Just One Night: Part 5 Read Online Free

that?” I don’t know what to make of it. Am I that bad off that she’s treating me as a patient in a hospital bed? This is only one notch up from a sponge bath, and while that always seemed a tasty fantasy when I was on top of my game, right now it just seems a tad pitiful.
    She pulls a face flannel from the countertop. “Hand me your soap,” says she.
    John Thomas takes note not only of her tone, which has gone decidedly warm, but her possible intentions as well. Surely this means she’s ready to have what her friend Mia referred to as make-up sex. Is it possible to have such sex when one hasn’t actually fought?
    I hand her the gel and turn so my back is facing the opening to the shower. “Have at it, then. Do your worst.”
    She begins her ministrations. Very enthusiastically, in fact.
    My eyebrows draw together in a frown. I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but this isn’t it. To call her strokes vigorous would not do them justice.
    “Surely my back is not that dirty,” I say, bracing myself against the far wall. She really has taken what I said quite literally. “Do your worst is only an expression, you know.”
    “Just trying to get your circulation going so you can sober up faster. We have work to do.”
    I try to look over my shoulder, but decide against such further attempts when the flannel flicks soap bubbles up onto my eyeballs. I blink hard and pray for relief that is too long in coming. “Work? I thought you’d heard. I’m currently without employment.” I rub my eyes hard trying to rid them of the stinging.
    “Bullshit,” she says.
    She actually uses that foul language. I find I quite like its definitiveness, coming from her.
    “You have your broker’s license, and I have my realtor’s license. I have clients and you need clients.”
    “A fat load of good that does us,” I say, staring at the tiles on the wall. My eyes are watering profusely but at least I can see again. “I’m soon to be homeless. Didn’t your online research tell you that?”
    “Don’t you have any savings?” she asks.
    I frown. “Yes, but that’s not the point. My father contracted for this flat as part of my position with the firm. He’ll be here any day to remove me from the premises.”
    “No, he won’t.”
    “He won’t?”
    Has she talked to him? Now that would be embarrassing.
    “No,” she responds, thank goodness.
    “You don’t know my father very well, do you?”
    “Doesn’t matter if he comes, because you won’t be here.”
    “I won’t?” Now there’s a curious idea. “And where would I be if not here?”
    “Not here wallowing in your pity party and bad personal hygiene, you mean?” she asks.
    “If you insist.”
    She laughs. “You’ll be at my place.”
    “Your place? Hmmm … I don’t recall your place being particularly … commodious.”
    “It doesn’t need to be. We’re only going to sleep there.”
    “Together?”
    “Depends,” she says, her tone taking a saucy turn.
    “On what, may I ask?” I’m tempted to turn around again, but veto the idea in favor of retaining my vision.
    “On whether you can pull yourself out of this very unattractive tail spin you’re in.”
    I frown. Florence Nightingale, she is not, but she does cause me to pause and reflect on my circumstances when previous to her arrival I was not considering much of anything beyond my next shot of alcohol.
    “What are you thinking right now?” she asks.
    “I was thinking that were I physically injured, I might fear having you as a nurse.”
    She flicks my arse with the wet flannel, making me jump and screech like a wee girl.
    I spin round and point at her, a threat in my eyes. “You’re going to pay for that, bold girl.” I lift a foot and make to exit the shower.
    Her eyes go wide and she backs out of the bathroom, pointing at me with a pink-polished fingernail. “Stay away from me! We’re working right now, not playing!”
    I leap out of the stall at her and make like a monster, with