Arrogant Aussie

by Masen, Kat

  I try my best to contain my laughter, covering my mouth and breathing into my hand to control myself.

  “Pa had to call the doctor. I was knocked out cold.”

  “What happen to Sonny and Cher?”

  “Cher was in her old age, so she passed not long after, and Sonny… well, he was sent to another farm.”

  “Oh,” I mouth. “Poor Olly, and all over a crush.”

  He stops mid-stride, and a gleam appears in his eye as he looks at me. “You called me Olly?”

  I didn’t even realize I’d done so. Is that even a big deal? I’d heard Aubrey say it, and I guess, if I’m honest with myself, we had formed somewhat of a friendship warranting nickname calling. He often referred to me as Gabs which I loathe.

  “Yeah,” I stumble out. “I guess everyone calls you that.”

  “You’re not everyone,” he murmurs, staring deeply.

  I’m drawn to his eyes, almost emerald, reflecting with the aid of the sun. It’s more than just the color, there’s something deep about the way it makes me feel—pure, a sense of hope and protection, a feeling of completion.

  I’m torn between whatever it is that’s holding me in this position, stilling my movements yet accelerating my heartbeat. How could something so simple, the weight of a man’s stare, especially a man who you despised only a week ago, evoke so much emotion.

  Shaking my head, I break the hold and switch my focus on the direction in front of us. We’re only a block away from home when I notice the familiar beachside homes lined up the small hill.

  “I’m drenched. I really need to head home and take a shower.”

  The minute I say it, I cringe at my choice of words. Really? I’m such an idiot. Often, I wonder how I even adult. Oliver won’t let this one slide, that much I know. He has a response to everything, and his maturity level dwindles to gutter level whenever I open my big, fat mouth and say something stupid to provoke him.

  Oliver smirks. “Do you need help? I’m an expert in the shower.”

  “I bet you are.” I laugh, knocking his arm playfully. “I think I got it covered. I may not have many skills, but in showering, I could probably get an A-plus.”

  “We need to stop talking about you showering, these shorts leave nothing to the imagination.”

  I look down, and beneath his black shorts, I can see the outline of his manhood.

  Turn away now. Now good will come of this.

  He looks hung.

  Jesus, did you say that out loud?

  Oh my God, I scan his face, but nothing changes, so it doesn’t appear I’ve said it out loud. My mouth curves upward into a smile, followed by an obnoxious laugh, unable to control the delirium inside me from the heat and exhaustion.

  “Okay, time to calm down, buddy,” he whistles, releasing a breath. “I’ll race you back to the house. In fact, I’ll give you a five-minute head start.”

  “And the winner gets what?”

  “Whatever they want.”

  “With you and your buddy. That’s dangerous. Be more specific.”

  “Fine, I’ll take you out somewhere tonight.”

  “More details…”

  “A place that will relax you. Somewhere nice.”

  I don’t even listen to another word, gaining a head start. My calculations show only ten minutes to home, and on the last stretch where I’ve got him beat. Then he comes out of nowhere, jogging past me with his head held high, even turning around, so he’s running backward, and waits for me at the gate without a single sweat and sporting a victorious grin.

  A surge of adrenalin pushes me, my legs moving harder, counting down the steps until I reach the end. When I pull up at the front of my house, I almost collapse, falling into his body, unable to catch my breath. My panting doesn’t dwindle, and my rapid heartbeat restricts the airflow to my lungs which feel like they are going to explode any minute.

  “Aw… c’mon, Gabs, now tell me that was fun.”

  I can’t even talk.

  The exertion brings on more breathlessness like the air around me is devoid of any oxygen. My ribs heave up and down, but nothing comes. Everything begins to spin. I don’t even care that he’s still holding onto me. I’m ready to die, at this moment, the intensity almost killing me.

  “You are evil,” I choke, gulping for air.

  “It’s why you love me.”

  “Love is a strong word,” I tell him, the same moment he opens the gate for me. “Loathe would be more accurate.”

  “Tonight, say seven? And bring a bikini.”

  I’m confused. That is until his stupid ‘winner gets whatever they want’ comes racing back to me.

  “Okay, stop!” I grab his arm, forcing him to slow down. “Where are we going?”

  “A swimsuit, wetsuit, you’re going to get very wet,” he teases, licking his lips.

  God, I already am. That run is like a big foreplay session. Ignoring the way his eyes feast on me, I try to play it cool. It is important he has no clue how he’s affecting me in any way whatsoever.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, tell Prince Charming you’re going to be out late.”

  It’s almost like I can sense his jealousy masked behind the pretentious smile plastered on his face. I want to ask him if he is, in fact, jealous. Tease him because he’s an easy target when it comes to his ego. But perhaps, I am reading more into this than I should be. This isn’t a competition. Oliver is an acquaintance. Sebastian is my fiancé in the waiting.

  As he turns away, walking back toward Aubrey and Chance’s house, I call his name, prompting him to turn around.

  “What Prince Charming doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” I shout, unable to disguise the smile as I bite my bottom lip.

  I would have walked away had it not been for the smirk—that little rise in the corner of his mouth that he was oblivious to, combined with the delicious dance in his eyes.

  “Wait…” He runs back to me. “Where is your phone?”

  I tell him to wait, open the door and grab it off the nightstand.

  Once back outside, he grabs my phone out of my hand without warning.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Shh,” he complains, distracted while typing something into my phone.

  I really should put a password on my cell. In my life, I don’t think anyone has ever touched it except me.

  Oliver passes it back, shooting me a wink before turning his back and walking away. “In case you ever need me,” he yells from the end of the fence.

  My eyes wander to the screen, and the first name I see on my contact list, Arrogant Aussie.

  Unable to hide my grin, I step back inside and head straight for the shower. Each time the soap glides against my skin, I ache in delight. No one has ever made me feel this way, and despite the back-and-forth banter, Oliver has never actually made a move. Everything I have conjured up has been in my head, and the guilt, it has begun to eat away at me again.

  It’s nothing. Keep telling yourself that. This is typical male behavior. Read nothing more into it.

  Dressed in my lazy white linen shorts and red tank, I slowly make my way to the kitchen. My plans today involve a visit to the local library. I am in dire need of some books to pass the time. Something about borrowing a used book is so satisfying. But my mind and thoughts are elsewhere. I grab my cell and hit dial to Sebastian, desperate to clear my guilty conscience.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he greets, his silky-smooth voice just how I remember it.

  “I wanted to see how you are?”

  “Not the same without you, but work is busy.”

  “How was New York?”

  There’s a silence in his voice. “Good. Had some client dinners.”

  “Nice…” I didn’t know what else to say. This is the extent of our conversations these days. It feels forced and like catching up with a friend more than a soon-to-possibly-be fiancé.


  “Everything okay, Gabriella?”

  “Just tired. I’ve been running, so completely exhausted.”

  “You… running?” He laughs, condescendingly. “What has California done to you? Next, you’ll become one of those plastic bitches spending Daddy’s money while carrying a dog in your purse.”

  “Nothing.” I rein in my creeping resentment toward him. He knows very well that I am not like that. Okay, so I had a credit card my father paid for, but it doesn’t mean I spend it out of necessity. “I enjoy running.”

  “I personally dislike California. Any state that legalizes marijuana is not a place I would want to call home.”

  “It’s not like that. I mean, have you been here? People are relaxed in Hermosa Beach. It’s not like back home all suit and tie, endless functions with stuck-up senators screwing their assistants, while their wives pretend nothing is going on.”

  “Quite judgmental and uncalled for, Gabriella,” he scolds. “What has gotten into you?”

  “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Silence rears its awkward head into our conversation again, and despite my outburst, I know I’m trying to deflect off the situation. I shouldn’t feel guilty meeting Oliver. Everything about us is platonic. So what if occasionally, like in the shower, my thoughts wander to an unnatural place. It’s just thoughts. I have not, nor will I, act on any feelings toward Oliver.

  “Listen, I have to get to a meeting. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “I’m busy,” I blurt out. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  He doesn’t say another word, nor question where I’m going. He simply hangs up the phone. I slump onto the dining table, burying my face in my arms, unsure of what to do today since my trip to the library has suddenly lost all its appeal.

  It’s hours until I have to meet Oliver, and the wait seems to linger on forever. I’m on edge. That call with Sebastian did nothing but put me in a bad mood, especially his comment about Daddy’s credit card and the derogatory ‘plastic bitches’ reference.

  Sebastian has struck a nerve.

  In college, I had a part-time job in the library. It paid next to nothing, but I enjoyed the freedom of my own money. As soon as I left, my father commanded I shadow my mother, just like my sisters had done before they got married.

  I wanted desperately to work, find a job, and move out. But the more time I spent with my mother, the more I fell into her circle. The elite women’s crowd—never working a day in their lives because the men carried the wealth.

  For the last three years, I devoted my time to foundations, raising money for charity, and for the first time in my life, moving here has opened up another side of independence. It’s the first time I have lived by myself without any hired help, but unfortunately, it is on Father’s money.

  The vicious thought process sends me into a mild depression. I feel powerless in my life and don’t know where to begin or how to pull myself away from the only life I know. Sure, I’ve taken this step, but this life isn’t sustainable unless I completely break free from the Carmichael hold.

  I grab my cell, needing an immediate distraction, and send Oliver a text.

  Me: What’s the dress code for tonight?

  There’s no response for what feels like forever. I find myself constantly checking, making sure I haven’t missed anything until I give up frustrated and ready to storm over there to demand he understands the rules of an appropriate timeframe to respond to a text.

  Arrogant Aussie: I said bikini. Okay, look, if you really want, you can go topless, but it’s been a while since I’ve done the whole nude in public thing.

  I couldn’t help but laugh, knowing I was encouraging him. I quickly type a message back.

  Me: You being nude in public is a conversation over tequila. Quit distracting from the question.

  Arrogant Aussie: Wear anything, you’ll be perfect no matter what.

  I don’t respond to that text, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I decide today to hit up some retail therapy, ignoring my previous thoughts or Sebastian’s presumptions. So what, it’s not like my father’s short of money?

  With my purse in hand, I grab my car keys and head off to Beverly Hills. If I have to wear a bikini, assuming the date involves water, I will do so in style.

  Then it dawns on me that I have used the word ‘date’ in my mind several times. Each time I think about it, guilt rears its ugly head. It becomes a vicious cycle, one I have no idea how to break. But then I think about my conversation with Sebastian and how cold and distant he felt.

  And our pact to have a break.

  We both agreed one month apart.

  And I, so easily, had rejected his proposal and ring, refusing to commit just yet.

  I’m not breaking the rules.

  I will have a little fun.

  Fun never hurt anyone. Unless, of course, you’re starting to fall for the one man you can’t stop thinking about.

  Oliver

  I had all day to kill, desperately watching the time until I could pick Gabriella up.

  Each minute passed, slowly, and painfully, a gentle reminder that for the first time in my life, something else has stolen my focus besides soccer.

  After a long shower trying to cure the ache down below which only got worse after our run, I see her text on the screen of my phone.

  It’s typical Gabriella to be so curious and impatient, something I have learned about her over the past few days. The more time I spend with her, the more she begins to unravel.

  Chance knows I am anxious, and despite our earlier run, he suggests we go train and hit the gym afterward.

  We grab a ball, hitting a close-by field where we practice shots. Neither one of us is fit to play professionally anymore, but it doesn’t mean it leaves your blood. Soccer is instilled in me. You live it, you breathe it, and without it, the struggle can easily become life-threatening.

  “I keep telling you, mate, we could use a trainer like you. You’re as disciplined as you can get, which would be very beneficial to some of those kids.”

  Chance has been working with some kids on scholarships at UCLA. Between coaching, toying around with recycled art, plus also being a father, he seems content, a far cry from where I am in my life.

  I’ve been offered other opportunities, similar to Chance, but he’s a born teacher and has patience for kids. He once told me that his stint in jail made him realign his priorities. For him, there was no changing the fact that his torn ACL hindered his professional capabilities. It took him a lot of soul searching, plus reuniting with Aubrey and starting a family, to realize all hope was not lost. He still follows his passion, just in a different lane.

  I am not Chance Bateman.

  The yearn to play is still fresh inside of me. It consumes me when I wake, follows me throughout the day, and when I lay in bed each night, I imagine being back on the field, the roaring crowd surrounding me, the ball at my feet.

  Ma and Pa always ingrained the importance of fighting until the very end, Pa especially. When he was a teen, he was this close to playing professional rugby. But a small injury, and a father who pushed him into the farming business, saw him give up his dream.

  From a very early age, he encouraged me to follow what my heart yearned for. He told me he would support me, give me all the tools I needed, and not once has he ever not stayed true to his word.

  My parents often called me stubborn and arrogant, but I knew I was born to play soccer. I just needed to find a way to repair the damage to my body, so I could get the all-clear to play again.

  The ball bounces near my foot, a fierce kick and its gone mid-left.

  Fuck.

  My game is incredibly off.

  “I’m waiting for a call from my specialist. I have an appointment tomorrow, so we’ll see what he says.”

  Aside from escaping the unwanted media attention back home, a reason for me coming here is to meet with the world’s top shoulder surgeons. I
t came at a hefty price, but I am willing to do or pay anything to be able to play again.

  After the accident, I spent months in a very dark place. My parents were worried I was suicidal, refusing to talk to anyone and isolating myself in my apartment. To reassure them I would not take any drastic measures to end my life, I began to see a trauma counselor.

  She helped me work through the initial trauma of the accident, then I accidentally fucked her. We both agreed it was one time, would never be spoken about again for the risk of losing her practicing license, and I would end my working relationship with her and find someone else.

  Look, it was a nice fuck on her expensive leather lounge and the boost of confidence I needed at the time. Talk about stroking the ego, and that she did, nicely.

  However, getting on a plane to fly across the world for what is not a guaranteed fix, may seem ludicrous to some.

  But it is the only chance I have left.

  One last attempt to repair the damage.

  Chance rests his hand on my shoulder. “Look, I know it’s the hardest thing in the world to give up what you’ve worked your whole life for. I wanna be positive for you, but mate, your accident was life-threatening. You’re lucky to be alive, let alone play again. You gotta take that win.”

  Distracted by my cell pinging, I guzzle some water and quickly read the text from Gabriella. I had to laugh, egging her on, until Chance demands I put the phone down and focus on my game, not pussy.

  Back at the house, I freshen up and pack my bag before chilling on the sofa where Aubrey is trying to change CJ. The kid has the same energy as Chance, unable to sit still for even a moment.

  “It’s like wrestling with a goddam worm,” she complains, frustrated.

  I grab a toy, propping it above him and making a monster sound until he lays still so Aubrey can change him.

  “You’re so patient with him,” she says, falling back onto the sofa as he climbs on top of me. “You sure you don’t want a job as a manny?”