Last Chance
Josephine Myles
For Lou Harper, who loves these characters just as much as I do.
I opened the door and watched the postman’s face fall.
“Package for Mr. Carter,” he said. “I’ll need him to sign.”
“Steve?” I called out. “Stop tarting yourself up and get out here.”
Steve bounced out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam and a waft of that spicy aftershave I love on him. God knew how he managed to while away so much time in there every morning. My entire pre-work routine consisted of pulling back on yesterday’s clothes followed by a cup of strong black coffee. Mind you, Steve did end up looking a hell of a lot better than I did, so maybe all that primping and preening was worth it.
“Hi, Steve. Got a big ‘un for you today.” The postman held out his clipboard so that Steve could sign for the package, and I didn’t miss the way his gaze went roaming over Steve’s immaculate pinstripes. Somehow, in his six months of living with me, Steve had managed to befriend more locals than I had in the last five years. He now had a tab at the corner shop, knew all the neighbors in our building, and was even on first name terms with the postman. I had the feeling the postman would have been happy to be on even closer terms.
“Good to see you up and about again,” Postie said with a leer I tried my best to ignore, in case I ended up doing something stupid like punching him in the face. We might not look like a couple, with Steve’s smart suit and my long dreads and scruffy old painting clothes, but Steve’s mine and no one else’s. Or maybe it’s me that’s his. I don’t think it makes much difference, to be honest. The point is, we’re together now and I’m not sharing him.
“Yeah, the leg’s all better now. Cheers, Alan.”
When I saw the smile Steve gave the postie, I knew I didn’t have to worry about anything. It was friendly, but that was the extent of it. It was nothing like the filthy grins Steve gave me when he was contemplating something exciting. Something that usually ended up with us both sweaty and covered in spunk.
“Oh, and this one came for you, Jez.” Postie handed over the letter with a polite smile. “All the way from sunny Slough, you lucky thing. Hey, Steve, if he’s got another man over there and you want a shoulder to cry on... Uh, never mind. Better get going.” I don’t know if I was glaring at Alan because of his blatant flirtation, or because of the connection my mind had just made, but one look at my face and he was a postman-shaped blur.
Steve was busy tearing into his parcel, so I took a moment to examine the letter unobserved. The hollow pit that had opened up inside me at the mention of Slough widened as I took in the familiar shaky handwriting. It wasn’t a thick envelope, so I folded it in half and stuck it into my pocket.
“Come on,” I called to Steve. “We’ll miss the train if you don’t get a move on.”
“You should see this yarn, Jez. It’s bloody brilliant!” Steve waved a ball of colorful wool around and his eyes shone like a kid in an amusement arcade. “It’s for knitting socks, and it’s self-patterning.”
I didn’t have a clue what he was going on about, but it was clear his recent enthusiasm for knitting wasn’t abating now his leg was out of the cast -- especially since he’d realized he could make his own crazy colored socks. “That’s great. Now put it down and get your arse in gear or you’ll be late. Don’t want to get knocked back down to office junior, do you?”
“Yes, Mum.” Steve smirked, unaware of how those teasing words twisted up my insides. He grabbed his new laptop and we wrapped up in our winter coats before heading out the door of our flat.
There was only one seat left when we got on the Tube, so I let Steve have it. It was the trade off for him not working late in the evenings: he had to spend his journey in catching up on whatever it is editorial assistants do. An awful lot of
Josephine Myles
For Lou Harper, who loves these characters just as much as I do.
I opened the door and watched the postman’s face fall.
“Package for Mr. Carter,” he said. “I’ll need him to sign.”
“Steve?” I called out. “Stop tarting yourself up and get out here.”
Steve bounced out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam and a waft of that spicy aftershave I love on him. God knew how he managed to while away so much time in there every morning. My entire pre-work routine consisted of pulling back on yesterday’s clothes followed by a cup of strong black coffee. Mind you, Steve did end up looking a hell of a lot better than I did, so maybe all that primping and preening was worth it.
“Hi, Steve. Got a big ‘un for you today.” The postman held out his clipboard so that Steve could sign for the package, and I didn’t miss the way his gaze went roaming over Steve’s immaculate pinstripes. Somehow, in his six months of living with me, Steve had managed to befriend more locals than I had in the last five years. He now had a tab at the corner shop, knew all the neighbors in our building, and was even on first name terms with the postman. I had the feeling the postman would have been happy to be on even closer terms.
“Good to see you up and about again,” Postie said with a leer I tried my best to ignore, in case I ended up doing something stupid like punching him in the face. We might not look like a couple, with Steve’s smart suit and my long dreads and scruffy old painting clothes, but Steve’s mine and no one else’s. Or maybe it’s me that’s his. I don’t think it makes much difference, to be honest. The point is, we’re together now and I’m not sharing him.
“Yeah, the leg’s all better now. Cheers, Alan.”
When I saw the smile Steve gave the postie, I knew I didn’t have to worry about anything. It was friendly, but that was the extent of it. It was nothing like the filthy grins Steve gave me when he was contemplating something exciting. Something that usually ended up with us both sweaty and covered in spunk.
“Oh, and this one came for you, Jez.” Postie handed over the letter with a polite smile. “All the way from sunny Slough, you lucky thing. Hey, Steve, if he’s got another man over there and you want a shoulder to cry on... Uh, never mind. Better get going.” I don’t know if I was glaring at Alan because of his blatant flirtation, or because of the connection my mind had just made, but one look at my face and he was a postman-shaped blur.
Steve was busy tearing into his parcel, so I took a moment to examine the letter unobserved. The hollow pit that had opened up inside me at the mention of Slough widened as I took in the familiar shaky handwriting. It wasn’t a thick envelope, so I folded it in half and stuck it into my pocket.
“Come on,” I called to Steve. “We’ll miss the train if you don’t get a move on.”
“You should see this yarn, Jez. It’s bloody brilliant!” Steve waved a ball of colorful wool around and his eyes shone like a kid in an amusement arcade. “It’s for knitting socks, and it’s self-patterning.”
I didn’t have a clue what he was going on about, but it was clear his recent enthusiasm for knitting wasn’t abating now his leg was out of the cast -- especially since he’d realized he could make his own crazy colored socks. “That’s great. Now put it down and get your arse in gear or you’ll be late. Don’t want to get knocked back down to office junior, do you?”
“Yes, Mum.” Steve smirked, unaware of how those teasing words twisted up my insides. He grabbed his new laptop and we wrapped up in our winter coats before heading out the door of our flat.
There was only one seat left when we got on the Tube, so I let Steve have it. It was the trade off for him not working late in the evenings: he had to spend his journey in catching up on whatever it is editorial assistants do. An awful lot of
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