by Leesa Bow
I wait for the doctor to write referrals for more specialists. Placing them in my bag, I leave Dad in the hospital and head home. Alone.
Chapter Four
MACY
Sunday morning, I head into work with less spring in my step. After speaking to Dad on the phone, he said it’s likely he needs to stay in the hospital a few more days for further blood tests as his blood sugar levels are elevated. What more can go wrong?
I suck it up because a lot more can, and at least his problems are treatable. There are times I wish I had a mother figure to chat with and share the burden. Only not my biological mother because that bitch can go to hell.
Usually, Sunday’s at Lombardi’s are busy with couples and groups of girlfriends meeting for brunch. Not the football players I see on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. After I open the doors and fill the front fridge showcasing Dominic’s Italian cakes, a few couples wander in.
Going by the conversation of the couple I’m serving, they only met the night before at a club. “Would you like to share a couple of desserts with your coffee? I can recommend the panna cotta and semifreddo.” I smile, trying to melt the ice between the two. “Sometimes one is too much at this time of the day, but I could bring you two forks.”
“That would be great,” the guy says, and I can already see the cogs turning behind his eyes.
My chest puffs out ever so slightly as I make my way to the counter until the doorbell tingles, and I glance up to Reef and three other guys walking toward their usual table.
I suck in a quick breath to compose myself.
Reef slides into his seat with his back to the window. I bet he wears different coloured jocks for every day of the week.
He gives me a slight nod when I make my way toward their table.
“Morning, gentlemen. I don’t usually see you on a Sunday.”
“Reef tells us you have the best coffee in Adelaide.” A new guy grins at me.
The guy with the red mullet I recognise. “You already know that, right?” Mullet guy says.
“And the best biscotti,” the guy with dark hair adds. And what do you know, he also has blue eyes. How did I not notice because with Reef, I think this is my thing.
“We do. Usual coffee?” The men nod. “What can I get for you?” I ask new guy.
“Same as Reef. Skinny latte, lactose-free.”
He doesn’t need to reiterate. I know their orders like the back of my hand. “Any dessert or cake?”
Red mullet guy also orders the biscotti. Reef and his mate decline. Both on skinny lactose-free milk, I walk away considering their diet. It’s preseason and assume they’re watching carbs despite being lean and muscular.
Thankfully the restaurant fills quickly, and my thoughts are all about work. No time to worry about my father or time to glance over and listen to the mocking at my favourite table. It is only after the guys walk out and I head over to clean away the table, I see another napkin with a note under the sugar jar.
I tuck it away without reading it because I want to get through the day without being side-tracked. Besides, I might need cheering up tonight when I’m alone.
After visiting Dad in the hospital, coming home, and washing clothes, I’m grateful to know I can sleep-in on Monday.
Before heading to bed, I unfold the note from Reef and read it.
About that coffee?
You haven’t given me an answer.
If you don’t drink coffee perhaps a tequila shot?
You seem to like them.
I fold the note.
Cheeky bastard.
Waking up to a six o’clock alarm and knowing I don’t need to go to work instigates a long stretch before curling back in a ball.
When I rise, I take my time showering, tidying our small home, and sit down for a coffee. It’s quiet. No television blasts from the living room. No radio with sports announcements. I didn’t even tell Dad about meeting Chance or the coffee sessions with the footballers at Lombardi’s. Knowing he’ll be impressed puts a smile on my face.
The smile growing when I open Instagram to notifications from Reef and Chance. Both are now following me.
I walk into Dad’s room on the medical floor, and he is his usual bubbly self. “Here’s my girl,” he announces to the elderly man in the bed opposite.
He has a patch over his left eye. “Hello, beautiful,” the man says. “I might only have one eye, but I see well enough to know you don’t take after your old man here.”
“She has my brown eyes and my outlook on life,” Dad tells him.
“She’s in trouble if she enjoys life as much as you,” the old man jokes. “Don’t party hard to break a leg.”
“Or lose one,” the guy with a toothless grin says in the bed next to Dad’s.
“I told you ol’ buggers I lost my leg when I was truckin’.”
As a child, the day he stopped taking me for rides in his shiny chrome semi-trailer was like going to a carnival with no money.
I smile at him exchanging banter with these guys he’s just met as if they’ve been friends for years. “Even then, I struggled to slow Dad down,” I tell them. I drag a chair close to the bed and lean in to kiss his cheek
“Still got another leg, sweetheart.” He squeezes my hand.
“Any results,” I ask Dad in a softer voice.
“Yeah, I already knew what it would say.”
“So, you did get some back?”
“Just the ones telling me my cholesterol’s up, and I need to change eye drops.”
He’s not telling me everything. “Has the doctor made his rounds?”
“Yeah. They come by around eight.”
I nod. Looks like I’ll be dropping in for a visit before work tomorrow.
Dad releases my hand and points to the bald man beside him. “Looks like your team lost again,” he ribs when the football scores flash on the television. I shake my head at how easily distracted he becomes with sports.
“I forgot to mention I met Chance Bateman. And some AFL players.”
“You did?” He leans onto his elbow as I open my phone and show him the photographs. “Someone had too many beers in this photo?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Georgia had me on the tequila.”
It opens a conversation between the three men about good times or bad from tequila. Everyone has an experience they brag about. Listening to them, I wander around the bed and take out the clipboard holding Dad’s charts. I flip through it. I don’t understand much, but something tells me the peaks and troughs on a graph are not good. It’s a trigger to when Mum left and to the sadness and blame we felt for months.
I can’t help carrying some blame for Dad’s problems. I should be there more for him. Or pay for a caregiver to come more often. I don’t want to think about my life if something were to happen to him.
On instinct, I open Instagram to the guy who apparently likes me.
I tap out a message without thinking of the consequences, especially the fact he is shy.
If you want to hit me up for that coffee, I can meet you this afternoon.
I take a seat next to the man who loves me in the purest form, irrevocably. “Have you been listening to the cricket scores?”
“Bloody Poms…” he begins.
By the end of the day, I’ve discussed anything important to him. And since it’s early November, I ask, “Where would you like to eat Christmas dinner this year?”
Dad’s brow pulls together to form a dent as though he knows I’m worried about him. His expression softens with a smile. “At home like we do every year. You, and me, and a turkey for three.” He gives me a wink. “You don’t change something that works.”
“Okay. I’ll make a list of everything you want. Only I think I’ll switch up dessert, and I’ll ask Dominic for one of his fancy treats.”
By the time I’m ready to leave the ward, I am in a better place. Walking to the elevator, I read the message on Instagram from Reef.
No smart r
eply? Is this your way of messing with me?
I wasn’t messing with him when I wrote it. Still, the more I think about him, the more nervous I become because I want him.
It’s been a while between drinks as Georgia had put it.
One night.
A hook-up.
It will mean nothing.
It’s second nature to a guy like him. Fame. Wealth. Women. All three go hand in hand. For me, I want to feel the warmth of a man for one night to remind myself I’m wanted. Loved by someone who isn’t obligated. My mother felt no obligation, and sometimes I hate to admit I’m a little like her, never engaging in a relationship. One night. A week or two. A month at most. No emotional baggage. Just sex with orgasms to revive the soul.
Will it influence Reef coming to Lombardi’s in the future? Tonight I’m being selfish and not thinking clearly because the first thing that comes to mind is there are plenty of other cafés that serve good coffee.
Chapter Five
MACY
Not messing with you.
I grab my bag and rip the keys out of the ignition. It’s going to be a quick shower to attend to the bits now I’ve resigned myself to the fact this might happen.
I thought about meeting at mine first, but I live with three other players.
I could come to yours?
“Not a chance,” I murmur. Bad timing or whatever, but the vibrator under my bed can fix the itch because no way is a guy coming here. I’m not ashamed of our mediocre house. It’s more of giving my details and him knowing where to find me.
If we were to skip the coffee, the sex is about me. When I want it. And anonymity. I want to be able to hide or run from the guys who fall in lust thinking it’s love—the ones who forget the rules. I type out:
I’m not alone either. Perhaps another time.
I shower, flick on the television, and pour a glass of wine. I’m scrolling through horror movies to watch and notice the new message as my phone lights up.
Guys have gone out. Come to The Penthouses at the Bay. Reception will notify me when you’re here.
I toss my phone on the lounge beside me.
Shit, he gave me his address.
Somehow my glass is drained in one go, and I’ve grabbed my keys, a light jacket, and I’m out the door. I don’t think twice because there can’t be regret.
I am wearing black elastic waist pants, the Boho type, flared and not clingy. A black singlet. No bra because ten minutes ago I was settling in for a horror movie. And black flip flops.
I’m not surprised at the valet’s shock when I step out of my dirty, red Datsun. “Can you tell me the best place to park?”
He points to the paid public parking area. Five bucks for an hour. I’ll be done in less than one, so I top the meter with gold coins.
The receptionist gives me the once over, and I’m tempted to unfold my coat from around my waist.
I wait while she speaks over the phone to, I assume Reef.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors ding, and he strolls out in a white buttoned shirt and blue jeans sitting low on his hips. I’m dead. Then I notice his bare feet, and smile, without regret.
“Macy.” He holds out an arm.
I don’t take it or shake it or whatever.
“I’m not quite ready. Would you like to come up?”
“Sure.” I’ve heard worse lines.
I step forward, he rests his hand on my lower back, leading the way into the lift. He swipes his card and presses the penthouse button. Does his card only permit the lift to access that level? My thoughts are whirling at the same speed as my heart rate. The doors open, and we walk a short distance to another door. He types in a code and swipes the door for entry.
It might be my one and only chance to hook-up with him, so as soon as the door closes, my arms loop around his neck, and I’m kissing him. I relish the warmth of his lips, the way his tongue slips easily into my mouth, and how our bodies mesh together—a better fit than I imagined. My insides spark as I run my hands over strong muscles, down his back to his tight ass.
Reef pulls back. “What’s the rush, Mace?”
I refuse to admit to only paying for an hour. Instead, I run with the obvious. “I thought this is what you wanted?”
“What, no. I mean it is, but I thought we’d get to know each other first.”
“Isn’t a hook-up the best way to get to know each other? I thought it’s what you players do best?”
His brow draws together. “Yeah and no.”
“Really?” How did I get this so wrong? “Do you want me to go?”
“Of course not. I just don’t want you thinking it’s the only reason I asked you here.”
One step is all it takes for the heat to radiate between our bodies. My fingers work unbuttoning his shirt. I run my fingers over each bump of his chiselled abs. He looks hot but a damn sight hotter with his clothes off. “What if it’s the only reason I came here?”
Reef clasps both my hands and stares deep into my eyes, searching. I blink, turning my focus to my trapped hands because there’s no way I’m letting those baby blues undo me and weaken my demeanour. Instead, I take a step back and untie the belt of my coat. His gaze lowers. Hunger burns behind those blue hues, and even I know what he’s thinking without the skills of a psychic.
He remains still, taking his fill.
Slowly I slide the straps of my tank top low enough until my boobs pop above the material. His eyes round, and he’s frozen to the spot. Cupping both boobs, I lift them as an offering. His hands rise cupping mine, and then his face is lost in my mountains of breast. I moan when his tongue flicks my nipple. He sucks hard taking as much in his mouth as possible.
Shy my arse.
His hand is inside the elastic of my pants, and with his hot breath around my boob, I ride his hand to the point I can hardly stand. The mushing sound alone indicates how close he’s brought me to climax. My pants are wet, his fingers wet, my breasts and mouth wet. It’s been way too long between drinks. And I come so fast it’s embarrassing.
“Macy,” he whispers. “Let go.” Those long, strong fingers find my spot.
I cry out with an even bigger release, knees buckling. His muscled arms take my weight. Colours shatter like fireworks in my mind, and within a few breaths of coming to, realisation sets in.
My breath stills at the way his eyes hold me prisoner as though he’s uncovered my greatest secret. The guy who I serve coffee, and we’ve barely exchanged words, has given me the fastest orgasm in history. The best tip in all my years waitressing—but it’s Reef. My gut had tightened in warning the first time he walked into the restaurant, and tonight I chose to ignore the red light. I have to reciprocate, so there’s no debt when I leave, and I can’t think about the awkwardness when he next comes into Lombardi’s.
I slide until his arms release me, and I’m on my knees facing a solid bulge in his jeans. My fingers work his button and fly. His cock juts, thick and long. Taking his erection in my hands, I stroke the length. One lick. Two. The tip. A drop of cum kickstarts a reaction. It’s like riding a bike, and my confidence sours like I’m cycling in the Tour de France. Mouth over cock, I slide my lips along the length of him, my tongue working in partnership with my lips. His moans goad me to quicker action.
Reef’s hands are in my hair. His hips thrust against my face. “Christ,” he moans.
I move in a faster rhythm, one hand cups his balls, the other on the base of his cock squeezing in sync with my action.
He comes in my mouth. Loud enough for any neighbouring apartments to hear.
Slowly, I release his cock and wrap my arms around his thighs to offer the same support. He slides down and takes me in his arms as we both fall to the cool tiles. One arm under my neck, the other wide, he lies like a cactus staring up to the ceiling. Clothes twisted around limbs, I ignore the urge to reach and adjust my pants. Without looking at me, his hand under my neck reaches and tickles my breast like a plaything.
My weapo
n.
His finger touches my nipple again, a caress that hits me right in the libido. I can’t walk away in sixty minutes. I want all goddamn night with him.
“That was incredible,” I murmur.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I turn my head slightly.
He’s smiling while staring at the ceiling and fondling my boob.
“It’s the only one you’ll get from me.”
He chuckles, and I love the sound coming from him.
“After a few notes, you’re calling me incredible. Imagine the compliments after poetry.”
I swallow hard. We’re getting along fine, and I’m no longer feeling awkward. He’s talking about the next time, which I didn’t expect. And he’s progressed from notes to poetry.
I can’t deal because it’s supposed to be a hook-up.
One night to help me forget.
I push up and adjust my clothing.
“What are you doing?” he leans up on his elbow. “We’re just getting started?”
“I need to shift my car.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I’ll have William bring your car underneath.”
“The valet guy? Don’t bother. Can I get down without the use of your security card?”
“Yeah, to the ground floor. Not the basement.” He’s frowning, and I can’t look at him.
No regret.
“I’ll buzz you when I’m ready.”
“Wait. I’ll come with you.”
You just did. I offer him a smile before looking for my keys. “All good. I know how it goes.”
Before I reach the ground level, I send an Instagram message.
This was a mistake.
I want to run so damn fast. I reach my car and check my phone.
Typing back…
In a gutless act, I delete my profile. This guy is already under my skin, and I can’t afford for it to go further and mess with my head. After only an hour with him, I know I’m doomed.
