Chapter 5
I got a text from Sasha to say she would be home by five-thirty if I wanted to come around for a fitting—my final fitting—so when my shift finished at The Sports Daily, I went straight to her place. This time it was just Sash, me and Prada the puss; her gorgeous live-in-lover Saint Nik was at training. Seriously, could the week go any slower ... bring on Sunday night.
“Righto, do a lap for me,” Sasha ordered after she had pinned up my hem and pulled herself up from her knees.
“Love to,” I said, and took to the catwalk. I walked down and back, head high, shoes high, just like you see in the fashion shows. I watched my reflection and how the dress moved in the mirrors.
“Oh Sash, it is truly stunning, you are a miracle worker,” I gushed, and she grinned with pleasure.
“It has come up a treat and you do it justice. It’s like having a model wearing my designs.”
“It’s just so fluid and glamorous,” I said, twirling again and watching the skirt kick out from the bottom. The fitted bodice and hips were just perfect and not so tight that I couldn’t eat, drink or breathe, and the neckline was flattering, showing off my assets without putting them in anyone’s face if you get my meaning.
“I love it,” I said. “You should be charging more and doing this full time.”
“That’s the dream,” Sasha said, “but for now, a few social pics and label dropping will be much appreciated,” she assured me. “Okay, you can slip it off.”
I was both relieved and excited ... I knew it would get the Josh nod. I disappeared into Sasha’s changing room and returned five minutes later, with the dress over my arm.
“I have a few finishing touches to do and then I’ll bring it hanging but wrapped to the media box on Saturday and you can sneak it home after we finish work. Okay?”
“That’s perfect, thank you. I can’t wait to wear it,” I said, watching her lay it out carefully, ready for hemming.
We exchanged air kisses and I headed home. I was terrified that The Russian would pull out; that he would find some reason to get out of the bet and I’d be embarrassed in front of everyone I had told. I had to keep coaching myself to put the thought out of my mind so it wouldn’t become a reality.
Just as I entered my apartment my phone rang; I didn’t recognize the number.
“Carla, hi, it’s Deidre Carmichael, personal assistant for Karen Meares,” the mature female voice said.
Karen Meares ... my brain was sifting names ... Karen Meares was the Head of Production at the Cable TV station where I had applied for a basketball commentary job!
“Deidre, hi, how are you?” I said, trying not to sound insanely excited.
“Well, thank you,” she said, then cut to the chase. “Karen would like you to come for an interview for the women’s basketball commentary job on Monday. Would you be available at ten a.m.?”
“Absolutely, thank you,” I said. “Should I bring anything in particular?”
“No, just yourself. So we’ll see you Monday, at ten at the studios. Just ask for me at reception when you arrive.”
I thanked Deidre and hung up. I looked at the phone … yes, that really did just happen ... I leaped for joy. I had applied for this job several weeks ago; I wanted it so bad I could taste it, and it tasted sweet. If I got the gig, I would be working with former competitors – Lynx’s Captain Suzie Ellis and Storm’s recently retired goal shooter, Catherine Allan. Since I couldn’t play, it was the next best thing to attend women’s basketball games around the country with the commentary team, doing interviews and calling the games for home viewers.
I couldn’t believe it, this was the best week ever – going to the Ball with The Russian on Sunday, a gorgeous new dress, and now an interview for my dream job on Monday. Thank you, universe!
I dropped my gear on the counter, opened the fridge and saw a casserole dish with a note on it reading ‘Eat me’. I lifted the lid—fantastic—dark, rich, beef casserole. I put it into the oven to heat up – thank you, Josh. He must have cooked it earlier then gotten a better offer; we were great housemates – he liked to cook and I liked to eat.
I changed, slipping on some fitted Lycra running pants and a long-sleeve Suns t-shirt and headed to the couch with the remote to watch Sports Week on television. They were interviewing a gridiron player and I waited patiently for the discussions around this weekend’s major league games including the Saints and Suns. My girls—the Suns—were playing the Firebirds and it wasn’t going to be pretty. We had lost to them more than we had won. Imagine if The Russian and I got together—a Saint and a Sun—well, a retired Sun. Mm ...
I can’t believe that I was so busy swooning that I forgot to send The Russian my address to pick me up for the Ball Awards on Sunday night. I reached for my phone and messaged him.
Hey Alex, hope the tux still fits. My address is 2/14 Scarborough Street. Starts at 7pm. See you Sunday at 6.30pm here? Carla.
I thought I’d better write my name since I had his number and he didn’t have mine ... I didn’t want him to confuse me with anyone else he might have been dating this week. I put the phone down and waited. Nothing. Maybe he was still at training. I rose, poured a glass of wine—I could do that now that I wasn’t training—and returned to my program. Still nothing. Maybe he was trying to think of a way to get out of it. I was pleasantly distracted by the review of the Saints and Suns pending games, and then I realized it was forty-five minutes since I had sent the text and still nothing. A churning feeling rose in my stomach ... maybe he had forgotten already about the bet and the date. What would I do if he never texted back? Crap, that was a drama I could do without.
Then my phone pinged, and I almost leaped off the couch reaching for it. So uncool, lucky I was home alone. Crap again, it was from Aimee asking if I was coming to the Suns’ game on Saturday. I shot back a response that I was working in the Saints’ media box but would be following scores online and told her to break a leg.
I got up to serve myself some casserole and glanced at the clock. It was nearing eight p.m. He must be out somewhere, with someone, because training would be over by now ... Sasha was expecting Nik early because they had started early. Whatever. Men sucked. I wished The Russian would suck me. Seriously, where had that come from? My apartment buzzer went off and I jumped again ... so jumpy lately. I lifted the intercom phone.
“Hello?”
A deep male voice spoke up. “Brooker, open up.”
Oh my God, he was there. Play it cool. Deep breath.
“Who is it?” I teased, knowing full well who it was.
I heard him clear his throat while he swallowed his impatience.
“It’s your Sunday night date. Were you expecting your Thursday night date?”
I laughed. “Hello Alex,” I accentuated his name. “Come up, second floor, first door on the right.” I hung up and raced to the bathroom. I patted down my hair ... Lord knows why, it didn’t make any difference. I raced back out and opened the door. He was coming up the stairs with several suits covered in clear plastic, draped over his arm. I loved how easily he took the stairs like the athlete that he was.
I drank him in – what an Adonis. He was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt and runners, and he looked so hot that I couldn’t take my eyes off his huge arms and chest and ...
“Nice location,” he said, stopping in front of me as I stood in the open doorway. “I hope it’s okay I came over unannounced, but I figured you’d be home preparing for your date with me.”
I smirked at him. “It’s only Thursday.”
“I know, but you want to be perfect.”
“Shut up and come in,” I said, trying to hide my smile as I stood aside to let him in. He grinned as he passed me. The Russian knew how to relax a situation. I glanced quickly at his butt and got caught in the act. He gave me a suspicious look and then turned his eyes to appraise my apartment. It was a decent size with a good view – the apartment that is; I had gotten it the first year of my contract when the area hadn’t been so trendy and now I owned it and it had increased in value a lot. I was super lucky.
“This your place?” he asked.
“Yep, all mine but I have a housemate. He’s out somewhere.”
“Why didn’t you take him to the Ball?” The Russian asked. He put the suits down over the back of the sofa.
“You want out?” I asked, challenging him.
“I never renege on a bet. But I wouldn’t mind a coffee.” He wandered around the room looking at my things. “I like your minimalist style.”
“Mm, I like space. Are you a minimalist too?” I asked.
“No. Probably more of a ‘leave it where it falls’ guy,” he said, picking up a photo of me with my parents. “You were a cute kid.” He said matter-of-factly.
“Still am cute,” I said, filling the kettle. He looked up and smiled at me. OMG he was beautiful; I loved the way he filled the lounge room and just looked so good in something so simple to wear. He noted the collar on my father in the photo.
“Your dad’s a reverend? Wow, that must have been an interesting upbringing. What’s your mom do?” he asked.
“She’s a reverend’s wife,” I said.
“Did you have one of those rebellious periods where you went against the church and your dad? Got a tattoo, went out with a bikie?” he teased.
I laughed. “Not yet, but I’m still planning to.” I pulled two mugs out of the cupboard then changed my mind and reached for two water glasses. “I was about to have some of my housemate’s beef casserole. Have you eaten? Want some?” I asked.
“Don’t want to impose,” he said, putting the photo down.
“Trust me, you wouldn’t be imposing. I’ve done nothing, Josh cooked, all I have to do is serve it.” I reached for two bowls without waiting for his answer and placed them on the counter. I kept sneaking glances at him. I couldn’t believe The Russian was in my living room – all six-foot-five of him, I just wanted to knock him to the ground and press all my bones against his.
I lifted the casserole out of the oven and opened the lid. The Russian came into the kitchen area to join me; be still my very loud beating heart. He sniffed the steam rising above the casserole.
“That’s good, really good.”
“Yeah, Josh loves to cook. I should reduce his rent for all the meals he’s cooked,” I said. “So, what’s with the suits?”
“Ah the suits,” he said, with a glance towards them.
I held up my hand. “Before you answer, grab a drink,” I nodded to the glasses. “Wine, water, cola, et cetera, in the fridge. Napkins top drawer, cutlery below, we can eat on the balcony” I said, issuing orders.
“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. Fuck, that was sexy too. The way his arm flexed when he saluted, I could just imagine him in a uniform ... I forgot what I was doing for a moment and almost ordered him to give me five.
He rattled around in the drawers and cupboards, gathering everything we needed.
“The suits ... well, I can’t decide which one to wear, so I brought the three tuxes I have over to let you pick,” he said. He filled our glasses with cold water from the fridge.
“Who on earth has three tuxes?” I asked, pausing from serving the casserole long enough to frown in his direction.
He shrugged. “I’ve had to do a few appearances. I liked one of the suits so I bought it; the other two were given to me. But I don’t know if the cuts go out of style or whatever.”
I grabbed our plates, leaving The Russian to follow with the cutlery and water glasses. I wondered if he was checking out my butt – I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity if the situation had been reversed. He followed me onto the balcony.
“This is great,” he said, again, taking in the view.
Oh yes, it sure is, I thought. As for the other view, it was of the district – high and airy with plenty of twinkling lights. A balmy breeze made the night just perfect. We sat at my large outdoor timber table, both on the same side, facing the view. I raised my water glass and clinked it against his.
“To wins for the Saints and Suns,” I said.
“To wins,” he agreed, tapping his glass. I tried the casserole first.
“Yep, you’re lucky I didn’t cook,” I said.
He smiled and tried some. “That housemate is a keeper,” he agreed.
“So what’s your place like? Got a housemate?” I asked. I was finding it really difficult to eat and breathe with The Russian less than a foot away from me. I could smell him; musty, masculine and manly.
“I live by myself ... I like to come home and not make small talk. It’s a big apartment, but I have a cleaner who comes in once a week and keeps the place in good condition. Besides, occasionally my sisters crash with me so I have spare rooms ready. Ana’s eighteen; she sometimes stays over when I’m at an away game ... gives her some privacy to see her friends, although I suspect there’s a boyfriend in the mix too,” he said, in a not-so-happy voice.
“How many siblings have you got?” I asked.
“Three younger sisters,” he said.
“Ah,” I said, with a nod.
He turned to look at me. “Ah ... what? What does that mean?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Sasha said you were one of the girls; now I know why ... you know how to talk to girls. I bet you were spoilt rotten being the only boy,” I said, feeling sorry for his sisters.
“Brooker, you can’t spoil a good thing,” he said. I rolled my eyes accordingly.
“Suits,” I said, bringing the conversation around. “I wouldn’t have a clue what’s in and what’s not, sorry.”
The Russian turned to look at me like I was an alien.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? You are a chick aren’t you?”
I grimaced at him again. “I have other interests besides fashion. It’s like art ... I know what I like, not necessarily what’s in.”
The Russian raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Let me get this straight – at the gym you managed to shower and be ready in ten minutes, now you’re telling me you don’t know a lot about fashion ... how do you feel about social media?”
“Take it or leave it,” I said, with a shrug. “I hate that I have so little control over what gets posted about me.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute and I reached for my water, sipped and then asked, “you prefer your female friends to be really girly and into shopping, make-up, and selfies?”
“No, definitely not. I’ve been there, had enough of that to last me a lifetime,” he said. “I was just shocked by your revelations ... I think I’ve met the female version of myself.”
I laughed. “At least our mothers can tell us apart.”
“Never said you weren’t an attractive, feminine woman,” he added, and I didn’t know where to go with that. He had touched a sore spot with me – my mother was always saying I was too independent, feministic, a tomboy and add my height to that, I’d never attract a man.
“ ... who can’t take a compliment,” he added after a minute.
I chuckled. “Sorry, I just got distracted by something you said.”
“What’s that?”
“Another time,” I suggested. “So, your suits, you can try them on and I’ll see if I can narrow it down to the one you should wear ... I’m a Libran though ... we’re known for being indecisive. Maybe you should ask Sasha or that other girl in your office, the pretty little one who is dating Tomás Carrera.”
“Alice,” he said.
I was watching to see what he thought of her, but he gave nothing away.
“Indecisive huh ... and what are these other interests?” he asked.
I told him about my job interview Monday and he was really pleased for me. That was a good sign, too ... he didn’t have any caveman notions that a woman’s place was supporting a man. I suspect being raised by a pack of females has helped a lot. Plus, he didn’t seem jealous or competitive which often happens to couples in similar careers ... or maybe he didn’t care enough about me to be competitive.
Then, I froze ... I heard the door open; Josh was home. This was going to be interesting – Josh was very effeminate, and The Russian was well, very alpha. I couldn’t bear it if he was rude to Josh or disliked him ... I couldn’t be with a man who wasn’t accepting; it was a deal breaker. I turned and looked through the glass sliding doors and waved to Josh. His eyes widened in surprise and then he gave me a thumbs-up which I hoped The Russian hadn’t seen. Josh came out to the balcony.
“Hi Carla,” he said, with a special smile in my direction. He offered his hand to The Russian to shake.
“Josh Turnbull,” he said. I held my breath, worried—I was scared for Josh and just as scared for myself—I didn’t want to have to stop liking The Russian.
The Russian stood to shake hands with Josh; he looked about two feet taller and wider.
“Alex Renwick,” he said. “I think I just ate your dinner.”
Josh laughed. “Lucky I’ve eaten and you’re welcome.”
“Great casserole,” The Russian declared, sitting down again. “If Carla ever raises your rent and you want out, look me up,” he said, with a sly glance in my direction. “I’ve got beach views.”
I hit his arm. “Don’t try and tempt my roomie away.”
The Russian smiled. “Just putting it out there,” he said.
“Good to have fall back options,” Josh agreed.
“Stop talking immediately you two,” I ordered them in fun. I breathed out. Thank the Lord ... The Russian was just getting better and better.
“Given Josh cooked and I set the table, surely you can make coffee at least? I’d offer to make it, but I don’t know your kitchen yet,” The Russian said, with a glance at his watch. “Then I’ll have to bolt.”
Yet, he said yet. OMG ... did that mean he was going to get to know my kitchen?
“Carla makes a terrible coffee,” Josh said, “but I’m about to brew a pot.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed, “it’s not that bad.”
“Can you cook anything?” The Russian turned to look at me. “Toast?”
“Toast is my specialty,” I said. We rose and grabbed plates, following Josh inside.
“It’s actually cereal,” Josh said. “She’s really good at pouring that from the box.”
The Russian laughed and returned to the balcony to get our glasses. I watched from the kitchen with Josh as The Russian went to the balcony edge to observe the view.
Josh’s eyes widened and he mouthed the word ‘divine’.
“I know,” I said.
“Sorry to crash, want me to leave?” he asked.
“Definitely not, I’m glad you got a chance to meet him. Besides, he clearly won’t be sticking around ... tonight anyway.”
“Get out there,” Josh said, pushing me to the balcony. “I can make coffee for three ... go, go, go.”
Then I had a brilliant idea – yeah I was full of them; Josh could check out The Russian’s suits and tell him what style was in ... Josh was a fashion guru after all.
“Know anything about tuxedos?” I asked.
“Is Chanel timeless?” he said.
I gave him a grin, left the dishes in the sink and went back out to the balcony to appreciate the view of The Russian. He turned as I rejoined him.
“You’ve done well, Brooker,” he said, “I like a self-made woman.”
“Thanks. I like to be independent, have my own assets, you know a girl has to these day,” I said, not letting on that I’d checked out his ex-girlfriend and knew she was living off daddy – but hey, who wouldn’t in her situation?
“Good on you,” he said.
“I have a suggestion.”
He looked at me with raised eyebrows as if I was going to suggest he stay the night. I wish.
“Josh is a bit of a fashion guru, he’s been helping me with my dress selection for the Gala Ball. I think you should put the tuxes on for us both, and let him tell you what’s in vogue.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Anyone would think you just want to see me in a tux,” he said.
“Hell no, I’ve got other things I could be doing,” I teased him. “There’s the sock drawer which needs sorting by color and I usually polish the silver once a week ...”
He gave me one of those melt-your-insides smiles that he turned on so effortlessly.
“But,” I continued, “given I’m a guest speaker on Sunday night and I’m going to look pretty fabulous, well, you need to step up.”
“I’ll give you step up in a moment,” he said and moved to tickle me. Yes, seriously, tickle me! Clearly he had sisters. I fought him off laughing and then I grabbed his hand—mine felt small in his—and pulled him inside. I picked up the suits and pointed to my room. “You can change in there.”
He and Josh exchanged looks like they were two men who put up with me – I was so pleased they had bonded, even at my expense, and I watched The Russian’s sexy butt as he went into my room and made a point of closing the door. Thank the Lord I was a minimalist and I knew my room was pretty clean. Plus, years and years of my dad, the reverend, boring into me that ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’ had worked – not that the Holy Scriptures actually said that but try telling my father that.
Josh brought our coffees and a plate of chocolate biscuits over to the coffee table in front of the sofa and we sat waiting for The Russian’s fashion parade – I would have paid to see that. Five minutes later he walked out of my room in the first tux to find us both sitting on the sofa, staring at my bedroom door waiting for him. Josh gasped louder than I did, the Lord keep him for that. The Russian shook his head at the two of us.
“Shh, Russian,” I said, “we’re working here.”
Josh gave me a look.
“Okay, Josh is working here,” I shrugged.
“Armani? A Giorgio tuxedo?” Josh asked.
The Russian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Got it in one,” he said.
My draw dropped open. “How do you even know that?” I said, momentarily tearing my gaze away from The Russian to look at Josh, but returning immediately to The Russian.
“I know quality,” Josh said.
“He’s a fashionista and makeup artist,” I said, explaining Josh to The Russian.
“Mm, turn around,” Josh said.
I love Josh, did I mention that? The Russian did a full turn, and was not at all uncomfortable with the instruction.
“Nice,” Josh said. “Lightweight wool, satin accents, peak lapels, single button close. Nice, very nice. That’s very much in vogue. Next.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t watch, Brooker,” The Russian said. “It will ruin the impact when I arrive Sunday night looking resplendent.”
“Wild dogs wouldn’t drag me away,” I said. “It’s okay, I promise to be impressed Sunday night as well.”
“I feel cheap,” The Russian said to Josh and he shook his head.
“Women,” Josh agreed.
The Russian went back into my room to change. I fanned myself with the TV program.
“Oh my, was that hot or what?” I said.
Josh nodded. “I’m going to need some water with my coffee.”
“I’m onto it,” I said. I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses of water and got back in time before the second showing. We snuggled back next to each other. This was better than porn, or so I had heard ... I wouldn’t know ... honest.
Five minutes later, the door opened again and then The Russian appeared in all his glory in another tuxedo.
“Magnificent,” I whispered. I wished Josh wasn’t there and I could run at The Russian, knock him back on my bed and lick him. Right, focus.
“Dolce and Gabbana,” The Russian said and turned full circle, without prompting this time, while looking to Josh for approval.
Josh nodded. “Another classic. Tailored three-piece tuxedo suit with blazer, peaked lapels and satin detail. Solid wool,” he said, with a glance at me like that meant something.
Gorgeous, sexy, dream-worthy. “Very nice,” I said, restraining myself.
“Just very nice, Brooker?” The Russian challenged me.
“Superb,” Josh raised the bar. “Both of those tuxedos are first class.”
“First class,” I said, nodding and agreeing. The Russian gave me a small smile and ventured in to try on the final suit.
“Wipe your mouth,” Josh said.
“I’m not drooling, I’m salivating,” I said. “Tall, dark and handsome, my dream man is in my bedroom in a tux.”
“I hear you,” Josh said. “It’s my fantasy too.”
We both giggled. This was the best night ever. Finally, The Russian came out in the third tuxedo and my jaw dropped open.
“Beautiful,” I said, without thinking.
“Thanks Brooker, hope you can match it,” he said, his eyes twinkling at me.
“Magnificent,” Josh agreed. “Is that a Tom Ford tux?”
“You’re good,” The Russian said, looking impressed. “Very good. It is indeed; got it at a photo shoot recently.”
“Turn around please,” Josh ordered.
Well done, Josh.
“Magnificent,” Josh said again and I nodded. He rose and went over to The Russian. He felt the coat fabric between his fingers.
“Slim-Fit Mohair and Wool-Blend, the suit of Bond, James Bond,” Josh said.
“Is that so?” The Russian asked. “Then this is the suit for me.”
“It most certainly is,” I said, admiring the lustrous satin.
“That’s the one,” Josh agreed. “Easy. Are you right for cufflinks, a bow tie, white shirt and shoes?”
The Russian nodded. “Got all that. Thanks for the help, I’ll get it off.”
“You could leave it on while you have coffee,” I suggested.
The Russian shook his head. “Brooker, you’ll just have to wait to see it again.”
I gave him a disappointed look and he disappeared behind the door to change.
“You two are going to be beautiful together,” Josh said, turning from the closed door to look at me.
“Wait until you see my dress,” I said, “seriously, Sasha has made it for my figure, I never thought I could look that good,” I lowered my voice.
“I never doubted it,” Josh said. I squeezed him arm.
The Russian came out a few minutes later in his jeans and t-shirt again, carrying the three suits. He thanked Josh again, grabbed his coffee and remained standing while he sipped it.
“Better get going,” he said.
I looked from him to my bedroom and back to him again. At least I could dream tonight about him being in there, half undressed.
But an hour later I found out that the idea of sleep was just a fantasy. I didn’t get one wink – I imagined opening the front door to The Russian, kissing those lips, stripping off his tux and making slow love to a man who confessed to not moving too quickly. I kept cautioning myself – I was not his type, especially after his Hollywood blonde girlfriend; it was just a friendship.
But it was too late. I was a goner and I had set myself up for heartbreak, I just knew it.