps slip from her shoulders as she peels the bra away one cup at a time, slowly exposing her breasts to him. The bra is tossed aside, and then the panties are the next to go. She takes her time, sliding the lacy fabric down her legs and stepping out of them with deliberate care.
Leaning down, Linka moves to untie the straps of her heels.
"Leave 'em on," he says softly, and she straightens, her hands clasped modestly in front of her, and her hair covering the swell of her breasts.
She waits expectantly, shivering with anticipation while he drinks his fill.
"Come 'ere."
She closes the distance until they're face to face. Tipping her head back, her lips graze his, their breath mingling in the air between them. Her fingers dip lower, stroking the hard bulge beneath his jeans.
He bends low, gripping her face firmly, and she gives a muffled sob as their lips crash together in a bruising, impassioned tangle, one that robs the air from her lungs. Her back bends as his hands grope and pinch at her skin, gripping the bare curve of her ass and kneading her flesh roughly.
His knee forces its way between her legs, pinning her against the door. It rattles each time he rubs and drags her body against him, leaving a wet trail of arousal on his thigh, and Linka's forehead drops against his chest with a ragged sigh, watching the way he grinds his leg up into her.
"Oh my god —"
"You gonna' be a good girl?" he breathes in her ear, and Linka moans, clutching his shoulders in a panicky grip.
Her lips form a thin line. She presses her face into his throat, overcome by a stubborn refusal to submit…
Wheeler's forearm wraps around her neck. Her head is wrenched back, trapped in the crook of his arm, and the door rattles louder as she's grappled into submission, his knee pressing harder between her thighs until her toes rise off the floor.
"Ohhhh —" she cries.
"You gonna be a good girl, Lin?" Wheeler's voice is warm and intimate in her ear, but his actions are the opposite.
Leaning over her, he forces two fingers into her mouth, pressing flat upon her tongue. He pushes a third in for good measure, thrusting wetly toward the back of her throat, and Linka gags, spluttering, but she's bowed back and head-locked and cunt-wedged to the door, and she takes it.
She takes it all, as far as her slutty little mouth will allow.
"You gonna be a good girl?"
She moans, her mouth full and nodding eagerly, and his fingers withdraw, dripping with her saliva.
"On your knees."
Dazed, she sinks to the floor and shuffles forward, her hands working the button of his fly. His cock springs forth from beneath the waistband, thick and curved and mouth-wateringly long. She tugs his jeans down over his hips and down to his ankles, helping to remove them completely.
He strips his shirt off and tosses it aside, running a hand through her hair as she takes him in hand. He's hot and hard beneath her palm, and she pumps him slowly, glancing up every now and then, gauging his reaction and adjusting her grip accordingly.
Still pumping, she bends low, lapping and sucking at the head, her tongue flicking gently.
Spurred on by his moans, she grips the base of his shaft and sheaths her lips over him, taking him as deep as she can go. He gathers her hair out of the way with one hand; the other gripping the nape of her neck, guiding her movements.
Ordinarily, he'd be fucking her mouth without mercy.
She'd be choking on him, dribbling copious amounts of spit until another warm, viscous liquid filled her mouth, spilling freely from her lips. His pristine, good girl would normally be making a general mess of herself by now, but he's holding back.
She works his cock over, slippery with her saliva, alternating her hand and mouth, and at times using them in tandem, until his fingers clench tightly into her hair.
"Enough."
He wrenches her head back, and he slips free from her lips, wet and glistening. She's hauled to her feet and shoved impatiently toward the bed. Linka turns, a question poised, but her calves hit the bed frame and she falls untidily onto the mattress.
"Oh —"
Wheeler bears down on her. He crawls forward as she scoots back, falling against the pillows. Breathless, she parts her legs for him, an open invitation to annihilate her nether regions, but he grabs her wrists instead, following the same routine as all the nights before.
A sky-blue silk tie is looped once, twice, three times around her wrists and knotted tightly.
Her wrists are pinned and fastened to the bedhead, and she squirms as he ducks down and licks at her left breast, tormenting her over-stimulated nipple with his tongue. He bites down gently, tugging the erect bud between his teeth until she cries out. Her nipples are hard and aching, a delicious contrast to the softness of his hair nudging her skin.
Switching his attention to her other breast, her right nipple receives the same attention while his fingers dip against her, prodding and teasing where she needs it most. She utters a soft moan, bucking wildly, and he rears up above her, shoving her knees apart and clamping his hand over her mouth —
Smack!
Linka squeals into his palm as a bolt of pain flares sharply between her legs. She sucks in a gasping breath as he removes his hand and rolls off the bed, the mattress shifting and bouncing beneath them. He disappears down there, his arms wrapping around her thighs and holding her steady. His tongue flicks and drags against her reddened flesh, and before long she's breathing hard, canting her hips again, lost in the pleasure.
"Oh god…" she whines, her eyes rolling back as his tongue lashes her clit without mercy. He pushes two fingers inside her, crooking them gently until she's incoherent with the feel of it.
It's primal, the noises she makes, guttural grunts and thin whimpers, and it's the only thing Linka is capable of doing right now.
She feels her orgasm building, never doubting it. His other hand clamps over her mouth again as she starts to keen, her breath expelling in short, hot bursts as she comes, her muscles pulsing wetly against his fingers.
Slapping her ass, he settles between her legs, shuffling forward and guiding her knees back against her chest.
"Tell me what you want," he growls, and she blinks up at the odd sight of her strappy heels swaying in the air above her head.
The hard length of his cock nudges against her. Spreading her open with his fingers, he grips the base of his erection, slicking just the head back and forth, and Linka's brain short circuits.
"Ohhhhh," she moans, tossing her head back, her bound hands clenched as she tugs frantically at the restraints. "Oh please —"
Shuddering, she waits for the stretch. He slides the length of his cock along her inner lips, smearing himself in her juices, before prodding her entrance again.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you inside me —" she begs, and he slaps her down there again, a light tap of his hand that sends shockwaves through her body.
Crying out, her thighs slam shut, but he pries them open again, her legs trembling as he bends her knees back as far as they will go. Her cunt is dripping wet and leaking, over-stimulated to the point of madness.
"Wheeler, please —"
"Tell me what you want," he asks again, his cock sliding wetly against her.
"I want you to fuck me…" she gasps, shuddering as he prods her again, the pad of his thumb circling her clit.
Rising up, he drives forward with his hips, easing just the tip inside her.
He stares down at her in wonder, his fingers tracing the contours of her sex, and exploring the areas where they remain joined. "You want more?"
"Yes…"
"Tell me what you want."
"More," she sighs, her eyes closed. She clenches her internal muscles around him, wondering if he can feel how tight she is.
"Tell me."
"I want more," she sighs, and her brow furrows as he pushes in about halfway. There's a stinging sensation as her walls stretch around his width, but it's a good pain.
It's pain with a purpose.
"I want more," she whispers, turning her head to the side, and she gasps as he pushes forward with his hips, burying himself completely inside her slick heat.
"Jesus," he utters, staring down at their connected bodies, preoccupied by the explicit nature of their time together.
Slowly, Wheeler releases the death grip on her upturned thighs.
Her legs fall either side of his hips as he leans forward, untying the knots around her wrists and freeing her hands.
Still joined, he lowers himself down on top of her, stretching out languidly and wedging an arm beneath her neck to steady himself. He nuzzles her cheek, and she smiles up at him, blissful and content, revelling in his warmth, and his closeness, and the heavy, pleasant weight of his body pressed against hers.
He kisses Linka's mouth, her eyelids and the tip of her nose. He cradles her face in his hand, stroking her hair away from her forehead as her arms wind around his neck, holding him close.
"I want more," she sighs, burrowing into his neck and breathing in his scent. Her eyes are still tightly shut, and he runs his thumb along her temple.
"Look at me," he whispers… and this is one command she has no intention of disobeying.
Her eyes flutter open.
They regard each other quietly as he moves within her, slowly, her hands splayed against his back, her fingertips digging into the firm line of his muscles.
Intimacy has replaced roughness.
The divide between domination and submission has balanced out.
It's just the two of them.
The pace builds, and she senses Wheeler's control slipping away. He lowers his forehead to hers with a sigh, driving harder and faster, small gasps and moans exchanging between them.
It doesn't take long, but it was never going to.
He's been on the edge all night, and when he tenses up and growls into her damp neck, she spurs him on, whispering to him, making demands of her own, telling him what she wants.
"Come inside me," she urges, her hands roving his body as he grinds desperately into her, his breath expelling hard against her throat.
Her legs wrap around his waist, drawing him in deeper, and Wheeler's fingers grip painfully into her shoulder as he empties himself, wet heat flooding within her.
His strokes slow, and he collapses on top of her, sated, their bodies gleaming and tangled together in the early hours of the morning.
"Tell me what you want," she asks later, tracing the muscles of his back with her fingers as the morning sun crests through the gaps around the window blind. He lies on his stomach beside her, sleep warm and unmoving, his hair a tousled mess. Wheeler blinks tiredly at her, letting out a heavy sigh and enjoying her touch.
He doesn't respond straight away, only observes her quietly, and she wonders what he's thinking.
Their arrangement has forced complete clarity on Linka's part. He is under no illusion as to her feelings. Wheeler has demanded — and rewarded — her honesty.
Having said that, the arrangement has been anything but reciprocal.
He wanted to sleep with her… and now that curtain has closed. Linka is unsure about anything else, because he's kept that side of things off limits.
The deed is done, and she can't help but worry about what happens next. They're not in a relationship. They'll just be two people meeting up for sex from here on in.
There's a natural progression to dating. You meet, you spend time together, you fall in love, you move in together and commit yourself to a life with that person.
Right now, she's not sure if they're scratching an itch. He's using her body as he sees fit. Maybe he's not interested in anything more.
She knows she wouldn't recover from that.
Linka lies quietly, curled on her side, resting her hand on the empty space between them.
An empty space, so representative of the two of them, filled with uncertainty and more questions.
"What do I want?" Wheeler asks finally.
She nods worriedly, and he reaches for her, pulling her body close and wrapping her up firmly in his arms. His mouth grazes her temple, and she hears his voice, soft and intimate in her ear.
"I want you."
Pinning her wrists against the small of her back, he rails her from behind, fucking into her; her strained, reddened face smashed into the mattress in an almighty effort to stay quiet.
Reaching around, he rubs her clit until she's groaning, her toes curling as the pleasure intensifies and it all becomes too much. She comes hard, her whole body jerking and spasming for at least a minute afterward, much to Wheeler's amusement.
He finishes inside her, giving her one last pump for good measure before releasing her hands and withdrawing. Groping her ass roughly, he spreads her cheeks apart, staring avidly at his cum slipping free from deep inside her body. It leaks down her legs in thick globs, and she shudders, turning her cheek tiredly against the bed, her hands clenched into the bedsheets.
"Think I found a new spot," he chuckles. Flopping down beside her still trembling body, his cock lies limply against his thigh, and she buries her face in her hands, half-laughing as she tells him to fuck off in the nicest way possible.
They step into the shower together afterward, letting the hot water wash away all manner of things. She cuddles into him with a sigh, her arms wrapped around his waist as he runs soap over her nude body, and between kisses and cuddles, they talk — they really talk.
It's an honest, heartfelt conversation.
He wants her to stay. He doesn't want her to go, and that's all she needs to hear.
That's all she needs to know.
She hums happily, murmuring the same sentiment against his chest.
They discuss what they want, and where to go from here.
Gradually, the space between them lessens, until there are no more spaces at all, no more secrets or withheld wants; only plans and preparations, and a sense of optimism and excitement for the future.
It's a culmination of everything that has transpired between them.
The house is complete…
And so are they.
Filling the sink with hot water, Linka gathers the dirty dishes and cups and stacks them on the counter. Her hair is still damp from the shower, and her feet are bare as she tidies the bench and sorts the trash, moving gingerly around the kitchen, still somewhat sore from round two.
Turning the tap off, she washes up quickly and leaves the plates to dry beside the sink.
The sound of the front door opening can be heard, and light footsteps get closer.
Wiping down the benches, Linka flicks the kettle on, yawning as Gi trudges in, looking a little worse for wear.
"Hey."
"Hi," Linka says, frowning at Gi's uncharacteristic untidiness. "Where did you go last night?"
"Found a hotel two blocks away," she explains, pulling up a stool and nodding toward the kettle. "Ooh. Yes please."
Linka grabs five mugs and sets them down while Gi sits hunched over the counter with her head in her hands.
"Where is Lee?"
"Still asleep," she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "No idea where what's-his-face went last night. You broke his heart, apparently."
"He'll live," she says evenly, grabbing the tea and coffee from the pantry and nudging it closed with her hip.
Gi blows a breath outward. She rubs her face, watching Linka make the tea, her eyes bleary and bloodshot.
"Does Wheeler have a medicine cabinet?" she asks finally, while getting to her feet. "I've got one mother of a headache."
"Left hand side above the fridge," she replies without thinking, and Gi shoots her a quizzical look.
Grabbing some paracetamol, she returns to her chair and down the capsules quickly with a mouthful of tea. "How are you holding up after last night?"
"I only had two drinks," she says, because admitting her internal organs were rearranged seems like too much work right now.
"Red's done a good job with the place," Gi notes, looking around with interest. "Wonder how much it cost him?"
"He had been saving for a while," she says, passing Gi her hot drink and keeping a mug for herself. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the counter, tracing the marbled patterns in the Caesarstone. "He's done most of the work himself."
"Good to see the big lug. Just like the old days, ya know?" Gi frowns suddenly. "What happened to your neck?"
"What?" Linka asks, alarmed, her hand flying up. "What about it?"
"Like a bruise or something."
Linka shrugs, sipping her tea and rubbing the afflicted area. She eyes Kwame, who gives them a wave as he passes, heading for the bathroom upstairs.
Gi watches him go before leaning in close, her head bowed low. "I know a secret."
"What?"
"I think Kwame is leaving."
"End of the month," Linka replies, smiling at her indignant expression.
"YOU KNEW?" Gi is outraged. She sinks back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and pouting. "I can't believe you already knew?"
"Yes," she laughs, grabbing a loaf of bread from the pantry and popping two slices in the toaster. "Yes, he mentioned it to me about a week ago."
"Always the last to know," Gi grumbles. "Unbelievable."
"Sorry," she chuckles, reaching for Gi's hand and squeezing gently. "If it is any consolation, he had consumed a few too many beers beforehand."
"Still adjusting to it," she sighs. "Looks like it's just you and me left,"
Grabbing the butter from the fridge, Linka sighs, knowing this will be a particularly hard subject to broach, but the band-aid solution will be best.
"I am giving my notice, too," she says softly.
"What?" Gi's eyes widen. She stares back, open mouthed and indignant. "You're leaving?"
"Yes."
Still shell-shocked, Gi shakes her head slightly. "Where are you going? What's the plan?"
"I have been seeing someone," she says, her words tumbling out in a rush. "He has asked me to move in with him. I… I have said yes."
"You're seeing someone?" Gi drags her stool closer and grabs Linka's hand. "Since when?"
"A few months, on and off. When our schedules have allowed it —"
"Oh my god," Gi breathes. "When did this happen? Who is he? Why the hell didn't I know this?"
"I wasn't ready to share," she says, grinning bashfully. "I was still figuring things out, I guess —"
"You should have told me!" Gi laughs, delighted at the news. "I would have put a stop to all the matchmaking."
"I know —"
"Is that why you left the double date we set up a while back?"
"Yes," she says, giggling as her face turns red from embarrassment. "I had a better offer."
Gi scoffs as the toaster pops. "Oh man," she says softly, gathering the toast on a plate and buttering several slices. "Who is he? When do I get to meet him?"
"Soon, I would imagine —"
"I must have been driving you nuts," she giggles, poking around in the fridge. "Where does Red keep the jam —"
"Back of the pantry," she sighs, nibbling on some hot buttered toast. "Beside the cereal."
Gi backs slowly away from the fridge.
She turns, staring at Linka, her brows furrowed together and her eyes narrowed, as if slowly coming to a realisation.
"No way," she whispers in disbelief. Closing the distance, Gi pulls the collar of Linka's shirt aside, her finger grazing the mottled, blueish mark on Linka's neck. She glances up at the random tread of footsteps above their heads. "Noooooo way —"
Linka nods, hiding a smile.
"You know where everything is," she says softly, sinking back onto the stool and staring at Linka in disbelief, "because you've been here before, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"How long has this been going on?"
"About three months."
"How did… what…" Gi appears gobsmacked. "Jesus… this is huge… how did this happen?"
"I offered to help," she giggles, gesturing at the walls. "I painted. He worked on the carpentry and dry-wall… and then one night, we got a little carried away… and it just developed from there."
"I must have details," she says in all seriousness. "Tell me everything."
"Why?" she half laughs.
"I'm living vicariously through you from now on —"
"You have your own sexual escapades, as you like to call them."
"Are you kidding? Twenty-three pump Lee? I can time him by my watch —"
Linka wrinkles her nose. "That is already too much information —"
"What's too much information," Wheeler asks, stepping into the kitchen with a large trash bag.
"You got anything to confess, Red?" Gi says accusingly as he squeezes between them, reaching for Linka's tea and taking a sip.
"Like what?"
"Think real hard," she scoffs, jacking her thumb in Linka's direction. "I'm sure it'll come to you."
"Oh, yeah. I'm bangin' her, now," he declares, pinching Gi's toast from her hand and taking a large bite.
"Hey, I was eating that!"
He darts away with her toast, and Gi follows, peppering Wheeler with a barrage of rapid-fire questions.
Their voices echo playfully, and Linka smiles to herself, twirling her hair around her finger and taking it all in.
It's official. Signed, stamped and agreed upon.
She'll move in at the end of the month.
It started with a kiss; a pained, nervous request for something so small and simple.
Want is a wonderous thing indeed.
Want has brought her here… and want will keep her here, too.