Chapter Text
- Ella
Blankly, I stared at the customer before me. Upon the counter, a torn product box lay beside an inexpensive gaming headset that most definitely was not sold to this woman in this form, despite her claims. Luckily for her, it was a slow day in retail. Unluckily for me, it meant I actually had time to deal with her problem.
“It’s not fit for purpose, is it?” Haughtily and with her faux-leather handbag on her arm, the middle-aged lady with short bobbed hair stared daggers at me, as though I had personally made this item and then shat on it. “I want a refund.”
Calmly, I put on my most polite customer service voice. This was something I had honed by working in retail for years and while this job wasn’t something I could truthfully say I enjoyed (most days I seriously fucking hated it), I did know how to do it well. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a refund, because our refund policy states-“
“I don’t care what your refund policy states, I want a refund. You have to give me one because this product broke within one hour of use. It’s faulty.”
Ah, the classic interruption because the situation wasn’t going her way. I internalised my frustration, as I had learned to do. My voice was calm and even. “As I said before to you, the refund policy does not cover accidental damage. We have a free year’s warranty on all of the physical products we sell, which covers manufacturers’ faults only.”
“It is not accidentally damaged,” the woman breathed furiously, because I was basically accusing her of lying but in different words. “It broke after my son put it on.”
At this point a few of my coworkers had gathered, definitely listening intently whilst pretending not to listen at all. Among them was my manager, who I know will have my back as always because we’re a pretty close-knit team. Thankfully, there weren’t many other customers in currently since it was two o’clock on a weekday. But I guess poor little Charlie or whatever her son’s name was couldn’t go without his online gaming fix after school.
“Okay, but unfortunately the fact that it has been snapped into two separate pieces indicates that it has been accidentally damaged,” I corrected her politely. “We cannot return that and send it back under a manufacturer’s fault receipt. We would get into a lot of trouble if we did that.”
“I just want my money back, this is ridiculous,” the woman announced, as though she hadn’t already said this about four times and her aim wasn’t crystal clear. “This shop is selling faulty goods!”
My heart had begun to thump a little harder, my adrenaline itching to kick in because I wanted to react with my irritated gut rather than my logical, cool head. I fidgeted a little on the balls of my feet, taking a quiet calming breath whilst slowly linking my fingers together. Then I clocked one of my colleagues making a silent strangling motion from behind the customer, which very nearly made me start laughing and easily broke my tension.
This was ‘Karen’ one-oh-one as far as we were all concerned - her son had probably had a tantrum during an online gaming binge, probably also playing something he was legally way too young to play and had either been way too rough with the headset or he had stressed the plastic until it broke on purpose. My only guess about their end goal was that he wanted a different headset, whether more expensive or not. But I was not going to give - nor could I give - this lady one penny back for this item, even in store credit.
The real kicker was that she could have covered it against accidental damage at time of purchase but like most people, had waved us off on that offer since it cost extra. And since it’s against the law to persuade the customer to buy a warranty with words like ‘I’d advise’, ‘I think’ and ‘in my opinion’, all we could do was bluntly explain what it was and ask if they wanted it. If they said no, that was that.
“As I said, this is not a manufacturer’s fault. We cannot return it,” I stated again, watching her eyes drop down to my name badge before flicking back up to my face in disdain.
“I want to speak to your manager.”
And there it was. Finally, she had decided that she had had enough of me and my silly words getting in her way when the manager would surely do whatever she wanted. I raised my eyebrows at Tom, who wandered over casually and as though he hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time behind the guise of alphabetising the PS4 and PS5 games on the shelves behind her.
Tom was middle-aged, professional, approachable and actually believed in us individually as employees. He disliked the higher-ups, he always fought our side when it came to area managers or Head Office employees trying to screw us over and he had time for us as people whenever we had problems. He was genuinely the best manager I’d ever had in any job, let alone in retail, and he had a way with the ‘Karen’ customers that would either bring them around to his level of thinking or cause them to storm off. Sometimes, both happened.
“How can I help?” he smiled.
I stepped aside because I knew that he was now our best shot at making this customer leave and really at this point, that's what we all wanted. Besides which, I definitely no longer existed to her as her whole focus was on The Store Manager.
“-and it’s against the law to deny me my refund!” The woman was rambling, becoming gradually more outwardly annoyed when she realised that Tom wasn’t going to refund her either.
“It isn’t against the law and our policy on refunds does not extend to accidental damage, as my employee already said,” Tom smiled. “I’m very sorry about this, but if my employee here had processed your return under these circumstances, I would have had to fire her or at least file a serious disciplinary.”
Obviously, the firing part was untrue. Employment laws prevented it, but aside from that he was only saying it for the sake of shocking her. Even the disciplinary wouldn’t have happened with Tom, because if I ever had done this by mistake without knowing the policy, he would have taken it on his own shoulders, informed me so I didn’t make the error again and nothing more would have come from it. Nonetheless, this was not a method that he used on every complaining customer as each one was different, but he did have a strange ability to be able to zone into what might make them finally relent.
“Oh! Well I don’t…that isn’t…I mean…for the sake of a twenty-pound refund?” She faltered, glancing my way. For the first time in the fifteen minutes she had been here, she suddenly looked very unsure.
That was the power that Tom had. He was suddenly calling her bluff.
Disguising my smugness and keeping my expression entirely impassive, I nodded, lying through my teeth. “It would be classed as serious misconduct.”
The funny thing was, I knew that my boss could have made an exception for this one customer and chalked it up as an error when the broken headset was sent back to Head Office labeled ‘manufacturer fault’. Clerical errors happened sometimes. He could have done this but he didn’t, because typically retail workers wanted go out of their way far less for people who were rude to them.
“Please have a nice day,” Tom added slightly passive-aggressively as he strongly implied that she should go now with his tone.
The woman’s eyes widened at our audacity of sticking to company policy as she took the hint. “Fine, I’ll take my money somewhere else then! And you can shove that headset up your arse!” And with that, she flounced off, minus the broken headset.
One of my other co-workers picked up the broken plastic pieces. “Her son has one-hundred percent broken that on purpose and just wants a new or different one.”
I had to agree, otherwise we would have these headsets back far more often with the same ‘fault’.
That customer lingered in my head my whole bus ride home, followed by my walk back to my tiny shared flat. It manifested and bit at me as I absently made myself dinner, before heading to shower and get ready for Friday night drinks with my two best friends in all the world. I needed distraction, my friends, alcohol and maybe, if I was lucky, I’d see him again.
- Ryan
Voluptuous - that’s how I’d describe her. She sauntered into the pub with some confidence, but there was definitely a vulnerability there too and it made her strangely approachable. Her hair was usually pushed back into a messy bun or ponytail, her eye and lip makeup always thick and dark, contrasting with her light skin and bright green eyes. Her style was a little alternative, changing from week to week in colour scheme but never deviating from being that little bit different. She seemed to prefer ripped jeans with silver chains to skirts or dresses and she was wearing a silk corset tonight over a smoky, semi-sheer blouse. This gave her the element of sexiness whilst also classily maintaining her modesty.
This evening - as usual - I was unable to stop myself from staring at her as she laughed with her two friends and drinking buddies opposite.
“Oi, are you fucking listening?” Ben prodded me, bringing me back to earth. “Are you finally gonna ask for her number or what?”
Frowning at my bandmate, I gripped my drink more tightly and grunted noncommittally.
Aghast, Jason rolled his eyes as he slid his phone down onto the table face-up. “Bloody hell, you’ve got to get over your ex-wife mate. It’s been two years.”
“Oh that’s real nice, Jase,” Ben snapped at him. “Why’d you bring her up?”
“Because she left him, leaving us to pick up the broken pieces of this man while he wallowed,” Alex replied for him, swigging his beer. “D’you remember what state he was in? We had to force him to get off the sofa for more than a few hours at a time by bribing him with strip clubs.”
I gritted my teeth slightly at the recollection of some of the darker times in my life. They were my friends and bandmates for better or worse, but goddamn could they be annoying sometimes.
"Still think you should try again mate,” Jason prompted. “She’s not my type but eh. You go get it. Her dress sense is kind of out there…she looks a bit like she’d sacrifice my dog to Satan.”
Wryly, I cocked an eyebrow at this ridiculous judgement and ignored his prompt. “We all know your ‘type’ is skinny, blonde and fake.”
“Can’t help it if that’s what I like, can I?” Jason shrugged, his phone’s wallpaper wordlessly proving my point because it featured a porn star splashed across it wearing very little. “Same as you liking what you like."
It was a shame that he often acted like such a misogynistic prick because he tended to attract women based on his looks alone, only to be rapidly dumped when they found out what a twat he could be. I had no idea why I put up with his bullshit sometimes, but he was lucky he had any friends at all with some of the comments he regularly made.
Ben glanced at me sympathetically. “Maybe you should try again. I’ve seen her glance over here more than a few times. I think she likes you, man.”
My eyes travelled once again across the room. She was holding a nearly empty glass of what looked to be rosé wine in one hand, her other playing with her hair as she spoke. I rose from my seat. I had to know who she was and if she was even remotely interested.
She looked to be in her early twenties, though makeup could be a little deceptive either way. I was far less interested if she was actually younger, especially younger than legal drinking age of eighteen for my own moral reasons. I was pretty open-minded to a point, but I had a definite line and the fact she was drinking alcohol didn’t necessarily mean she was of-age to do so.
“Hey,” I smiled confidently as my alt girl crush turned her big green-eyed gaze on me, along with her two friends. “What are you drinking?”
For a moment, she said absolutely nothing again. During this time however, I could see how her lips parted just slightly, how her chest rose and fell with her breathing and how her cheeks began to turn slowly pink. Blinking, she seemed to realise she was taking too long to respond to a question, though I couldn’t say I minded a chance to look at her up close.
“Uh…uhm…” she stumbled as I tilted my head very slightly, waiting patiently and noticing suddenly that she had her tongue pierced. The thought of where she could put that pierced tongue made me groan internally.
"Just get her more wine, any wine,” beamed the guy she was with as he rested his chin on his palm, his elbow on the table as he paid me rapt attention. “God you’re pretty. Any chance you're into guys? Because I could definitely show you a good night.”
I shrugged a little as I watched my alt girl crush shoot him a slightly panicked look for some reason. “Right now I’m kind of into one girl.”
Slyly, her other friend brazenly looked me up and down. “And would that girl be the lovely Isabella here?” She gestured sideways.
So as not to seem rude, I grinned a little and introduced myself. “Isabella…nice to meet you. I’m Ryan. One glass of wine coming right up.” I turned away from the group to make my way to the bar, having figured something very important out during that enlightening encounter: not only did she definitely look even more gorgeous close up, but she was also definitely into me. Either that or she was just so socially awkward that she wasn’t used to being hit on. Both of those possibilities made me smile.
- Ella
“What the fuck was that?” I demanded as my two best friends cackled. “Logan, you fucking hit on him!”
“Well somebody had to,” Logan smirked, sipping his cocktail. “You absolutely need to speak more. I get that he’s hot as hell but if you don’t say more words, he’s going to think you’re mute.”
I lowered my head into my hands in embarrassment. I had spent weeks during our Friday evenings drinking this man in, who I now knew to be named Ryan. His light brown, slightly floppy hair with a few greyish-white wisps near his ears, his light stubble to match, his style of t-shirt that was almost a little tight on him and showed off his modest biceps, his colourful tattoos that began at his elbows and extended down to his wrists, his piercing blue eyes, his silver eyebrow ring… But that was where it had ended - with me looking at him from afar. Maybe daydreaming a little bit. Maybe fantasising a lot. But never in a million years did I feel as though I was someone he would actively buy a drink for.
He returned minutes later holding a glass of rosé. I accepted it and managed to mumble “thanks”.
“This is kind of forward,” he continued, making me want to melt into my seat because this wasn’t over yet and his smile was intense. “Can I have your number?”
Oh he could definitely have my number. What was my number? I suddenly couldn’t remember.
Lena pulled her phone out in order to read it off to him while I tried to think of something - anything - clever to say. Or even just…say.
“Thanks, here’s mine,” he smiled, still gazing at me. “Have a nice night.”
“I will, thanks,” I breathed, trying to sound like a normal person. “I like your tattoos, by the way.”
He stopped, turning back. “Thanks. Maybe if you let me take you out sometime, you can get a better look at them.” And then he winked, before returning to his own table.
“Holy fucking god,” Lena giggled as Logan let out a long, slow sigh. “He is the finest man I have seen in a long time. Aside from his friend he’s sitting with.”
"How much am I blushing?” I asked, my awkwardness still fighting me from the inside. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he just did that…”
It had been months since I’d had so much as a fling - something I’d only done a few times in my life - and even longer since I’d had an actual relationship. For various reasons over the years (the main ones being my grandmother’s death along with a job loss) my confidence had dropped and I had been diagnosed with anxiety and depression which I treated daily with medication. As such I had a pretty unhealthy view of myself in relation to others - I regularly didn’t feel as though I ‘deserved’ people. Or rather, I didn’t feel that they deserved to have me inflicted upon them. I also overthought everything.
“He was being pretty unsubtle about wanting you in particular,” Lena nodded as Logan eventually turned back around in his seat after following Ryan with his eyes all the way back to his table. “I’d kill for some from him.”
My cheeks burned. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined him ravishing me in various places and positions, but reality was wholly different. In reality, he could end up being a douchebag. In reality, he could hurt me emotionally and physically. In reality, he could turn his back on me when he learned how fucked up I was. And I wasn’t particularly happy with my figure either since I’d packed on a few pounds due to comfort eating during the pandemic lockdown, so the idea of actually being naked with him in real life was terrifying.
“You need to get laid,” Logan laughed at her as Lena nodded in agreement with him. “Tell him you wanna have dinner with him.”
Maybe it was the wine that made me gutsy in that second or maybe it was the fact that he was no longer directly in my presence, but while my two friends were bantering I tapped a message into my phone and sent it to Ryan’s number before I could change my mind. From across the room, I saw him twitch and reach into his jeans’ pocket to check the message.
I’d asked him to coffee tomorrow at lunchtime, because that seemed like a reasonable casual first date. His reply was prompt.
‘Sounds good. Looking forward to it.’
I sipped more of my wine, my heart thudding and my stomach fluttering as I read and re-read his reply a few times over. I was taking a leap of faith on this man. A leap of faith. That was what I kept telling myself. I lifted my gaze and met his eyes across the room, causing the butterflies to swarm.
I’d gone with my usual ripped jeans, yellow Doc Martins and black and purple hoodie today. I’d kept my hair down but regretted this when I realised it was windy outside on my short walk into town to the proposed coffee shop. I’d been called most things in the past, including ‘goth’ and ‘emo’, but I really didn’t try to fit into any particular box. As a teenager I’d begun dressing this way and my style preference simply hadn’t changed.
In my hungover state, I hadn’t had much of a breakfast. Normally I wouldn’t drink so much wine on a Friday night and it wasn’t because Ryan had bought me an extra glass that the amount had doubled, but because I was so oddly elated and nervous at the same time about my impending plans that I had apparently decided to drown my anxiety in alcohol. Logan and Lena had only encouraged and participated in this, leading us all to getting absolutely slaughtered.
So my head ached a little despite the painkillers, glass of water and round of toast I’d forced down myself in order to try to feel less shit. But I was not going to cancel on this coffee date - I was honestly too socially awkward to do that and besides which, I knew I’d probably continue to see him at the pub so that would just be awkward after I’d been a no-show, especially since I was so hideously attracted to him that it was actually borderline embarrassing.
Ryan was there before me because I was a little late. Flustered, I apologised and sat down immediately as he cooly watched me and quirked his pierced eyebrow while I tried to act like a normal person.
“Do you want a coffee?”
“In a minute,” I mumbled, because in my current nervous and self conscious state, I had forgotten that it would be better to order a drink and then sit down. Then I noticed that he didn’t have a drink either.
How was he so calm? Why was I so anxious? I combed my fingers through my hair as I took a deliberate, deep breath. The wind had mussed my dark brown strands up some, though it was naturally straight so with a quick ruffle it fell mostly back into place.
Then I realised with awkward shock that he hadn’t just been asking me if I wanted to buy myself a coffee, he had been asking if he could buy me a coffee.
“I…thanks, I…I like lattes?” Why had I said it like a question? It wasn’t a question. I liked lattes. It was a statement.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently, seeming bemused.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, wanting this to be true as I met his eyes. “I just haven’t dated in a while.”
Yeah, that’s why I’m weird as fuck.
“Oh, good,” he grinned. "Me neither. So we’re both nervously starting something new, I guess.”
“You don’t seem nervous at all,” I said forwardly, because this baffled me. “You seem…relaxed.”
He ran a hand back through his soft-looking hair, though I got the impression that it was a subconscious habit rather than a move to show off. Nonetheless, it made me want to run my own fingers through it. “I hide my emotions well. It took me weeks to pick up the courage to talk to you properly.”
“It…wait, really?” I blinked at him as I became fascinated with the way he would slowly bite his lower lip whilst gazing at me. Again, this seemed to be subconscious because when my eyes dropped down to watch, he stopped and smiled instead.
“Yeah. So, latte?”
Distracted, I nodded. “Please…with cream…and caramel…”
Ryan chuckled as he stood up. “Sweet tooth, huh? Interesting. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”
I was left to gawp slightly at his words while he went to order for us. This fucking flirt must have another agenda, surely - there was no way he was interested in dating me for me. And call me self depreciating if you want but when he had seemed surprised by my liking for sugary treats, I had nearly said something to the effect of, ‘what, my chubbiness didn’t tip you off?’. I wasn’t huge but my body shape was kind of like an acoustic guitar.
He seemed to have it all so far. The handsome looks with an average ‘dad bod’ build that happened to be very attractive to me, the tattoos that showed pieces of him so clearly on his arms, the charming personality…he had to have a flaw. A massive flaw. My bets were on one or more of the following: he was married or otherwise taken, he was a lying cheater, he was racist, homophobic, transphobic or anything else along those lines, he was abusive verbally, emotionally or physically, or he was a psychopath/sociopath. If he was all of the above then holy fuck, I should have already been running.
“One latte with excess sweetness,” Ryan smirked as he placed my cup down in front of me and sat down with his own black coffee that contrasted starkly with my fancy beverage. “Not that you need it. You’re already sweet enough.”
“That was a terrible dad joke, if I’ve ever heard one,” I couldn’t help but giggle, because that kind of humour (along with puns) genuinely amused me. “But thanks.”
He watched me as he picked up his own cup. “Well I am a dad, so that would make sense.”
I nearly choked on my drink at this news. “Oh- oh, that’s…okay, that’s fine.” Not a dealbreaker by any means, but it had definitely taken me by surprise.
“Is that an issue?” he asked bluntly.
“No, it isn’t,” I replied honestly. “Not at all. I just didn’t expect you to say that.”
In apparent understanding, he nodded. “His name is Shaun and he’s five-and-a-bit. He’s really important to me but…his mother - my ex-wife - moved away with him about a year ago.”
I gasped, my eyes widening in sympathy. “So you don’t get to see him? Because she just…moved? That doesn’t seem very fair…”
We’d touched on a very sore subject, I suddenly noticed. His gaze dropped to his mug and his hands curled around it as he closed his eyes briefly. I also suddenly realised that I didn’t know how old he was but was getting the impression that while I’d assumed him to be a similar age to me at twenty-nine, in proper daylight he looked like he actually might be older.
“She’s Irish and her family are Irish. Guess where she took our son when we got divorced,” he said quietly. “I read him bedtime stories over Teams as much as I can and I talk to him during the day sometimes, when he’s not at school. I fly over there to see him around Christmas and his birthday. I miss him every day.”
This was a rawness I hadn’t expected for a first casual coffee date. It must have showed in my expression because when he glanced back up at me, his jovial charm had returned.
“You have whipped cream on your nose, Isabella,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as I shyly went to wipe it off with my thumb. I felt like now was the time to correct him on my name, too, since Lena had introduced me by something that literally nobody ever referred to me as.
“I’d prefer it if you’d call me ‘Ella’,” I said quietly but truthfully.
Ryan grinned boyishly. “You’d prefer it if I in particular called you that?”
Feeling myself grow hot, I protested, “No, that’s just what everyone calls me…”
“Ah,” he replied, his eyes twinkling good-naturedly. “Ella it is.”
It occurred to me in that moment that even if he was only after sex and providing he didn’t have any of the aforementioned dire character flaws, I was pretty happy to go along with that at this moment in time. This was followed by the thought of him shirtless and leaning over me and unfortunately, my face responded to this by flushing deeply. I’d never been the type to swoon over a person this hard before but everything about this man was making me become awfully stupid whenever he was focusing my way.
“So what do you do for work?” he asked, seeming not to notice this or merely choosing not to comment on it as I dragged my dark, saucy thoughts back to the reality of the light, public coffee shop.
“I work in retail,” I explained briefly. “Not very exciting…but I survive. You?”
“I’m in a band,” he replied, making me actually raise my eyebrows because this suddenly seemed so apt for him considering one of his tattoos. “But that doesn’t really pay the bills, so I work at a restaurant in the kitchen during the day.”
“That’s kinda cool,” I smiled, intrigued by him probably far more than he was by me, for which I wouldn’t blame him. “What kinda music? What do you play?”
“Mostly rock mixed with some metal. I’m the lead singer,” he answered. “You should come and see us sometime. We play all over.”
Now he was adding talent to his pool of good traits, so something had to balance this out, surely. It’s not as though I was hoping for serious and horrible personality flaws, but the universe could not be kind enough to drop such a perfect man in my lap and just let me have him - that would be ridiculous.
“Awesome,” I said after a small amount of hesitation. “That’s the kind of music I listen to, generally.”
“I figured, you wear band shirts sometimes and they have a theme,” Ryan stated, glancing sideways as a skinny, ‘objectively’ attractive woman passed us by.
That was the kind of woman I expected him to be into, I thought straight away. Not me, a little alternative in my appearance and very insecure about my weight. Not me, who stumbled over words and hadn’t been to university and was working a dead-end job just to survive with no real ambition. Not me, the burden with anxiety that needed constant reassurance but also depression that told me I didn’t deserve that reassurance. I had to say something that wouldn’t out me as the total mess that I felt like I was. I needed to promote my good points.
“I cosplay,” I blurted out, because it was something I took pride in and was one of the few things I felt as though I was good at. “For social media. I cosplay different characters and make costumes and have way too many wigs and sets of contact lenses. I have kind of a small following online.”
Seeming to absorb this, he bit his lower lip again, deliciously. I tried not to fixate on it.
“Interesting. So you prefer to become someone else in order to find your confidence?”
“Pretty much.” I took a sip of my latte. “Why did you decide to ask for my number?”
A strange look flitted across his face. “Because seeing you on Friday nights for the last few weeks became one of my favourite parts of my week. You’re gorgeous.”
Again my face grew warm. “Oh.” I stopped short of asking him if he was blind.
And then he smirked knowingly, making my stomach flip and my skin break out into goosebumps all over.
“Did you know,” he continued, without waiting for me to say anything further, “that humans have involuntary physiological responses when they see something they like? Your pupils dilate when you look at me.”
My breath hitched. I had known this, along with the rise in blood pressure and obvious blushing. But for him to so candidly point this out somehow compiled how I was currently feeling. I cleared my throat, determined to try not to appear like this much of an open book. “That’s pretty presumptuous. Maybe my eyes doing that is unrelated to how you look.”
“Sure. And is it?”
“That’s not the point,” I muttered reluctantly as he chuckled. “I happen to think you’re way out of my league, if we’re being honest.”
Ryan leaned forwards in his chair slightly and brought his colourfully inked forearms to rest on the table, distracting me. On one arm, there were several orange koi carps swimming amongst bright blue waves that swirled delicately up to his elbow. On his other was a collection of vivid musical notes on a stave that twisted artistically around his skin and was adorned with black stars. There was calligraphy entwined too - probably song lyrics.
And goddamn he smelled good, all pleasant musk, spice and dark masculinity.
“I’m a forty year-old single divorced dad in a band, why would you think I’m in any way ‘out of your league’? And what does that even mean, anyway?” He asked me seriously, his ice blue eyes staring into what felt like my soul.
Forty? He only looked to be in his early thirties, so clearly genetics had treated him well too, though I happened to like slightly older men anyway as a general rule. A little salt-and-pepper in their hair here, a few wrinkles in the corners of their eyes there, experienced…with a firm, domineering hand… The man before me had the first three already and at the titillating thought that he might also have the fourth one too, I felt suddenly very hot.
“Huh, so you’re old enough to be my dad? That’s better then I guess,” I joked without thinking, my stupid sense of humour rearing its head as a defence mechanism in order to try to cover up my obvious attraction. Of course he wasn’t actually old enough for this, but the look on his face that followed this statement was fucking priceless.
“How old are you?” He asked, clearly feeling suddenly wrong-footed. “I was thinking mid twenties but if you’re younger than that, I’m sorry and I’ll go.”
“Relax,” I giggled mischievously. “I’m twenty-nine.”
“Jesus, for a second there I thought I’d accidentally picked up a teenager,” he gasped, laughing now as I beamed at this indirect compliment because he thought I looked younger than I was, like most people tended to.
Admittedly, lately I felt as though I was having a hopefully not-midlife-crisis (unless I was due to die at sixty) over feeling like my life was going nowhere with the big three-oh looming. I didn’t vocalise this.
He continued slyly. “Are dads your type then, or were you kidding?”
I snorted, trying to contain myself. It wasn’t that he was wrong, it was just that it was far too early in the relationship for this kind of discussion, in my opinion. “Not particularly. I just…prefer guys that are older than me. I don’t seek them out, that’s just who I find hot.” Because I’m drawn to taller, older men who take control and growl in my ear like they want to eat me.
Ryan watched me as I finished my coffee. “Why’s that?”
Carefully, I decided to be honest without oversharing and sending him running for the hills out of being creeped out. “They just generally have more life experience and seem more mature and in control. Sometimes I need that to balance me.”
He sat back in his chair again, his expression now empathetic. “I think we’re going to get along great, Ella.”
- Ryan
God, she was so fucking perfect that she wouldn’t leave my mind. Having had previous experience, I knew someone who enjoyed being submissive from their body language, their reactions and their admissions. Ella in particular had a little fun sass for sure, but it was definitely not anything that couldn’t be tamed.
She was so surprised by compliments aimed toward her too. Part of me found this sad, because she had obviously had people in her life - or possibly still did - that had made her feel as though she wasn’t how I saw her: gorgeous. But the other part of me wanted to make her believe me, to see herself better. I was beginning to crave her, after weeks of merely watching her across the pub on a Friday night. Watching her strut over to the toilets, saunter back, dance a little with her friends when a song she liked came on - it had been, as I’d said, the highlight of my week for a short while since I’d first spotted her.
And I wanted to tie her naked to my bed and fucking ravish her.
But I was a gentleman too and we didn’t really know each other yet. A couple more dates at least was probably a good idea, along with the fact that I didn’t want to scare her off. I had no idea how much sexual experience she had, especially when it came to kink, but it was definitely going to be my mission to find out whilst getting to know her better. She had referenced liking older men too right before explaining that it was because they seemed ‘more in control’ and could ‘balance her’, so already the animalistic side of my brain was highly interested.
She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of me either. I was by no means arrogant in thinking that I was some sort of Adonis, but I had been with my fair share of women in my time - particularly since getting divorced - and I did have confidence in the knowledge that I was pretty good looking. I went running on Sunday mornings to keep the weight off and I ate as healthily as I could bare, though this wasn’t always a constant because I was weak as fuck to doughnuts. And working in a busy restaurant kitchen was physically and mentally exhausting so I often fell asleep shortly after getting home following a shift rather than working out. That also didn’t even include the local gigs on the weekends, which would often run very late into the nights if you counted the drinking that was done afterwards in the pub.
I wondered if she was looking for something really serious. I was usually ambivalent, wanting to see where it went with a person before committing properly because sexual chemistry was as important to me as personality compatibility. That said, I was already far more invested in pursuing Ella than any other woman since Kathleen, my ex-wife.
“Ryan, focus!” My sister snapped, clicking her fingers in front of me as she drew me out of my thoughts. “What do you think? I need your honest opinion!”
What had she asked? She was holding two coloured strips of paper up in front of my face, presumably wanting me to pick one. Oh, right - the table decorations. Without really giving a shit, I gestured to the left shade of yellow as opposed to the marginally slightly different right shade of yellow.
“Goddamit, now you and Alex have both said that,” Rebecca groaned, rolling her eyes at my apparent siding with her fiancé and my best friend.
“Okay…is that an issue?“ I asked, mystified by her reaction as she examined both strips closely.
“I like the other one more,” she sighed, making me wonder why she had bothered asking either of us for our opinion in the first place. “Never mind, just tell Alex I’m doing it in the other yellow, the one I picked.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind,” I said quietly with amusement as she busied herself with continuing to tidy the house. While he did of course care about her opinion, Alex was not going to care if she requested the flowers on the reception dinner tables be a slightly different shade to the one he had chosen. The two colours were so similar it had taken me a second to see that she wasn’t holding up samples of the same one twice by accident.
“Can you ring Mum and tell her that I’ve sorted the cake?” Rebecca asked me suddenly, thrusting the cordless house phone into my hand.
“Why don’t you do it?” I frowned, watching as she pulled out a bunch of bridal magazines and slapped them down onto the sofa in order to leaf through them for probably the millionth time.
“Do I look like I have time?” she demanded of me, shooting me a brief sideways glare. “I still need to find a fucking dress that’ll fit me and the jellybean.”
She was referring to the fact that she was very obviously seven months pregnant with Alex’s baby, who remained a mystery in terms of gender so far with both parents hoping to keep it that way until the surprise at birth. Obviously the pregnancy hadn’t been planned to happen prior to the wedding but because of not wanting to postpone or cancel said wedding, Rebecca and Alex had pushed on with their plans. The only snag was the dress - the previously hand-selected one would now definitely not fit and in true Bridezilla fashion with two weeks until the the big day, Rebecca was on the warpath for one that she liked enough.
“Why don’t you just get the first one altered? I mean, you knew this was going to be a problem closer to the wedding, right?” As soon as the words had left my mouth, I realised I shouldn’t have said anything at all because of the withering look my sister awarded me for daring to give my opinion.
“Because, Ryan,” she breathed in clear anger, “there isn’t enough material to alter the dress I wanted that drastically. It’s not like I gained a few pounds and it just needs taking out a bit. I’ve got a fucking goldfish bowl strapped to my front to accommodate for now. I need like…a second goddamn wedding dress to attach to the first one to make it big enough.”
“Okay, take a breath,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “You’ll find one, it’s not uncommon for pregnant women to get married in this day-in-age.”
A few weeks ago I had fallen into the trap of asking her why she hadn’t just rescheduled the wedding until after the birth, but this had been met with stoney silence followed by a rant about how difficult it was to rearrange so many different elements of a wedding and how the venue was fully booked for about two years following.
“Okay, breathing,” she groaned, her head in her hands. “I’m good, I’m calm. Can you just please ring Mum and tell her I’ve sorted the cake? Please?”
“Sure,” I nodded now, because she had calmed down and that was a way in which I could help, even if it meant I was definitely going to be on the phone for the next forty minutes at least because our mother could talk uninterrupted for hours. But it was a small price to pay to avoid being shown dozens of dresses that Rebecca obviously hated while she asked me if I like ‘this one more than the last one’.