“Will, stop pretending that you’re the one in charge here when we all know that the trouser wearing in this house is down to me.” Fuck, she wore them well. Trousers, skirts, dresses, my boxers and right at this moment one of my old gaming T-shirts.
Sitting on the edge of the bed gave me a fantastic view of the New Laines. It was a busy summer night with late night cafés and bars still open. People were crowding in the streets laughing, playing music, and generally living their best lives.
Like me.
When Skye and I moved out of the flat above Turnip the Beet, we knew that this house would be perfect for us. Stace and Matt stayed there and made it their home…for now. Stacey had just discovered she was pregnant, and they would soon outgrow the flat. We lived a few doors down the road from them, in fact, we were so close we could communicate through lamplight like Freddie Mercury and Mary.
Matt wanted a dressing-up party for his graduation celebrations. He’d finally finished a Psychology degree and Stace had organised a rowdy night. Skye and I had talked (argued) about our costumes. I wanted to go as Batman because I already had the suit. She wasn’t keen. Maybe it reminded her of the first time she met my junk? Getting Skye into a Catwoman costume was definitely out of the equation. I eventually agreed to her choosing the costumes. She said she’d make it worth my while and when I discovered I was going as the joker I could only hope that she was going as Harley Quinn. A sexy Harley Quinn – a fantasy I’d told her about many years ago and had been role played (without costumes) many times since.
She re-appeared with a grin. “I’ve put your costume in the bathroom.” I stared at her, still memorised by that rainbow syrup that shone through her veins and into my soul. “Go on then. Skedaddle.” She slipped out of my Super Mario T-shirt, which was a move that disappointed me until I saw what she was changing in to.
Harley fucking Quinn.
“Oh my,” I gritted out as she pulled on some little blue and red shorts.
“You like?” She twirled in just those little shorts and it took all of me to stop from pouncing on her.
“I like so much I’m considering calling Matt to tell him we’ll be a no-show tonight.”
“Don’t you dare! These costumes aren’t going to waste.”
“Baby, believe me, they won’t go to waste.” She swatted my hand away and continued dressing. A little top, a leather jacket, awesome boots and all the bloody accessories. I wasn’t sure how we’d both get through the night unscathed.
This DC nerd was pretty fucking happy.
After I’d dressed in my Heath Ledger version of Joker, trailed my hands up her fishnets as she painted my face, re-arranged my erection to a safe place and grabbed a piece of her carrot cake – I told you I was living my best life – we made our way to Matt’s party.
In ordinary circumstances, I would be looking forward to a night of watching Skye dance, fuelled by the knowledge that I was the lucky bastard taking her home with me. Tonight, was different. I was out of my comfort zone and nerves were setting in.
“How are you feeling, mate?” Matt said, I couldn’t take him seriously dressed as Kristoff from Frozen and even less so when Stacey was stood next to him as Olaf.
“Nervous,” I squeaked as I took a swig of beer. “Why did I think this was a good idea again?”
“I think you said something about a romantic grand gesture,” he replied. “But you may have been drunk and we’d just watched Coco.”
“Oh, yeah. That film is a killer.”
“Turns you to mush, mate.”
I’d planned on asking Skye to marry me for what seemed like most of my life. The way we fell into friendship and landed into a relationship seemed to fit us both. We liked to take life a day at a time, no forward planning, no pressure to fulfil stereotypical life plans, but there was this increasing deep need in me to make our life together official. Skye never talked about marriage, or rings or what dress she would choose when the big day arrived. She didn’t even get fidgety when we bought the house together, a joint mortgage seemed enough of a commitment for her.
I’d gone backwards and forwards about doing this. Weighed up the pros and cons. Would she grab me by my balls for even thinking about proposing to her? She wasn’t a traditional girl and we certainly had our differences. She hated guacamole and I piled it up like a green volcano. She asked Siri to turn down my movie theme tunes and banished my Marvel film posters to the spare room. I hated early mornings and she seemed to thrive on them. Although, I did set the alarm clock to wake me up just as she was in the middle of her yoga workout. Skin-tight leggings, purple crop tops, sweaty taught abs and a bum to cry for.
I timed my early rise with her early rise.
Her workout usually ended with a whole different kind of work out and one morning as I nuzzled her perfect breasts, I decided differences we’re good. Differences kept it interesting.
The name calling continued. I was often referred to as nerdsville. Screw you ballsack, was a favourite but always done with a smile. I called her angel, sometimes dirty angel. Sweetheart. Baby. My world. My everything. Made for me. The one. She pulled faces, rolled her eyes – I still fucking loved that eye roll – but eventually she accepted that I was just a pet name kind of guy.
Or maybe I just said what I felt?
She was my one. I never doubted it. Skye did everything she could to make me happy and she was
