Jordan

Jordan. It's Jordan... oh my god... As she climbs the stairs your brain starts to piece together the fact that Jordan has just stumbled into your world. You try to collect your thoughts and your jaw which was hanging somewhere near the ground. The only words occurring to you however are JORDAN - BATH - BRANDY.

The sound of bath water running upstairs snaps you out of your mental cul-de-sac and you lurch towards the drinks cabinet. Near the back of an impressively stocked reserve is a bottle of Cognac, you hurriedly grab a glass, pour a healthy measure and attempt to regain some composure before you head upstairs.

As you climb the narrow staircase, you dodge the various wet garments that have been discarded by Jordan in her ascent, a sweater, skirt, t-shirt - she hadn't exactly been dressed to impress, although the surprise of the interuption had contributed to you not instantly recognising her. The door to the bathroom slightly ajar, allowing limited visibilty into the steam filled room. On the handle of the door hang some tiny briefs...

You head towards the door, knock and concentrate to keep your cool.
You hear Jordan laugh, 'It's your bathroom - there's no need to knock', bracing yourself you enter. There smiling towards you, consumed by bubble bath is every guys wet dream. 'Oh fabolous, I sooooo need this drink' she purrs. She raises a leg from out of the bubbles and glides down it's perfect form with a sponge.

'I'm sorry' she says, taking the drink from your steadied hand, 'I didn't ask your name?'

'It's John' you gulp 'John..' '

'I suppose you recognise me don't you John,' she interrupts.