Cocky Notes: A Hero Club Novel

by Leesa Bow

  “Cazzo, Macy.” Oliver steps away from me in the kitchen and waves his hand in front of his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Sorry. I thought you were talking behind my back?” I giggle. “It slipped out.” I move away from the spot where I just let one slip.

  “Talking behind your back? What are you talking about?” He coughs and waves his hands like he’s in a smoke cloud.

  “You haven’t heard the saying? If people are talking behind your back, just fart?”

  “No. I thought you were a lady.”

  “Ha. Not a chance.” Though, I like to think he thought of me as one.

  “When you head out to the dining room, squeeze your cheeks or something, so you don’t scare the customers away.”

  I giggle. “Do my best, boss.”

  Pushing through the swivel door, the smile leaves my face spying Reef sitting at the usual table in the same spot. Alone. What’s he doing here on a Tuesday?

  My first reaction is to step back behind the door before he sees me and ask Tara to cover for me and make some excuse of not being here. Too late. The way Reef’s eyes lock with mine, I’m pinned to the spot.

  “Morning. I’m surprised to see you here on a Tuesday,” I say, acting my best to be blasé.

  “Really?” he says, his gaze still locked with mine. “Since I have no other way to contact you, and after what you pulled last night, I thought you might want me to come after you, and tell you I’m sorry for whatever it was I did to upset you.”

  Spinning the stylus in my fingers, I glance down at the iPad to gather my thoughts. “What makes you think you upset me?” I whisper, my gaze still lowered.

  “Take your pick. Deleted your Insta account. Took off in the worst possible moment. The message saying it was a mistake. I don’t think it was after you orgasmed all over my fingers.”

  “Shut up,” I say louder than necessary and glance around. My chest is tight being this close to him.

  “It wasn’t a mistake.”

  “There won’t be another time if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  His lips turn up ever so slightly. “C’mon, Macy. I see the way you look at me when I’m checking you out. We have a mutual thing going on here.”

  “I thought you were shy?”

  “Who told you that? Ah… I can guess. Maybe I was. Am. But last night changed how we are together. And there’s no going back to pretending it’s not going to happen again.”

  The space between my thighs warms as images of last night flood my brain.

  “You know it.”

  “It was a one-time thing,” I murmur. “Nothing else.”

  Reef stands as though he’s leaving, towering over me, demanding attention. “I get it. But there is something else. We have unfinished business. Give me your number if you won’t reinstate your Insta account.”

  “Not a chance.” I leave him standing there and head out back hoping Oliver didn’t witness my rude treatment of a customer.

  If only I could go back to when that’s all he was to me.

  Chapter Six

  MACY

  The following day I thought they’d never leave.

  Lunch patrons fill the surrounding tables, and Reef and his mates continue their brunch with several rounds of coffee and a late-morning breakfast. I asked Ava for a favour to wait my tables for me. At first, she seemed suspicious but did it without further question. She seemed to enjoy the teasing and gave back to the footballers as much as they dished out.

  I waited on the first six tables, a good distance from table eleven. There were times I sensed his eyes drilling holes in my back. I walked through the swivel door and felt naked in the way he undressed me without a single touch. But I got through it without his gaze locking with mine.

  “Thanks, I owe you,” I tell Ava when the men file out the door.

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “Not today.” I smile at her hoping for understanding. “But I’ll clean up their table because they can be messy… as a thank you.” And in case there’s a note.

  She nods. “Cool. I need to chat with Oliver about something, so thanks.”

  Ava secures her long brown pony on top of her head with a second hair tie and saunters out through the door. Something is going on between them. I’m not sure if they share a secret or if they’re secretly having an affair.

  Grabbing a tray, I head to the table and pile dirty dishes and cutlery on it, as much as I can carry. Near the wall, a menu is flipped with more game tactics written on the back. Letters and arrows on what I assume is the field as it’s a large oval shape encasing the lines. A cryptic message is outlined in a separate box. Away from the diagram of arrows and lines is the message in the square for me?

  A to F is a chance.

  D to I is a no brainer.

  C to K is a loser.

  You thought I was 3.

  Turns out the ‘loser’ was 2 and 3.

  I read all the letters of 2 and 3 and chuckle to myself.

  For kicks, I circle number 1 with an arrow and write his name. I’m smiling until the door swings open, and he’s standing there with his hand out. “May I?”

  “Were you watching me?” I hand it over.

  He glances at the menu and smiles. “Maybe.”

  Whether it being because he didn’t push me further, or say anything about my response, my chest flutters watching his sexy arse disappear out the door.

  This guy might understand me.

  He’s trying, and he makes me feel worthy.

  Maybe we could go for round two?

  “Unfinished business,” I whisper.

  After work, I head directly to the hospital after receiving a message that Dad’s ready to be discharged. I started work early and missed the doctor’s morning round, so I’m relieved Dad is well enough to come home.

  When I enter the ward, he’s sitting on the side of the bed, strapping his prosthetic leg to his stump. His bag is packed and perched on the covers beside him.

  “Hey.” I hug him. “You have your crutches. You don’t have to wear it if it bothers you.”

  “I want to walk out of here,” he says as though trying to prove something. It distracts me for a moment because Dad has never been one to prove anything. You take him as he is. A what-you-see- is-what-you-get type of guy.

  “Okay, then.” I take his crutches in one hand and his small case in the other and walk close by his side toward the nurses’ station. “Do we need to sign anything before Dad leaves?”

  The nurse with her hair pulled tightly back in a ponytail glances up from her paperwork. “The doctor has given Mr Reynolds permission to be discharged as long as he continues with his new medications and has follow-up appointments in Outpatients. He has sent the referrals on, and you’ll be notified of the next appointment.”

  “Which will be?”

  “When one comes available. If the wait is too long, then you have the option of seeing a doctor privately and still being treated in the public system.”

  “Privately? How much will it cost?”

  “Macy, it’s fine,” Dad says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not urgent.”

  “Doctors’ rates differ. And if you require any scans before then, you’ll need to cover those.”

  I step back knowing the pile of bills on the kitchen bench require payment. And we have to fill a pharmacy script. “I’ll talk to my father at home and discuss it,” I add, not wanting to dismiss the idea completely.

  “Did the doctor give you your results on paper or just tell you?” I ask once we’re in the privacy of the car.

  “Told me, and there’s nothing for you to worry about, love.”

  I do worry. He knows it, and hiding matters from me only makes it worse. Memories of my mother leaving us, and him trying to hide the fact she didn’t care for us enough to stay as the reason. He made excuses for her. Blamed his trucking injury, which pushed her over the edge. Only I knew of the affairs long before him.r />
  “What is your new medication for? And don’t lie as I can Google the drug.”

  “My glaucoma. New eye drops. Now I have blood pressure tablets and some for my cholesterol. They said I have to watch my diet and cut back on the drinking.” He stares out the window rather than looking at me. “I told them I don’t even drink much.”

  “You drink most days,” I remind him. “And not just one. I’m not going to stop you because I know you enjoy it, but we cut back the number of days and stick to one.”

  He gives me a pointed look.

  “As I said, I’m not going to stop you. But I can look at cutting back on some unhealthy foods. Change the butter to a healthier type. Skim milk. Less cheese.”

  “May as well take my other leg,” he mutters.

  “It’s not all bad, Dad.” Nothing gets Dad down like this. Unless he’s hiding something. But what could it be? I glance sideways at Dad, half the size he was ten years ago. His eyes are glassy. The last time he cried was when Mum left us. Knowing his limitations, I won’t push him today. I want to go home and spend some quality time with him.

  Just the two of us.

  On Thursday, a few of Reef’s other teammates come in to get coffee to go. I recognised them by their polo tops with a blackbird emblem. I’ll mention to Oliver that word must be getting out about his coffee because more customers are coming for our organic beans. “We’re a city of coffee snubs,” Oliver had said when he’d decided to source a local organic supplier who roasted the beans on-site.

  The guys stand by my counter, waiting for their takeaway coffee. I froth the milk and overhear their conversation when a girl with pillowy lips walks in and sits at a table with her friends.

  “You tapped that?” the tall guy with dark hair pulled tight in a man bun snickers.

  “Not just once.” The guy next to him waggles thick eyebrows.

  Gross.

  “Any good?” man bun asks, unabashed.

  “Best BJ. Check out her lips.”

  Without looking, I knew the girl had Botox lips. Noticed myself when she walked in. “So what,” I want to say but keep quiet.

  I glance up to the girl and want to warn her not to fall for the trap of thinking these guys lusting over her will heal her hurt by making her feel wanted.

  Desired.

  Loved.

  Used.

  I should know.

  My thoughts flash to the year in school when my mother left. I lost my virginity hoping the experience would take away other pain. Here I am doing the same thing with Reef.

  “Shit.” I remove the milk after overheating it, and splashes burn my hand. Can I serve it to these fuckers? The ones who think girls are not good enough beyond one night?

  “Hey,” Oliver says and walks out to chat with the guys. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  Shit.

  I pour the milk into the sink, and his eyes round. “I burnt it,” I confess. “I’ll steam some more.”

  Oliver nods and smiles appreciating the fact I care.

  I care about my job. Not these guys. And not their arrogant attitudes.

  After the door closes behind their cocky but sexy asses, I walk over to the giggling girls and place two pieces of biscotti on the table, focusing on the girl with lips I envy. “This one’s on the house. Enjoy.”

  Chapter Seven

  MACY

  “I could watch that movie over and over,” Dad says, shuffling to the edge of the recliner. He reaches for his crutch. “You make the tea love while I head to the loo.”

  I roll my eyes. “We’ve watched it so often I know it word for word. I admit the best part is the ending and listening to your favourite song.”

  He chuckles as he hobbles past singing, “Up Where We Belong.”

  “You need to embrace horror,” I shout out to him. “Like A Nightmare on Elm Street series. Too much lovie-bullshit is not good. It’s all false belief. Love like this isn’t real, you know.” I shut up since I’m talking to myself. I’m the one who needs reminding since I’ve been thinking of reasons why I should pop in to work on my day off. A Friday when Reef will be there having brunch with his friends.

  After making a pot of tea, I suggest ways for Dad to improve his health. Besides modifying his diet, I propose ways for him to be more mobile. “The local physio has introduced reformer Pilates, and there are special rehab classes for people with injuries similar to yours.”

  “I’ve done rehab.” He dunks a biscuit in his tea.

  “What about swimming? There are pools with special rehab sessions.”

  He dunks another biscuit in his tea and snaps it in his mouth.

  “You used to like to swim,” I remind him. “It helped with your back pain after a long stint on the road.”

  He nods as though contemplating the idea.

  “I’m going to pop out for five, okay? I’ll grab some information pamphlets while I’m out.”

  “Don’t hurry back then,” he says playfully.

  I chuckle before closing the door, the car keys in my hand. I drive directly to our aquatic centre and walk up to the front desk at the pool, grab the information I need, then drive myself to work as though on autopilot. I park out back in the staff carpark and walk the length of the block to enter through the front door and not via the staff-only back entrance.

  Through the window, Reef’s back catches my eye. He’s wearing a black T-shirt stretched tight against his broad shoulders. His blond hair is a vast difference against the dark.

  The door jingles and Ava pivots to greet me. “Macy,” she says and grins.

  Out the corner of my eye, I see his head turn.

  “Just picking up something from the kitchen,” I say even though I don’t need to explain myself.

  With every step, I feel the burn of his eyes on my skin. Skin because I’m wearing a backless halter top with my maxi skirt. And no bra, as there is a pathetic piece of in-built elastic and material designed to support women who wear this top, as long as they’re three cup sizes smaller than me. I stop before the door and turn, giving Reef the full-front experience without eye contact. “Is Oliver out back?” I ask Ava with the innocence of an eight-year-old.

  “Yep. Having a lunch break.” She smiles and keeps tapping on her iPad, taking orders from a group of young mothers with babes in their arms.

  I turn and head through the door, pulling my scarf around my neck, so it sits over my chest. No one else needs to see the show.

  “Dom,” I purr. “Any chance I can take some of your low-fat panna cotta home for my dad?”

  “Si.” He smiles at me and points his Crocodile Dundee knife toward the large fridges. “Plenty in there. You tell Oliver.”

  “I’ll pay Oliver.” I head into Oliver’s office to ensure he knows I’m not stealing.

  After taking a container for Dad, I head out the back to my car, wishing I could have gone through the front and see if there was a note for me.

  Turning out onto the street, I see Reef and his friends piling into two black cars parked beside each other. One an Audi sedan, the other a BMW SUV. I glance their way a second too long, and it only takes the extra second for our eyes to lock.

  “Stupid.” I thump the steering wheel as I accelerate to get further away. He probably thinks I’m stalking him.

  “Don’t play games,” my father used to say. Dad didn’t need to clarify he meant emotional behaviour like teasing. He didn’t raise me to be like my mother.

  What’s wrong with me? I head home to reveal the pool’s fees and classes on offer to Dad and work out a plan to pay for the extra classes because it’s time I focused more on him and less on me.

  My behaviour only causes trouble. Or worse, old memories to surface. Staying home to care for Dad makes us both happy.

  “Are you going out?” Dad asks after dinner.

  “Nope.”

  “It’s Friday night. When I was your age, Friday nights rocked. Saturdays were never as exciting.” He raises his can of beer and salu
tes me.

  “I think Saturdays are more fun. And now I’m working most weekends, I’m too tired to bother.”

  “You’re still young. You need to go out and meet different people.”

  “Is it how you met, Mum? I’d prefer not to repeat your mistakes.”

  “Macy.” His tone has my attention. Before I apologise, he adds, “She wasn’t a mistake. We had you, and you’re the best thing that happened to me.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” I push up to open a bottle of cheap champagne, deciding I need a drink. I pop the cork and savour the sound. It triggers memories of good times with Georgia. “If you didn’t have me, you could have pursued any job, travelled the world with Mum like she wanted. Instead, you had to keep trucking to support me, and it meant she was lonely, which is why she cheated and—”

  “I’ll stop you right there, Miss.”

  I cease pouring bubbles into my glass. Shit. My eyes meet his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Never be sorry. We decide our own journeys. Your mother chose hers. I don’t regret my life for one day.”

  “Never?” I sit beside him.

  “Not a day,” he repeats.

  “C’mon,” I say in a softer tone. “I watched you suffer the days after the accident and the pain of Mum leaving.”

  “I don’t regret what happened because everything happens for a reason. Maybe it was to bring her more happiness. If so, then I’m happy for her. All I’ve ever wanted is for people to smile. I got you, so in my eyes, I’m in a better place than her.”

  I reach over and squeeze his hand. “I think I’m the lucky one.” Still, I can’t help feeling bitter toward my mother.

  I hate admitting I’m more like her than Dad. I try to be like Dad. It takes more strength than I think I have. That’s why I avoid relationships—to ensure I don’t end up like her. As for kids, in my teens I barred myself from having them because I never want to worry about being responsible for breaking their young hearts.