Cocky Notes: A Hero Club Novel

by Leesa Bow

  I sip more wine as I’m at a lost for answers. “Maybe it’s the way we click when we’re together. Or the little notes he leaves me. The way he looks at me. I’m slowly losing my mind, and I’m not sure why. Why even him? I’ve banged plenty of hot guys. Only Reef…” I even like the way his name rolls off my tongue, “… makes me feel wanted.”

  I know what Georgia is going to say before she says it. “Guys like him have a way with girls and know what they want to hear. Babe, don’t fall into a false sense of hope.”

  I take another sip of wine. “Do you even know what I hope for?”

  “The way you’re sounding now… to be his girlfriend someday. It’s not going to happen. He’s a footballer in his early to mid-twenties. It’s all playtime, babe. If he were older, then—”

  “It’s different with Reef. He’s quieter than the others.”

  Georgia reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’s the quiet ones we have to watch. We live in a modern world. If you want the truth, then test him. Ask him some questions. See where his mind’s at. It doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun while it lasts.”

  I know how fun rolls and understand there are layers to fun, depths to each layer to seek more. More can lead to a dangerous path of hardcore parties, drugs, and fun-filthy sex. I never took that path like other teenagers who were messed up and confused like me. I only ever looked for fun on occasions when I was brave enough to leave Dad alone. Could count on one hand the nights I never went home.

  Part of me wants to explore more, open my heart to Reef, and let go of the fear. Only it’s a symbiotic relationship. The fear holds me back and protects me from giving up my heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  MACY

  “What are you frowning at?” Dad asks me.

  We’re sitting outside under the big gum tree in the backyard enjoying the last days of November sunshine. I made a healthy banana cake for him to have with his morning tea mentally thinking of ways to hint, I might not come home tonight.

  I’m staring at a photograph on an Instagram message. One from Reef. He’s at Lombardi’s. There’s an image of our new casual employee, Sienna.

  Are you sick?

  Before I respond, he types another message.

  Having second thoughts?

  “Mace?”

  I glance up at Dad. “Am I frowning? I didn’t realise.”

  “You are, and a lot more lately.”

  I type out a response and turn my phone over, so the screen doesn’t distract me.

  No. And of course not. It’s my day off.

  “So, what’s upsetting you?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. “The opposite, actually. Now you’re frowning.”

  He raises a brow at me. “Who is it?”

  I take a sip of tea and endeavour to shut down any tell-tale emotion on my face. “I’m heading out tonight. I wanted to give you the heads up in case—”

  “On a date?”

  I let out a sigh. “What makes you think it’s a date?”

  He gives me a pointed look. “Because you don’t have the same look on your face you get when Georgia texts you to go out.”

  “We’re friends for the moment…”

  “Bit old for sleepovers.”

  “What do you want me to tell you, Dad?”

  “I want to hear a guy is doing the right thing by you. Treating you like a lady. Coming here to pick you up, so I get to meet him.”

  “You’re kidding me. Who does that anymore? It takes months of seeing someone before I’m ready for you to meet him. Shit, we’re not serious.”

  “So, you are friends. Not that serious means you’re not sleeping together. Maybe I should meet him if he’s doing the right thing by you.”

  Why does he have this so backward? Sex is easy. What comes after sex is difficult to navigate.

  “In my day you dated a girl first before—”

  “And look how it turned out for you.”

  “Macy.”

  I close my eyes momentarily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure you were the perfect boyfriend.”

  “Turns out I wasn’t, but it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better.”

  I slice more cake to place on his plate while I hone in on the trills and whistles of the parrots in the tree above us. Happy sounds.

  We all deserve happiness.

  “I like him. It’s early days still, so… I wanted to give you the heads up. I have no idea how the night will pan out. But if you need me to come home at any time, I will. Just call me.”

  “I don’t plan on having any beers tonight, love. Don’t worry about me. I want you to go out and enjoy yourself.”

  “If you want to have a beer, I can set up a caregiver for a few hours. I’m not heading out until later.”

  “No, I’m good. There’s a game on tonight. I’ll be bad company anyway.”

  “Who is playing?” I feign interest even though I have no clue about the soccer teams in the A league except for Chance’s team.

  “Melbourne and Sydney.”

  “Chance’s team. Is he playing?”

  Dad lets out a sigh. “Not yet. You want to know the team’s stats?”

  I pull a face. “No. Maybe who kicks the goals? For conversation’s sake at work.”

  “More to the game than kicking goals.”

  “Fine. Fill me in tomorrow.” I take his dirty plate and stand. “Do you like AFL football?”

  “I watch it if that’s what you mean. Not my favourite sport.”

  “Do you know anything about the Blackbirds’ players?”

  “Hard not to when they’re always on the TV and in the newspaper.”

  “Some come into work regularly, and I wondered if they were any good at footy?”

  Dad looks suspicious, so I shrug.

  “Give me names.”

  “Um… I know one’s called Reef—”

  “Burton? Boy can fly. He has the speed of a cheetah. Who else?”

  “I think another’s name is Hunter. As I said, they come in for coffee.”

  “Hunter Stone. I reckon they’re grooming him to be the captain one day.”

  I shake my head. “You spend too much time in front of the television.”

  “Are any of these boys your friend?”

  “Maybe.” I smile before leaving him to wash up our dishes.

  I head to Reef’s penthouse after dinner. Even though I don’t require a jacket, I decide it’s better to wear one. A cotton jacket buttoned up high on my chest. I didn’t want my father to witness the outfit I chose for Reef or the receptionist with the judging eyes.

  She swipes the lift and allows me to travel up alone.

  Beneath my coat, I’m wearing a black knee-length dress with a plunging neckline. Heels. Gloss on my lips. The most makeup I’ve used in years and most of it applied in the carpark. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail like most days.

  The doors ding and open like stage curtains to Reef standing before me—white T-shirt, board shorts, no shoes.

  His blond fringe partially covers one eye, still damp as though he’s stepped out the shower minutes ago. Pushing fingers through his hair as though he needs to see me more clearly, he manages a simple, “Hey.”

  The elevator doors close behind me. I step into a space filled with his scent—all cedar, vanilla, and musk—and relish the way his eyes travel down my body. The heat of his gaze increasing the need to rid myself of this jacket.

  “Hey,” I repeat, not sure whether to reach up and kiss him or play it cool. He takes my hand and leads me to the door, allowing me to enter first.

  Soft orchestral music plays in the background. It throws me off-kilter. I thought he’d be into Aussie Indie bands like Gang of Youths, The Rubens, even Matt Corby but not this. I imagine the fruity, stirring sound of Matt Corby’s voice floating across the room to envelop me like a warm blanket of familiarity.

  “Can I take your jacket?”

  “I’m fine for the moment,” I
lie. I’m dying under here.

  “You’re making me hot looking at you.” He pulls off his T-shirt and folds it before placing it on the chair.

  Jesus. If I were ever to pray, it would be now. He’s ripped more than I remember. Every stomach muscle washboard hard and begging to be licked. I lick my lips instead and force myself to look away, focus on anything but him because I need to get this coat off, only I know what it will lead to the moment I do.

  Two red wines are poured and sitting on the kitchen bench. Looking around the apartment, not a thing is out of place. The white tiles gleam and not a scrap of anything on the white marble bench. Unusual for three guys living together.

  “Come to the balcony,” he says, passing me a glass of wine. “I assume you drink Chianti if you work at an Italian restaurant.”

  “Never assume anything,” I say. “But yes, I do. Thank you.”

  He nods and walks ahead and opens the sliding doors. It takes me a moment to notice the ocean view as I’m mesmerised by the way his muscles contract in his legs with every step—the indentation of every muscle in his back and those broad, tanned shoulders. He leans on the balcony railing and looks out to the ocean. Every defined bulge indicates undeniable strength. I imagine what those arms and shoulders can do, what weight his back can endure.

  The safest spot is beside him, watching the sun sink into the ocean. His stare doesn’t falter, there’s a longing in his gaze.

  “You miss it?”

  He bows his head, knuckles turning white on the rail. “Yeah, but I made a stupid decision.”

  “To surf?”

  “For poor judgement in getting a good ride. Didn’t have the right board and had a bad wipeout. Almost ruined my footy career.”

  “I thought you almost ruined your most valued possession.” I grin. Nerves tighten my gut when he doesn’t see the humour. He downs the last of his red wine, then holds out a hand for my glass.

  I’ve barely had a sip. “I’m fine for now, thanks.”

  Reef returns with the bottle and fills his glass.

  “Are you mostly healed?”

  He nods. “I’m walking fine. Any pressure on the area is painful. I can lightly jog a short distance.”

  “I’d love to watch you surf,” I say with a vision of him riding the waves, his hair damp and slick, the water glistening over tanned skin.

  “I can take you down south during the holidays. Teach you if you’re game.” His eyes meet mine in a challenge.

  “Sure, but I’ll watch the first time.” There won’t be a second time. I’m not capable of balancing on a board.

  “What do you like to do?” he asks.

  “I swim sometimes.”

  “Sick. You’ll be able to handle the ocean, then.”

  Shit. “Footy and surfing.” I throw it back at him. “What else is there to Reef Burton?”

  “That’s basically it.” He shrugs. “And… I’m out of action for now.”

  Is he?

  I down the last of my red wine and decline a refill. “I’m driving.”

  He runs his fingers through his fringe. A habit I’m noticing more.

  “Did you eat dinner?”

  “I snacked.” What girl comes to a sex date with a full stomach?

  Reef grins at me. “Wait here.”

  He returns with a platter of chopped pineapple, strawberries, apples, and a chocolate dipping sauce in the middle of the plate. “I made dessert before you arrived.” He points to a table with chairs on the balcony. There’s a gleam in his eyes like he’s plotting something.

  “Wow.” I take a piece of strawberry and dip it in the sauce, then moan when the flavour hits my tongue. His expression changes watching me suck the sauce before swallowing.

  Reef takes the pineapple, lightly dips it, then watches me watching him.

  I decide on the apple with more sauce and feign concern of it spilling on my jacket.

  Reef picks pineapple next and allows the chocolate to drip on his rock-hard chest. He leans back in the chair as it trickles a path between his pecs down to his abs. Taking the hint, I stand and squat between his legs, leaning in to lick the sauce from his chest. He makes a sound in his throat—a sound I want to hear again. He holds my gaze, only the wind picks up and blows his hair about as well as my dress.

  He takes my hand, the platter in his other, and leads me to the dining table. Reef sits on the long bench and pats the seat beside him. I do one better. I stand and sit on the solid wooden table before him. Unbutton my coat. His eyes are locked with mine until I peel the material from my shoulders.

  “Fuck,” he says. With his eyes on my chest I lean across to dip sauce on a strawberry, and swipe it over my cleavage. His mouth finds the sauce, kissing, licking, and sucking. He slides a strap down my shoulder and makes the noise I love to hear as he takes my breast in his mouth.

  I lean back allowing pleasure to rise. “Yes,” I whisper.

  With gentle pressure, he opens my thighs, and his hand is between my legs, his mouth on my breasts, and I’m bucking my hips on his table.

  “Reef…” I gasp.

  The pleasure stops. He stands over me, staring as though I’ve become dessert. “I’m out of action to a degree, but my tongue works fine.” He takes hold of my underwear and pulls the material down my thighs. “Take off your dress.”

  I’m not drunk enough for him to see my curves in bright light. There’s no sheet to cover me. I love to expose my breasts because they are my thing, but my rounded hips and butt are something else. The bulge in his board shorts is a tell he’s barely containing his excitement. I fall back on my elbows, open my thighs, and say, “Not yet.”

  His hands run up and down my inner thigh before I lose sight of his face.

  “You’re right.” I gasp. “Your tongue works fine.” He peers up with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Don’t stop.” Strong hands hold my thighs open and still while he works me like never before. “Reef…” I fist his hair, hold his face to my sex while resting my legs on his back. Sparks of pleasure shoot up my groin, and I scream, “Yes,” as colour explodes around me.

  Scrambling to my elbows, I reach over and grab the pineapple and feed it to him. “Perfect.”

  He slides onto the table next to me. “You are,” he whispers while he picks up a strawberry and places it on my lips. “You have an amazing body, Mace. I was nervous about you coming. Thought you’d expect more. But fuck… you’re perfect.”

  I’ve never been told I’m perfect before. Only by my father and he doesn’t count. I blink at Reef, bewildered, and smile. Then remember what Georgia had said and warned me about these guys being a number to him. I need to keep it physical. “I can return the favour,” I say, then slide off the table and kneel before him.

  “I don’t know,” he hesitates. “I’ll blow quickly because—”

  Stretching the elastic of his board shorts, I slide them down to free his cock. While taking it in my hand, the pink scar to his upper thigh close to his groin is on show. “I’ll be gentle.” I lower my lips over his silky skin, my tongue swiping the path of my lips. He bucks a little on the wooden bench. One hand clutching the seat for support, the other gripping my ponytail, he pilots me as he soars toward orgasm.

  “Mace,” he rasps the moment he comes in my mouth. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you. Gave you a chance—”

  “You taste as good as the fruit,” I tell him.

  He leans his forehead on mine, both hands on my shoulders. “Stay the night?”

  Chapter Twelve

  MACY

  “I can’t,” I rasp. “It’s too early.”

  Reef leans back and assesses me, his brows pulled tight. “Too early?”

  I place my hand on his cheek and hold his gaze. “I don’t need to hear the nice things, or for you to spoon me to feel okay about this. I know what it is we’re doing.”

  “Right,” he says abruptly. “And what do we have going on here between us?”

  I drop my hand when he f
linches away. “It’s about the sex. It’s okay, I’m a big girl and can handle that it’s nothing more. I know where I stand.”

  “You want to explain it better to me?” he asks, his arms now folded across his broad chest.

  What? I imagined him being relieved that I was letting him off the hook and not all clingy because this is a speech I’ve practiced in my head. “We both enjoy hooking up, and each other’s company, but nothing can come of us.”

  His expression changes, and for the life of me, I can’t work it out because, for a moment, it looked like disappointment. But he shuts down whatever he’s feeling and says, “Good.”

  We stand in silence for a moment.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” He grabs a T-shirt and pulls it over his head.

  “I don’t need you to.” I find my bag. “I haven’t parked far.”

  Reef walks me to the lift, presses the button, and waits with me. When the doors ding open, he takes my chin in his hand and gives me a tender kiss on the lips. “See you soon, Macy.”

  I drive home unsure of where we’re at because that kiss did not feel like it was all about the sex. I trace my lips with my finger. This guy is not like anyone I know.

  After locking the front door, I peep in on Dad. His loud, audible breaths comfort my panic, and I tiptoe along the hallway turning off lights and reach the lounge and check by his chair for beer cans. There are none. He kept his word. It’s a little after ten, so I head to bed and open Netflix on my iPad to re-watch one of the horror movies on my list.

  Only I stall, opening romantic movies instead and scroll through the titles shaking my head in denial to the happy-ever-after fairy tale portrayed. I do what I vowed not to and click allowing my heart to swell even with the opening soundtrack tricking me to believe in hope. I snuggle down on my pillow, preparing my heart for a different kind of fear.

  The marriage proposal in the movie plays on my mind. It’s not real. Still, I’m charmed post-movie to believe it’s possible, and like every other movie watcher, allow myself to feel worthy. I fall under a spell and drift off to sleep thinking about Reef.