I CLING TO the edge of the sink.
Where did you put them, Delphine?
I need a chance to redeem my dignity. I need a chance to show Lenic I’m sophisticated and classy.
Everyone deserves a second chance in my book. And when I woke up this morning, listening to the birds chirping, like Snow bloody White, I thought as much. But then it hit me. If he sees them, if he catches sight of them, then I’ll only confirm his accusation that I’m a gold-digging party bimbo.
Like last night’s traumarama wasn’t enough.
I upend Lenic’s mouthwash into my mouth and tip my head back, swishing the strong stuff around until I can no longer taste seawater in my mouth. I spit it out and glance at my reflection in the mirror over the sink.
A sharp slice of daylight cuts through the dimly lit bathroom, spotlighting my face. I grimace and let out a groan. The day-old make-up doesn’t cover up the dark circles under my eyes, and my messy sticky hair is a tangled mane. I could audition for a ghost in a horror movie. I fix myself as best as I can, but nothing anyone is going to wax poetic about.
It is five a.m. Delphine is sleeping. Lenic is missing. Which is a good thing, because I am in the middle of a crisis. Again.
FML, number two.
“Where did you put them?” I grumble, and close my eyes. Delphine carried my clothes inside last night, but I can’t find my underwear. They’re not in his bedroom, or the living room, and they’re not in here either. I plant my face in the palms of my hands. I really do need to find them.
Before he does.
I suck in a long breath and press my ear to the bathroom door, closing my eyes as I try to sense movement on the other side. Nothing. The jarring noise of the bathroom door creaking aloud in the silence of the boat does nothing to abate my nerves as I rush into the living room, cast in a warm twilight, and begin another frantic search. Getting on my hands and knees, I reach under his sofa and blindly feel around, muttering a string of colourful expletives when I disturb a spider.
“Lost something?” I freeze, that husky morning voice causing the small hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I close my eyes and imagine myself invisible.
Great ... just great.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that the voice does indeed belong to the imposing six-foot-four frame of Lenic Reevus. “Please don’t creep up on me like that,” I hiss. “Especially from behind.”
“Alright — remembered. You don’t like it from behind.”
I shoot up and slowly turn towards the source of that sinful voice and try to forget I look like death not so very warmed over, especially when he looks so handsome.
I think I've found that distraction I was looking for yesterday.
Butterflies start fluttering in my stomach. He is wearing a pair of low-slung black running joggers and … no shirt. Topless, Lenic? Really? My heart isn’t beating hard enough?
“You lost something?” he repeats.
I meet his gaze with what I hope is a plea not to ask me for more of an explanation on why I had been searching underneath his sofa. “Uh … no…” I answer his dubious gaze with what I hope is an innocent one.
His obvious eight-pack draws my gaze like a magnet, but his broad shoulders and the smooth golden skin of his chest are distractions in and of themselves. I force myself to look up and smile.
“If you’ve lost something, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
“Uh, no, I’m quite alright, thank you. I really am fine.” My voice sounds too high and squeaky for my answer to be even remotely taken as sincere. Damn it. I can't lie to save my life. I turn beet red and immediately turn my back on him, searching in secret.
I hear him get closer. “You sure?” he asks, and I listen to the sound of his footsteps as he paces slowly around me like a lion. “Either you’ve lost something … or you were looking for loose change under my sofa?”
The nerve of the bastard…
“Is this an interrogation?” I ask, refusing to be his prey. “You used to be a Royal Marine seven days of the week, it’s ingrained into you. I get that. But do me a favour, take this morning off.”
I hear him let out a short genuine laugh and I stiffen. I can feel his breath on top of my head. He must be standing right behind me. I try not to flinch at the close proximity. Never show weakness to men like Lenic. It is important to be confident, maybe a little bit spunky. But don’t let him see a moment of weakness.
I try to be covert about my eyes darting around the room, but I can feel his eyes following my frantic glance as I search. When I scan an armchair with a T-shirt slung over it, my eyes land on a flash of red poking out from underneath the side. I examine it again before giving him a wary sideways glance.
I need to distract him. “I’d like to offer you some housework.”
“You would?”
“Yes. Um, you know, in return for your generous hospitality.”
“You nearly drowned yesterday. Just rest up today.”
“No really, it’s the least I can do,” I lie, having no intention of dusting his home, as I edge slowly towards the chair.
He shakes his head. “Don’t lift a finger. You’re my guest.”
“I insist.”
“I can’t allow it.”
“It won’t take me long.”
“I’m pretty efficient in the upkeep of my space. Marine training, and all.”
What’s wrong with this guy? A woman’s offering her free cleaning services and he’s like a brick wall of stubborn germs.
“Oh for goodness sakes, I’ll just tidy the mess I made then,” I say curtly, rushing towards the chair.
He beats me to it, pulling out my underwear from their hiding place. He lifts them up in between his index finger and thumb. “Looking for these?” He looks at me like he is Death capturing another soul to be damned. I try to hide the blaze of heat in my cheeks as I cross over to him. “Thought you didn’t like guys coming from behind?” Flabbergasted, my wide eyes shoot up to lock with his.
Big mistake.
Those deep chocolate eyes show dark and dirty promises of sexual fulfilment, as he thrusts the underwear into my hands and says huskily, “Good to know."
My bright red-and-white polka-dot underwear.
With ‘Back Entrance’ written on the backside.
Sophisticated? Classy?
I make a mental note to book a flight to Australia.
Yesterday was laundry day, and these were the last pair. Go figure. They were last year’s birthday gift from Delphine. This cringe-worthy underwear only adds more fuel to the fire of humiliation that started last night, one that is refusing to extinguish.
“I feel like I know a lot more about you than I should, given we’ve just met. Is that a beautiful thing? I’m not quite sure,” he says cockily.
“And how do you know they’re not Delphine’s?” I mutter, shame burning my face. “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge a girl.”
He crosses his arms. “Marine hunch. It’s never wrong.”
My lips form a defensive line. “OK, fine. They’re mine. But I don’t do anal. Never have, never will.” He raises an eyebrow. I raise mine higher. “Not even on your birthday.” I shoot him a coy smile.
He leans in close, his breath hot on my ear, and my pulse elevates as he whispers, “Who said you were getting some?”
There is that certainty. No damn hesitation. Not an instant where he sounds unsure of himself.
I think those butterflies in my stomach are pole dancing to the sound of his husky voice hitting my G-spot, as if he just poured double cream onto my naked body.
He pulls back slowly, his T-shirt in hand, giving me that same cocky grin that says he will happily and skilfully take care of any sexual cravings I desire at the drop of a hat. I think I’d give him whatever he wanted. He is the only man to make me vaguely curious.
I turn my back, breaking his carnal gaze, determined to reach the kitchen sink. I feel like a dead woman walking. My skin begins to feel too tight across my bones. I briefly reach my hand down to touch myself through the boxer briefs I’m wearing, trying to relieve some of the pressure that has built up, but without attaining too much pleasure.
Getting a handle on myself, I run a cool glass of water and take it down in one. When I turn around, my eyes nearly bulge out. His joggers decorate the sofa instead of his lower half. I find it difficult to breathe when I get an eyeful of his fitted black briefs that don't go far enough in hiding what’s beneath.
A slow spreading smile curves his mouth upwards and I think my legs are going to give out beneath me. He winks at me from across the room, slinging his T-shirt over his shoulder.
Something isn’t right. The miserable, bad-tempered Lenic I met yesterday is a stark contrast to the flirtatious and playful Lenic in this room.
‘Trust me … I’m looking forward to taking it up with you tomorrow.’
I set my jaw. This is ‘taking it up’ with me? He is making me squirm purposely. That sexy bastard is aware of the crush I carry, and he is, what? Getting off on it? Payback for yesterday? For a man who chooses fishing over porn, this must be his only form of entertainment. He really does need another hobby.
With a new and improved mindset, I lean against the counter, cross my arms, and straighten up my shoulders, determined not to be roadkill.
Oh, for God’s sakes.
The sunlight streaming through the window lights his silhouette. He looks like he has just stepped off of a plinth at the Roman Coliseum. I think I hear angels singing in my ears.
I shake myself mentally. The memory of Lenic squeezing his eyes shut last night, over my naked body, reminds me that I am not the only one who can squirm.
I tie the white collared shirt I borrowed high above my waist, and undo the top buttons so my cleavage is on show. What? It is my summer look — sexy in the kitchen look. Then, I look at him like I haven’t eaten in days and he is a fountain of Belgium chocolate. “I’m hot,” I say to him, in way of an explanation. He clears his throat, coughs.
I love being a woman.
He walks in my direction, acting unperturbed. “How you feeling this morning?” he asks, scratching the back of his head.
I expected to wake with a pounding head, and to hear my liver scream for a mercy kill. But I feel OK. Head feels fine. I don’t ache anywhere. And I have an appetite for a full breakfast.
“Remind me to make a toast to your father. Nothing like drinking arse to make you feel good in the morning.”
He raises a quick smile. “Coffee?" I back up just enough for him to squeeze by and get to the kettle. His firm buttocks just brush my exposed waist and I bite down on my bottom lip. He is too close. Too fucking close. “Or tea or something?” he prods, studying me with a lack of apology for personal space. I nod, barely quelling a shiver, shifting a little.
What is wrong with me? Usually I carry an air of sexual confidence around men, but I feel like a rapturous teenage girl with hormone troubles.
He laughs. “Which is it?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Where’s my phone? I’ll ring for an ambulance.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re staring off into space. I think you’re having an episode.”
I tilt my head. “Coffee, smart arse. I was just thinking about something I needed to do today. You know … for life and stuff…”
Life and stuff?
Smooth.
This is going to be hard. I have a feeling that everything comes hard with him.
Not helping, I chide myself. Damn it, focus.
When he turns the sink on and puts the kettle under, I set my hand on his broad forearm that’s marbled with thick veins, diverting his attention from the kettle and solely onto me.
Oh God…
His forearm could bring on my destruction. Just much more subtly. Much more slowly.
I find my inner balance, focussing. “You saved my life. How am I ever supposed to repay you?” My phone-sex voice should win the Noble prize for cultural advances in seduction.
I finally feel in control. I finally feel like the confident woman I am. It lasts as long as sand does through fingers. He is watching me, closely, long enough to think the world has stopped spinning, and hard enough I feel a burning sensation in every inch of my body. My confidence cracks under his gaze as his eyes lower to my lips and then to my cleavage in a slow, teasing sweep.
“With the way you’re looking in my white shirt … I can think of several ways you can repay me."
I don’t know how to react to his answer … God, he is big. He is enormous. Big, tall, heavy, wide, hard, rock-solid … he towers over my petite five-foot-three form like a steel giant.
I swallow.
Hard.
He hears it, and his smirk gets dirtier, filthier. I watch his eyes roam across my cleavage, a faint smile on his lips. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to move, or slap him. But I can’t be offended; after all, I was the one to put it on a platter.
I feel like a lamb going into the slaughter. He is Playgirl material. And I am … yes, I’m auditioning for the ghost part in a horror movie, remember?
“Sugar?” he asks, still mostly looking at my platter. I’m wondering if I should offer him a snack, it is going on that long. Does he think I’ll swoon and beg at his feet?
Probably.
Most likely.
“Only got Stevia—”
“Three heaped teaspoons and cream if you’ve got any — are you going to put on some clothes?” I suddenly blurt out, flustered.
He grins. “Yeah, funny thing. Two drunken girls trespassed last night and one of them went skinny dipping during a storm and nearly drowned. And now the other one is still sleeping where my clean clothes are hanging up.” He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it until she wakes up.” He reaches around me to pull out a tin of coffee beans from the cabinet behind me. Our bodies are so tightly packed together; I feel like a human Tetris. He is the long L-shaped block, and I am the tiny box. And somehow, we connect perfectly. “It’s not distracting you is it?”
My mouth starts to move but I shut it tight. I was almost on the verge of confessing, ‘You make me so wet.’ But it doesn’t matter, because he already knows. He damn well knows he is thermometer-breaking hot. He is looking at me as if he is enjoying watching his carnal flames licking at the perfect spot between my legs.
I straighten my spine. "I know what you’re doing," I grumble, folding my arms in front of my boobs. "Don’t think you’re clever." I shake my head at him, but the sexy grin on his face just gets filthier.
"Tell me," he prompts, his body conquering my personal space as he leans across to open the top cabinet for two coffee mugs.
"You’re toying with me because you think I have this silly crush on you,” I mutter. “And you’re trying to make me turn into some pathetic drooling fan who kneels at your feet. It’s your way to get back at me for the truthful things I said to you at Box Fest."
The way his lips continue their upward curl makes me want to smack the smirk right off his face ... during a long session of angry sex.
“I think you have a crush on me? The way you’ve been looking at me — you’d think there was nothing above my waist.” My jaw drops to the floor. It is one of those wait, what? moments that prickle my cheeks with heat. And the wait, what? hits keep coming. “And I distinctly remember you shouting that I could, what was it…? Oh, yeah. ‘Hook, line, and fuck you any day.’ So don’t act shy, Felicity. I don’t do shy.”
He runs his finger over my exposed middle, and I groan, a pathetic sound in the back of my throat, and with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, just smelling his vagina-exploding scent makes me wet.
My fingers curl and uncurl pathetically, my breath becoming arduous. And then Lenic gets closer, towering over me, all lust and concern for his wayward guest, his sad little lamb who fell into the den with the lion — the lion I couldn't ever hope to go up against. Not like this. Not when his touch is electric, hot and cold, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
He watches me intently, fingers brushing the sensitive flesh on my stomach, waiting to see if I will make a move, waiting to see if I will try to escape. But I don’t do or say anything. I can’t do anything. All I can do is stand there, looking at him. Looking at everything: his face, his lips, his cheeks, his eyes. I can feel myself drowning in his eyes. I glance down at his thick calloused hand, caught in some kind of spell from his light suggestive touch.
“Today’s pretty good for me.” My eyes widen and my head shoots up in disbelief. He tugs me close to him, too damn close, until our noses are touching and our breath is caressing each other's lips. He is close enough to see the tiny beauty spot by the corner of my eye, and I feel every inch the little girl who is cannon fodder to this steel giant. “You’re tight.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Your body. You must work out.”
He is shameless.
Shameless.
Is this the real Lenic Reevus? Is he a player? He hides his reputation exceedingly well if that’s his position. Maybe he dips his boat into a pool outside of town, a real Casanova across the borders of Stonebrook. I remind myself he is a stranger. Anything is possible.
“You’re filthy,” I breathe out. “You think you can do or say anything.”
“I’m the captain of this boat. Makes me in charge.”
“It’s rather a small boat, considering.”
He coughs out a laugh. “Don’t worry.” He flicks his gaze down on himself for a beat. “My other boat is bigger. Much, much, bigger. Plenty of seamen riding that one.” His lips curl at the edges.
He is filthy.
I love it.
But I won’t stroke his ego. Not a chance.
I blow out a frustrated breath. "I might have been a little inebriated by the time I arrived at the dock last night and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t know what I was saying—”
“You did. I think you’re a woman who knows what she wants and says it like it is. I like it. So quit lying.”
“I don't get it. Yesterday you were a perfect gentleman.”
“I am a perfect gentleman.”
“What? You mean you’ll hold the bedroom door open for me?”
He chuckles hoarsely. "Only a tosser takes advantage of a drunk girl. Yesterday you were drunk. Today — you’re fair game.”
His arrogance sets the heat between my legs on fire. And the flames keep rising. “I thought I wasn’t your type.”
“A man’s allowed to make one mistake in his life — learn from it.”
“You had your chance yesterday and blew it.”
“And I was dead wrong. Forgive me?” He cups my chin with his hand, and tilts it up. “Is this something you never thought you’d hear?” I try to move my head, but his grip tightens. “This time … I’m being serious.”
He is like the wolf in a hen house. And I really should lay one for him, but … OK, of course I want him, many times over, but right in this moment, I feel a little like I’m an easy lay. And I don’t like how it makes me feel. My desire for a one-night stand with The Tempest begins to fade as I start to realise I don’t want to be another notch on a high-profiled boxer’s bedpost — who might have gone a million rounds with his other adoring fans.
“You wanted it from the start; you’ve been begging for it,” he says. “Quick and dirty, remember?” His arrogance spirals a hot wave of anger through me, and I’ve reached my limit.
OK, Lenic, you think I'm madly, deeply in love with you? Fine.
Let me love you long time.
It is my turn to man his big ship.
“You’re absolutely right, as always,” I say in a husky voice. “Can you blame me?” I brush my hands over his lean muscular biceps. “You’re so … big and strong and—”
Wrong move.
Damn me to Hell. I shouldn’t have squeezed those biceps. Holy shit. Are they made from stone?
Keep it together, Felicity. You’ve got this.
I draw in close, grabbing the back of his neck. I give him the slightest smirk, running my hand up his face and across his hair before shoving his head to the side, roughly. He groans hoarsely. My fingers tremble slightly as I withdraw — the desire to twist them in that swarthy mass and drag him into a kiss is damned difficult to fight.
“I’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t I? Since the moment we met I’ve mouthed off … I think you should punish me.”
God, I’m good. I think I’ve upgraded myself from playing the scary ghost to playing the sexy DD-cup virgin. Minus the virgin part.
But when Lenic moves in close, unnecessarily close — and I feel the heat of his hard abs against my soft bare middle — he brushes his cheek against mine for the smallest of seconds, lets his nose drag across it to my lips. I stare into his eyes as I fight to regain the ability to breathe. My heart is pounding, and with just one look from his darkening eyes, arousal floods my body and I lose all sense.
I gasp softly when he wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me in close. In any other circumstance, maybe I really would let him kiss me, press me up against his body, drag my fingernails into his flesh, and bite his neck. It is the reason my charade goes on a little bit longer than I planned.
I have to ensure he doesn’t suspect my true motive, my real plan. So I lull him into a false sense of security and part my lips slightly to his, moaning with exaggeration. When I catch his tongue darting out, I throw my head back, push him away, and laugh at his expense.
"You’ll have to try harder than that, I’m afraid," I say through laughter. “You self-centred bastard.”
He is left standing there, staring at me as I keep laughing at him, full on throw-my-head-back laughing. It is a relief after suffering from so much pent-up sexual frustration ever since I met the beautiful bastard.
The look on his face is priceless. But it isn’t the one I expected from an egotistical pig. He smiles. It’s a warm, friendly smile that goes all the way up to his beautiful eyes, and then he lets out a small chuckle. It isn’t much of a sound — just a gentle brief laugh — but it feels like a song to me. A really good song. The kind of song that makes you feel warm inside. And I know it is rare.
“It’s never going to happen like this. Quick and dirty — yes. Easy and stupid — no. It’s not the way I like it,” I say, grinning.
“Rethink me coming from behind. You’ll like it that way.”
I am so busy listening to the sound of my own rapidly beating heart that I don’t notice Delphine emerging by my side.
“Oh … excuse me.” Beaming, she flashes me a knowing smile. “I hope I didn’t interrupt something…” She bumps her hip against me.
“No,” Lenic and I both shoot out.
“Yes sure … that’s why you both look like you’re about to start filming the first scene in a cheap porno movie,” Delphine replies, making that I'm-calling-you-on-your-shit face.
I undo my shirt quickly, letting it fall down over my stomach, and Lenic quickly trots into his bedroom to get changed. I stand there for a second, staring after him, replaying the last few minutes in my head. It happened, I tell myself. I didn’t imagine it. It happened.
Delphine places a concerned hand on mine and asks how I am feeling after my incident last night. I nod appreciatively and that is when I notice it is gone.
With a sickening lurch in my stomach, I breathe out, “Oh God no.” The room starts to spin and I visibly pale.
“What’s wrong?” Delphine asks, looking alarmed. “Is it your ankle?”
My eyes are wide with despair, my heart beating a mile a minute. “My charm bracelet. It’s missing,” I say quickly. “Oh God, Delphine, I can’t lose it.”
It is the only thing gifted to me by my parents before they died in a motorway accident when I was five years old.
She squeezes my hand in a reassuring gesture, and gives me an encouraging smile. “It’s OK, Flick. It probably fell off somewhere inside. I will help you look.”
I let out a panicked breath and shake my head emphatically. “No, no. You don’t understand. I upended this whole boat looking for my underwear this morning. I would have seen it.”
“Did you look outside?”
I shake my head wordlessly, too distraught to speak, and still for a minute. Delphine takes my hand and leads me up the stairs that open up to the deck outside. The sun is rising and the horizon ahead of us looks beautiful and promising, but there is nothing but dark clouds and gloom inside my heart.
Because deep in my heart, I know where it is.
Delphine asks the usual question someone asks when you’ve lost something and my despondent reply is, “The last place I remember having it … is when I jumped into the water last night.”
She offers a consoling hand on my arm and pulls me in for a hug. “I’m sorry, Flick. I know how much it means to you.”
My gut wrenches. Despite my bracelet’s obvious location, we triple-check the entire boat until I finally admit defeat, leaning all my weight against the boat rail, up on deck. I look across the water. Sometimes the past seems a long time ago, and sometimes, like today, it seems like yesterday.
I have lost the only possession belonging to my parents. My heart beats fast, my stomach clenches, and I feel nauseous. I can’t lose it.
I have already lost them.
I start pacing when Lenic emerges. “No luck?” he asks.
I don’t glance over at him as Delphine murmurs something in response. I take deep breaths, listening to the waves licking the beach around me. I thought it was a comforting sound before. Today, it’s a lonesome sound, and half-remembered memories begin to flood my imagination.
“This can’t be happening,” I say to myself, my hands gripping the sides of my aching head.
“It’s only a bracelet,” Lenic says. “It can be replaced.”
I turn my attention on him, my despair shortly turning to anger. “I guess you're right. The bracelet my parents gave me can easily be replaced.” My expression quickly changes from annoyed to something softer, something that looks a lot like pain mixed with sadness. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to snap at you.” I’m not being fair to him. He doesn’t know the sentimentality of the bracelet.
I grip the rail, taking a deep breath in, and stare numbly out into the murky water of the sea. I spare him a quick glance. “It’s the only thing I have of theirs before they died.” His expression darkens. “It made me feel like I had a piece of them close to me.” My throat is tight and it shows in my tone. I peer out across the horizon, lost in my own anguished thoughts. “I don’t know if you can understand that...” I rub my wrist, feeling the loss.
“More than I want to,” I hear Lenic murmur under his breath, and it gently edges me out of my funk. There is just something in the way he delivers those words, some truth that compels my attention his way.
I almost have to catch my breath.
I can’t help it, never can, as it is when Lenic looks me dead in the eyes, those eyes that are just too dark or something, and that is when I seem to always lose it. Lose reason. Lose a semblance of control. Those eyes never show much, always so cold and always so piercing, but now they show something. Maybe an apology. God, not an apology. He isn’t a man to do apologies. Maybe just something else. Longing, maybe? Need? It touches something in me, and we both share a fleeting rueful smile with one another.
Handsome and considerate, I am beginning to think maybe he isn’t as big a jerk as I thought half an hour ago. I open my mouth to ask him what he meant, but I’m interrupted by a loud voice, and it breaks our eye contact.
“Lenic, you dirty dog.” A tall broad-shouldered man climbs on board and lets out a wolf whistle when his eyes settle on Delphine and then to me. “Glad you grew your dick back,” he continues, pounding Lenic on the back in that old-age cave-man solidarity. “The two hot girls from over the road, at the same time, and they’re in your shirts? Good God. I was looking for my boy, not some poser mingling with the beauties.” Lenic squares his jaw and shoots his friend a warning look. “Making up for lost time, my man?” He gives Lenic knowing eyes. “Shit, Lenic, from zero-to-hero or what?”
“Shut that mouth, Cross,” Lenic warns, his jaw tight. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
Cross doesn’t take a blind bit of notice to the warning. “How you doin’ ladies?” Sliding onto the deck bench next to Delphine, he casually slings his arm around the back and whips off his sunglasses. “Hey,” he drawls, as smooth as silk, grinning flirtatiously towards Delphine. “The name’s Jack Cross.” He holds out his hand to her. “But people call me Cross. You on the other hand, love, can call me Jack.” He gives her the once over. “Wanna know what’s in my box?”
Delphine scoffs and rolls her eyes. Usually, I would do the same, but there is an ironic lilt in his voice, like he is aware of his cheek.
“When Hell freezes over,” Delphine hits back.
“Oh, you’re French,” Cross grins.
“I am?” she asks, and looks over at me. “Flick, why did no one ever tell me this before?” I laugh out loud, and watch Cross shift in his seat.
“Yeah, alright. Well, the accent is sexy,” he says. I smile briefly when I notice my friend uncrossing her legs and crossing them again, blushing like a virgin.
She is definitely not a virgin.
“I bet you get turned on with your own right hand,” I quip at Cross.
He kisses his right hand. “Love at first sight.”
Cross beams over at Lenic. “Thought you only had eyes for the sexy petite brunette. Got greedy?”
Wait, what? Lenic’s only got eyes for … me?
It is stupid, but I get this idiotic grin on my face, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Lenic.
Cross grins in a way that reveals he is aware that what he’s saying will probably end up with him getting pummelled by Lenic, but he doesn’t care. He just leans back to scope out my friend’s chest.
“Took my share?” Cross adds.
Delphine flips Cross her middle finger between her boobs. He pretends to catch it, suggesting she’d blown him a kiss instead, and presses it to his cheek. She clucks her tongue, but I get the feeling she loves the attention. He’s a good-looking cocky-mouthed hunk with medium-brown hair and bright green eyes.
He is exactly her type.
Feeling a gentle breeze stir my hair, I run my hand along the groove of my chair as I study Cross briefly and find myself warming to him. He seems more naturally playful than lecherous. And he has been a welcoming respite from the pain of losing my parents’ bracelet.
“Yeah, you can quit now.” Lenic smacks Cross on the back of the head. His cocky friend moans in protest. “They got caught in the storm. Had to stay the night.”
“If that’s the story you’re telling everyone … then sure … you sly dog,” Cross drawls. “And here I thought you were celibate, man.” Cross eyes my friend. “Can we make this a foursome?” She rolls her eyes again, but her blush gets deeper.
“You saying you wanna have sex with me, Cross?” Lenic asks with a brief smile. I let out a short laugh, surprised. That was pretty funny for The Tempest.
Cross’ head shoots back in bewilderment. “What’s wrong with you, man?”
“What?” Lenic spits.
“You seem — shit, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but you seem … happy.” Lenic grunts at his friend’s assertion, then tells him to leave in a not-so-polite manner. “And that’s the Lenic we all love and know, people.”
“What about the Mrs?” Lenic asks, ignoring the dig at his character.
Cross sighs. “That bitch — pardon my French, ladies — has been screwing the ice-cream-truck man. And here I thought she really just loved to eat a lot of ice-cream.”
Delphine and I both laugh out loud in hysterics. I notice Lenic glancing over at me, a small smile spreading over his usual stoic features.
Cross folds his arms across his chest. “Laugh it up, ladies.”
“That’s horrible, really,” I respond through my laughter. “Wait … Peterson?” My face puckers. “That’s disgusting. He’s nearly seventy.”
Cross shoots me a look. “His son — not wrinkly Peterson.”
“Oh Graham. I know his sister,” Delphine interjects, and then she is the one to pucker her face. “Isn’t he seventeen?”
“Yeah, I’ve been dating a paedophile.”
“Your ex-girlfriend’s ethics can be called into question but seventeen is legal in this country,” I remind Cross. “And to be fair to your ex, he is very handsome for a seventeen year old.”
And there it is. Lenic’s beautiful face crumpling. I can see jealousy orbiting his head. Who needs drugs when a boost of confidence from Lenic Reevus can make you feel on top of the world?
“I’ll lay him out,” Cross grumbles, “once he hits eighteen and then he won’t be so handsome…” He turns to Delphine. “Wanna check out the new Thai restaurant with me tonight?”
“I’m booked until the year 3000,” Delphine replies.
“I can wait.” Cross looks at her as if she is a mountain to be conquered. “But how about a quick lunch break?”
Lenic suddenly drags Cross up to his feet and punches him on the arm. “Excuse my manager, he’s like a dog. Needs training.”
When we head inside the boat, Lenic disappears into his bedroom. Sitting next to Delphine on the circular sofa, Cross stands in front of us and points to the space between Delphine and me. “That’s my seat.”
Delphine rolls her eyes. “You really are a dog.”
I scoot to the left, giving him enough room to park himself in the centre, much to Delphine’s dismay. She reclines on the sofa and shoots me a look behind Cross’ back when he crams into the space between us. With a wink, I flash her a sweet smile.
What? I am helping a girl out.
Lenic returns a short time later, laptop in hand, and his eyes narrow with annoyance, noting the seating arrangement. I am fairly sure I hear him let out a small growl deep within his throat, and then my stomach joins in. “I don’t suppose you’re making breakfast?” I ask.
Lenic raises his brow. “You do know this here isn’t Hotel Le Boat, right?” He shakes his head. “Already started making you girls some pancakes.” He glances over at the kitchen area where a carton of eggs and a glass bowl are set. “Eat up and I’ll take you home. Just give me a minute. Cross, mate, you can take a look at the changes I made to the nutrition plan you wrote up while I make breakfast.” Lenic sets his laptop on the table across from us. “Move it,” he growls at Cross, eyes dimming. Cross and Delphine slide over to give him room and sitting down next to me, he lifts the hood of the MacBook up.
Suddenly, I feel like I’ve forgotten something. Something important. I feel a small twist of dread in my stomach, and there is a nagging feeling gnawing against my skull…
“The hell is that?” I hear Lenic murmur to himself. “Birthday present for Lenic Reevus?”
“Could be a virus, mate,” Cross warns.
“Fishing!” I suddenly yell, and all the blood drains from my face.
Everyone but Lenic flinches and looks at me strangely. Delphine shoots me an expression that says, ‘Shall we take you to the crazy house now, or after breakfast?’ Which I should go, I tell myself, after what I have done.
Lenic’s brow hoods in confusion and he clicks on the icon on his desktop that seems to flash red and omit a siren in my head. A second later, my eyebrows shoot up as an image of me pops up on the screen, Delphine’s signed baseball cap askew on my head.
“I’m not your type?” I say in the video. “Really? I think someone’s egotistical pants are on fire. And I think you need to be shown just what you missed out on.”
Flashes of last night, like an old movie reel, rush back to me, scraping and clawing the surface of my mind. And then I remember everything.
Lenic’s private changing room.
His MacBook.
His MacBook’s built-in camera.
And me—
“You lying son of a bitch,” Cross blurts out, scooting closer to the table. “You did have sex.”
Lenic doesn’t move. He doesn’t hear his friend. He just watches with his brow raised, and I curl up inside and die. I am too shocked to do anything. I can’t move. It is like watching a car accident happen right before your eyes and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I sit there, eyes wide open, watching myself…
…give Lenic Reevus a strip show.
My make-up is catwalk material and I look hot, unlike my strip show, which couldn’t be furthest from hot. If it was sexy, I could live with it. Be proud of it, even. But it’s a … drunken car crash.
FML, number three.
I’ve scored a FML hat-trick in the space of twenty-four hours.
I cringe on the sofa when my red dress gets caught on the baseball cap in the video. It takes me awhile to pull it over my head and blindly toss it behind me. With dishevelled hair, I blow a slutty kiss at the camera.
Lenic doesn’t look overly shocked or perturbed. I am not sure if I should take that as an insult. In fact, Lenic is grinning wide, pulling his full lips back over his gorgeous teeth.
That big bastard is enjoying every second.
“You’re a bad, bad boy, Lenic Reefus,” I suddenly start slurring in the video, and then I giggle, tossing my hair. It goes straight into my eye. And yes, I spend the next five seconds rubbing my eye.
On the sofa, I close my eyes, still too shocked to snatch the laptop away.
“Watching fishing, you bad boy? It explains why you’re such an arsehole. You’re sexually frustrated. Too bad for you though … since you passed up on the best fish you’ll ever have a chance to eat.”
My eyes snap open, just in time to watch myself on screen slipping out of my ‘Back Entrance’ underwear. But thank goodness, the camera angle doesn’t actually debut my ‘fish’.
In the video, I start to reach behind my back to unclasp my red bra. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire.
“I guarantee you are kicking yourself right now, right? Not your type? These are not your type?” In a heartbeat, I am flashing the girls to the camera. Is it wrong I find myself oddly getting a little aroused watching Lenic’s gaze roam over my bare chest? I hear Delphine snort in laughter and it drags me out of my haze.
“Jesus Christ, she’s got tits like a stripper," Cross blurts out, holding his hands out like he is cupping a pair of humungous tits. As if Lenic has only just realised his friend is also watching his ‘birthday present’, he slams the laptop hood down so hard, I almost think he has broken it.
Glowering, he shoots up and drags Cross up with him. Lenic shoves his manager against the shoulder, pushing him back. Cross nearly trips over the rug underneath him.
“Erase that from your memory or I’ll erase you,” Lenic snarls, poking him hard in the forehead.
“It’s erased man,” Cross groans, backing up, hands raised defensively. “It’s erased.”
Delphine relaxes back into the sofa, laughing her head off. I shoot her a look, which makes her cover her mouth with both of her hands, but she can’t hide the fact that she is still in stitches. I shake my head, laughing a little myself, despite my mortification.
Grandpa Joe taught me that being serious when it’s serious only makes it worse. Finding a sense of humour is the only way to get through times like this.
‘Laughter is the best remedy for anything, kid,’ he used to say.
Lenic turns to face me with a smug expression. “You don’t like it easy, huh?”
Arrogant bastard.
I stand up and draw back my shoulders. Confidence is the best weapon in these situations. “I figured I’d help you to discover a life — fishing?” I say, with a judgemental tone in my voice. “Really, Lenic? Fishing over sex? What kind of man are you?”
Lenic strides back over to the sofa. “A man with an early birthday present.” I try to belie my true expression with a scowl, but my smile breaks through.
He opens up the laptop and uses the mouse board to drag my video to the Trash icon. “What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Deleting it.”
My chest floods with warmth. Chivalry isn’t dead. It is here, living on this boat.
“Why would you do that?”
“Why?” he repeats, shooting me a dubious look. “Because what’s the point if there’s no ‘fish’?”
I scoff, but then surprise myself by setting a hand on his forearm as he selects the Empty Trash box. “Thank you.”
He responds with a quick smile, and I follow him into the kitchen to sit around the table for breakfast. Delphine and I start talking about our successful YouCube channel, JUICED, and how we do it full-time with the money it affords us. “We have over one million subscribers,” I inform, cutting up a piece of pancake. “And we only started up three years ago while we were in our final year at University.”
The two strapping ex-Royal Marines seem surprised we can make good money from creating videos based primarily on make-up tutorials and general lifestyle advice, but they seem visibly impressed.
In return, Cross relays a few humorous stories about them in the Royal Navy, and time flies as I find myself enjoying the company of these two men.
“...I asked the boss to send me some pussy,” Cross finishes a story with, “and he sent this guy along.” Lenic thumps him on the back of the head. “You’re gonna give me a head injury one day and I’ll end up in hospital,” Cross groans, rubbing the back of his head.
“I’ll bring you flowers,” Lenic says. “Hey, man, don't eat all the damn food.” The heavyweight champion looks at me. “He eats like a pregnant woman with triplets.”
“Man, you look like shit this morning,” Cross cuts in, “but you're in a bloody good mood. For once.”
“I'll reapply my makeup for you when I get the chance,” Lenic replies.
“Thanks, Big Man, I appreciate it. You know what they say: some guys need it, some guys don't.” Lenic smacks his spoon hard on the back of Cross’ hand — the one Cross is holding his fork in — knocking the food away from his manager’s mouth. Snatching his friend’s heaped plate, Lenic dumps the contents into his own. “Whoa, check you.” I glance at Delphine who is laughing just as much as I am. Cross shoots us both a look, and then back over at his fellow Marine.
“Cross, no one has said ‘check you’ since 1995,” Lenic says. “Seriously, it just sounds weird at your age.”
“My age?” Lenic grins, spooning a big mouthful of pancake into his mouth. “Yeah fine, mate. Word to the wise, I won’t be taking it easy on you tomorrow. And a good thing too. Yesterday, you were fighting like a little boy. You gonna need to step it up, yeah? Charity fight coming up soon, alright? We need to win.” Cross glances at me. “Don’t get distracted, Reevus. As much as I want you to eat the best fish you can—”
“Watch your mouth in front of the girls,” Lenic warns.
“Alright, don’t pop a cap in my arse.”
“‘Don’t pop a cap in my arse.’ What are you, fourteen?”
I glance at Cross, then regard Lenic over the edge of my coffee mug. “It’s fine,” I say. “I don’t mind. I’m not embarrassed. Somebody needs to help you enjoy life.”
Lenic wipes a hand across his mouth. “And I should get help from a girl who trespasses on private property?”
“Sorry…” Delphine apologises.
“It wasn’t our intention to trespass,” I cut in, setting down my mug. “I was just showing Delphine my childhood haunts. We didn’t do any harm.” Cross signals to refill my coffee mug and I nod my answer, forking a piece of pancake. “I think you should try and break a few rules once in a while. Live it up, footloose and fancy free. It’s called having some fun — fun.”
Lenic leans back in his chair, folding his arms. “I heard all about you and breaking rules, having fun.”
I startle at this, as if he has punched me in the gut. Feeling my blood simmer, my fork slips out of my fingers and clatters onto my plate. I am furious because his smug expression tells me he thinks he knows me, that the neighbourhood gossip is the sum of my parts.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say defensively, glowering at him. I hear the refill Cross is pouring halt as my heart sinks. I try and hide the tension I can feel in my face as that old disappointment rears its ugly head.
“Just heard you were a wild child, is all,” he replies with a smirk.
A wild child? Is that what those town gossips are telling people?
Anger roils in my gut that Lenic managed to land such a cheap shot on me. “You mean — I have no boundaries?” I spit. “That I’m the town bike, right?” The jovial atmosphere darkens, and I shoot up from the chair.
Lenic’s usually effortless and arrogant countenance collapses for the first time and there is a hint of remorse in his features. “I didn't mean it like that…”
I swallow the anger in my throat and remain quiet. Only the clinking sound of people’s cutlery against porcelain pierces the intense, thick air.
“Flick,“ Delphine tries to console.
I look at Lenic. “Thanks for saving me and letting us stay overnight and cooking us breakfast. That bit was great. This bit…” I wave a finger between us. “…not so much.”
“I—“ Lenic tries to say but I cut him off.
“Can you take us home now?” I ask him, glancing down, rubbing my wrist. Suddenly it feels like someone has given me a Chinese burn where my bracelet once brought me comfort.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” Lenic says, regret evident in his voice. I hear Cross clear his throat.
My guard up, I withhold a blustering sigh, and take care to respond in a composed manner. “It’s fine … let’s drop it.” I keep my smile polite. I’ve been hit with harder sticks and stones. Forcing the issue will cause a scene. Lenic saved my life. I owe him.
I just want to go home.
“Yeah … OK,” Lenic replies, rubbing the back of his neck. I notice a flicker of unease passing over his face. “Just give me a sec to make a protein shake and I’ll drop you off ASAP.” Lenic stands up and reaches for a plastic bottle by the blender. I hear him sigh a few seconds later. “You ate the last banana. Need it for my protein shake. That stuff tastes like dirt without it.” He turns to me, and smiles. “Couldn’t resist my large banana, huh?” he chuckles, but I don't reciprocate.
“Shit,” Cross cries out. “Mate, did you just make a joke?” Cross seems genuinely confounded.
I purse my lips. Lenic is trying to make me laugh, and it almost works. Usually, it does. This time, however, his attempt at humour fails to dissolve the heavy weight burning like an ulcer in my gut.
And I snap.
“If you have a complaint — you know what you can do with your banana.”