Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

“I am.” I puff air into my cheeks. “Emerson met someone.” “Oh, is he nice?”

“He’s dreamy. His name is Alastar. He’s Irish.” I smile. “He’s different.” She laughs. “And what about you? Any men in your sights?”

“No.” I frown. “All the men I meet are idiots.” I hesitate for a moment. “I’m like a magnet to them.”

“He’s waiting for you, Brell. Somebody very special is sitting and waiting for you to come along. Any day now, he’s going to show up.”

I get a lump in my throat. I used to always think that someone, somewhere was waiting for me, but I just don’t know if I believe that anymore.

I’m losing my faith in the male species day by day.

“How are you and Dad?” I change the subject.

“We’re good. Actually, we’re thinking of coming over for a trip.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t be for another six to eight weeks, but we thought we might come and stay in London for a week and then go on to Prague.”

“Oh, could you? That would be so great.” My eyes fill with tears again. “I would really love to see you.”

“Are you okay, darling? You sound off. It’s Friday night. I thought you would be out.” “I’m going out tomorrow night with Em. She has a date tonight.” “Have you met anyone else that you can go out with?”

“Emerson’s flatmates are really nice. I guess I might start going out with them if Em really likes this guy. I’m not sitting around this big, old house alone, that’s for sure,” I mutter, almost to myself.

“And how’s your job going? Are you getting everything done that you’re supposed to be getting?”

My eyes widen as I remember the uniforms that are still in the trunk. The uniforms. Shit. “I am,” I lie. “Mum, I have to go, one of the kids is calling me.”

“Okay, dear. I love you,” she says lovingly. “I’ll get back to you about my trip.”

“I love you, too. Bye, Mum.”

I hang up and go down to the darkened garage. I kick my toe on something that’s sticking out.

“Fuck it!” I snap as I hop around. Pain shoots through me. I flick the light on angrily and go around to the trunk to take out the huge bag of jerseys.

Are you kidding me? There are at least two loads in here. I drag the big bag back into the house. The light is on in the garage, but I don’t care, he can pay the damn bill. Now, to top off a great night, I have to stay here alone and do his washing, while he has no doubt gone back to the work function to continue to crack onto the stunning redhead.

I shove the first load of washing into the machine and turn the dial with force. My blood has risen to boiling temperature.

Stupid fucking asshole.

Where’s his fancy scotch? I’m drinking the lot of it.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

I frown. What the hell is that? I punch my pillow, roll over, and close my eyes.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

“Shut the hell up,” I mumble into my pillow. Why the hell is the alarm going off on a Saturday?

I hit snooze and close my eyes again. Why would it be going off? I didn’t set it?

Wait…

My eyes spring wide open.