By Straitjacketed
Rules are rules. That’s the way we choose to play, but he had broken one when he thought I was out of town. It was quite a simple rule, really: if it’s raining, wear raingear and wear it properly.
I had arrived home from a conference one day early, and was watching from the upstairs front window when he parked his motorbike in the driveway. It had been raining earlier that afternoon and there was still a fine drizzle in the humid air but his one-piece Rukka rainsuit was unzipped to the waist, exposing his bike leathers. Wet bike leathers.
I had been about to make a call on my iPhone; instead, I snapped a couple of pictures. Containing my disapproval, I counted five minutes after the front door closed before going downstairs with a smile on my face. He had obviously stripped off the Rukka suit completely and turned from hanging it up in the vestibule. For just a moment, a flicker of guilt crossed his face, followed by relief.
