Forever: Beautiful Series, book two

by Anderson, Lilliana

  I meet her eyes. She’s forward. Really forward. Everything about her positioning—solid eye contact, tongue touching her teeth, chest out—says she’s available if I want her. As the beer takes over my mind, I’m struggling not to curb my interest.

  “Tricks, huh?”

  “I have a lot of them,” she says. “In all areas of life. I can show you those too.”

  A grin pulls at my mouth as I force my gaze to the drink in front of me. I’m interested. Fuck, I’m interested. “I’m trying to be good here.”

  “I don’t want you to be good, Elliot. I want you to be bad.” She leans on my shoulder and now her fingers are playing with the shell of my ear, her other hand moving along my thigh. Fuck.

  “This is a terrible idea.” I shake my head.

  “Why resist? It’s just a little fun on your first night. Tomorrow morning we can pretend like it didn’t even happen.”

  I hiss through my teeth as her hand lands on my crotch and she squeezes. “Fuck me.”

  She bites at my ear. “Yes, please.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I roll out of bed with a thump, forgetting I’m in a single and miscalculating my space. Brian mutters something half asleep and rolls over to face the wall. The room smells like stale booze.

  Trudging out of our shared room, I head to the bathroom and relieve myself. Then I gulp water from the tap like I’ve just spent a year in the desert. The cotton mouth is serious this morning.

  “Ugh.” I look like shit.

  Splashing water on my face, I grab my toothbrush out of my toiletries bag and run it around my mouth, groaning the whole time because this is death. I’m never drinking again.

  That’s a lie. I totally will.

  “Almost done in there?” A knock raps against the door, hurting my brain. “I’m busting.”

  Reaching out, I flick the lock on the door and Naomi comes bursting in, dropping on the toilet with a groan as I spit out my mouthful of toothpaste.

  “I was about to tell you I’d be done in a minute. Is this where we are now?” I ask, glancing at her through the mirror as the sound of her pee echoes in the small room.

  “One bathroom. Six people. Get used to it.”

  Shaking my head, I rinse my toothbrush and wash my mouth before clearing the sink then getting out of there. This will be a learning experience for me. I’m not used to sharing my space.

  All up there are six of us in a three bedroom flat, so two in every room. I’m with Brian; he's an accountant working in the city. He seems all right. He's a small mousy-looking guy with glasses and a pointed nose. Naomi and Petra are the only two girls, and they share the largest room, while Gavin and a guy called Shane share the third. Shane looks like your typical Aussie surfer stereotype. He's a little shorter than me—around six foot—has longish blond hair, blue eyes and a medium build. He talks in a slow laid-back manner, sounding as though he spent a lot of his teen years with a bong in his hand. He says he works in advertising; doing what, I have no idea.

  Work-wise, the rest of them are all in hospitality, either behind the bar or waiting tables at a restaurant. I guess that means the flat will rarely have all of us there at the same time. A good thing, I guess, it was pretty crowded here last night when we got back from the pub. Another good thing, because it meant that Naomi, and I didn’t end up sleeping together. In the cold light of my hungover morning, I’m really fucking happy for that. Sex always makes things awkward the next morning when that’s all you wanted from each other.

  Making my way to the kitchen, I notice I’m not the only one with a sore head this morning. The lounge room is littered with bodies in a state of half-life.

  “Remind me never to mix my drinks again,” Petra says as Gavin passes her a coffee.

  “My liver can’t take much more of this,” he says in return.

  “We could always stop. Go on a cleanse or something?”

  They look at each other for a moment then burst out laughing. I just smile and grab some coffee and headache pills for myself.

  “You know what we need?” Shane says, leaning back on the couch with an unlit cigarette between his lips. “A dirty-greasy Maccas breakfast. That’ll fix us up.”

  “We should get it delivered,” Petra says, pulling out her mobile.

  “Uber Eats. Yes,” Naomi says as she emerges from the hall. She’s wearing the oversized t-shirt she had on in the bathroom, but her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail now.

  Putting our orders in, we gather around the table once it’s delivered to eat the delicious hangover cure that is McDonalds breakfast. Unsurprisingly, Naomi sits to my right. I’m not getting out of this one easy. We made out a little at the pub last night, and I have a feeling she’ll be on me until she gets what she wants. I like that she’s bold. But she’s a little relentless.

  “I’m not working until tonight if you’d like to sightsee today,” she suggests.

  “Uh, yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck as I finish the food in my mouth. “I was planning on doing one of those open-top bus tours. Sounds lame, but I start work on Monday and want to see as much as I can before then.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she says with an excited pitch to her voice.

  “Me too,” Shane says, his mouth full of McMuffin. “I haven’t been yet, so—” His eyes go wide and he stops mid-chew, looking from Naomi to me. “Nah, actually. I’m busy today. I can’t, um, go.”

  Naomi smiles and taps him on the hand. “Maybe Coral can take you?” She turns to me. “Coral is his girlfriend. You’ll meet her soon.”

  “She busts my balls, but she does this thing in the sack where she—”

  Petra clears her throat exaggeratingly loud. “Not while we’re eating, Shane!”

  * * *

  Naomi and I get to Waterloo station before most of the shop fronts have opened for the day. It kind of reminds me of the train stations in the City Circle back home. It’s a mini shopping centre.

  As we follow the signs to the station entrance, I’m surprised when I see a girl who looks just like Paige. She’s standing in front of a hairdresser and I almost stop and go to her. But I think I’m mistaken. This girl’s hair is sleek and straight, not that mass of curls that Paige has. It sure feels like her though.

  “We’ve got about ten minutes before the train gets here,” Naomi says, pulling my attention away. “Just enough time to grab tickets.”

  I assume I need to pick up the pace. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I look at the Paige lookalike again and fill with disappointment. It makes me realise how much I wish I could see her again. And how shitty I’m being even entertaining the idea of sleeping with Naomi.

  Paige

  I’m a little on the early side for my trial shift at Stylz. The roller door isn’t even up yet. Eager much? The shopfront is inside on the main level of the station, so at least I’m not standing outside in the cold, freezing my arse off while I wait for the manager to turn up.

  I run my hands over my hair to make sure everything is in place. I used plenty of product and straightened it to a glossy shine. When I do my hair this way, I feel like I should be in a Shampoo ad, flicking my hair around and talking about how fabulous my conditioner is. But, fuck I’m nervous.

  Thankfully, I’m not left stewing in my nerves long before a girl comes walking towards me while fiddling with a set of keys. Her smile is friendly and her curly black hair bounces as she walks. As she gets closer, she extends her hand. “You must be Paige. I’m Andrea. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”

  Reaching out to take her hand, I smile brightly. It’s show time. “Hi Andrea, it’s lovely to meet you,” I say as I look her over. She has a small, slim build and smooth light brown skin with dark chocolate-coloured eyes. On closer inspection, I notice her hair has red highlights scattered through it. She wears little more than lip gloss for makeup and is dressed in a pair of black pants and a fitted shirt with ‘stylz’ written in poison green letters across the bust.

 
; Unlocking the roller door, she presses a button and we stand back to watch it rise. “Were you waiting long?” she asks.

  “I literally just got here.”

  The inside is like any other salon you’d visit, with chairs and magazines in front of a reception counter. It kind of reminds me of the Just Cuts I used to go to before I started my apprenticeship.

  “You called at the perfect time,” she says, as she bustles around preparing to open. “My other stylist up and quit on me two days ago, and I’ve been run off my feet. The other girl, Amanda, can’t do Wednesday through Friday, so I’ve had no one. We get a lot of walk-ins in this location, so I’ve had to turn people away.”

  “That can't be good for business,” I respond astutely.

  “It's not.” She walks over to me with a t-shirt in hand. “Here, put this on. We have a fairly busy morning ahead of us. I really hope you’re good because I booked knowing I’d have you here today.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I mean, I’ll be fine. I’ve worked in busy salons before.”

  “So you’re in the UK indefinitely did you say?”

  “I did. I have dual citizenship, so there’s no visa to force me back.”

  “What made you want to leave Australia? It sounds like the ideal.”

  “Time for a change,” I say, leaving it at that. She tilts her head in a ‘fair enough’ gesture then directs me around the salon to help her get things ready. When we flip the sign to say we are open, there’s already a customer waiting.

  Elliot

  God, I wish we had open top buses in Sydney. It'd be so much better traveling with the sun shining down on you than inside a closed off vehicle that smells like damp socks. It’d suck in the rain though. ;

  “I have been here a whole month and I haven't seen any of this stuff ,” Naomi says, holding her phone out to snap a selfie of her and me in front of Big Ben. “These are all going in my Instagram story.” Fantastic. She’s an insta-girl.

  “I don't do social media much,” I say, taking a few shots myself. I have Facebook but that's about it. I don’t even use that much.”

  “But you'll put these photos on it, won’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. How else is my mum gonna see them and show my gramma?”

  She scoffs out a laugh. “Oh my God. You’re adorable. You’re supposed to put this stuff online to make all your past enemies jealous because you’re off living your best life while they’re trapped behind a desk somewhere slowly selling their soul to corporate greed.”

  "Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this.”

  She stands up and takes a photo of herself fake laughing as we pull up near Buckingham Palace. “The people I went to school with were arseholes. Most of them are already married and popping out kids. And the rest went from high school to uni to work. I don’t think a single one kept following their dreams.” She sits back down and focuses on posting her photo. "Actually, no. That’s a lie. One guy in my grade is still chasing his dream. He’s in a band but it’s like his side hustle. A couple of the girls me and Stephanie used to hang with, follow him like groupies. Pretty lame. But I guess they figure if Matari—that’s the band name—make it big, they'll get a front-row seat on the world tour.” She holds her phone out for me to see the screen. “That’s them.” I’m looking at a photo of some guy on stage, his mouth open while he sings into the microphone with his eyes closed.

  “Why is his guitar on his back?” He’s wearing it like a backpack.

  “Because they’re using the piano in this song. His brother is playing it off to the side.”

  “Are you friends with the brother too?”

  “Nah. We barely know each other.”

  “As you think their band has what it takes?”

  “I don't know. I think it needs a little something else. Like strings or a feminine backing vocal. They’ve got a good following, gigs most weekends. They kind of sound like Muse and Damien Rice had a baby. And if that baby would do a Billie Eilish and pair up with someone like Khalid, they’d kill it.”

  I’m watching her mouth move but I’m not sure I understand what’s coming out. “I know Muse but I'm not sure on the rest of them, so I'll take your word for it.”

  She shrugs and returns to taking tourist photos. "Music is kind of my thing. I get a bit carried away sometimes.”

  “Your thing? As in you create it? Or you enjoy listening to it?”

  “Both. But I'm taking a break from creating. I lost my joy.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Sure does.” She turns her camera on me and watches the screen as she talks. “What’s your passion, Elliot?”

  “Fitness.” I grin. “Boring, huh?”

  “Nothing’s boring when it feeds our soul, Elliot.”

  We see pretty much every landmark you’ve ever seen on TV. It’s astounding to see them all in real life, and even though you recognise them all, they’re now a three-dimensional object in your mind instead of the filtered media image you normally associate them with. It’s lunch by the time we’re finished, so Naomi and I find a café to have something to eat.

  “I can’t believe I’ve waited so long to do that,” Naomi says, in between bites of her open sandwich.

  Nodding, I chew my mouthful of steak sandwich, waiting until I can swallow to speak. “It was number one on my list.”

  “I’m glad I got to join you. Thanks for letting me tag along,” she responds.

  “It was nice talking to you without all the innuendo if I'm honest.”

  She laughs. “Figured an open-top bus wasn’t the best place to try to jump your bones.”

  “There she is.” I laugh, as I flick through my photos before I post them to my Facebook page. There is already a message on my wall from my mother reminding me to send her my UK phone number. I remind her I installed Skype on her computer and phone, but private message her my number, anyway.

  “I really love it here,” Naomi says, taking a deep breath before she chatters away about all the culture and history in London. But I’m not really listening, a woman with wild curly brown hair just walked past, and now I can’t stop thinking about the woman I saw at the station earlier. The more I think about it, the more I think that girl was Paige. Which would be nuts. In a city of eight million people, what are the odds of us settling in the same area?

  I suddenly feel a great need to return and push back from the table. Naomi stops speaking mid-sentence and looks at me in wide-eyed surprise.

  “I’m ready to go back. I’ll see you there?” It sounds like a question but I'm actually telling her.

  “Oh,” she says looking around at her half-finished food. “Um, but we’re not finished yet.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. You stay. I’ll go alone.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” She frowns, and now I’m feeling like an arse.

  “No. Not at all. I just have some stuff I want to do.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll just come back with you now.” She gathers her things off the table, and I pick up her bag, handing it to her.

  “Tell me about your music,” I say once we’re seated on the train. “Do you play an instrument?”

  “I play the violin.”

  “Classically?”

  “Classic, modern; if you can play it on a fiddle, it's something I can do.”

  My brow shoots up. “I didn’t expect that”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Piano?”

  She smiles. “I can play piano too.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “I went to a performing arts high school. I dabbled.”

  We chat about her school days all the way back to Waterloo. I’m enjoying talking to her without the flirting. It’s helping me think with my head instead of my dick, and I’m even more glad we didn’t fuck last night. I would have missed out on getting to know her if we did. I think I want to keep her as a friend. Especially when my mind keeps straying, thinking about Paige instead of li
stening to Naomi. That alone says something.

  “I’m thinking of getting my hair cut. You think you can head back to the flat without me?” I ask as we walk towards the hair salon. Nerves build up inside my chest as I stop walking and look in, hoping the girl I saw is still there. When my eyes find her, I watch her movement as she talks to a customer while taking their money at the counter. I’m now positive it’s Paige. She’s smiling and animated and well, beautiful. An odd feeling overcomes me as I watch her. It’s like I’m being enveloped in some sort of mist, and she’s the only person I can see around me.

  “Do you know her?” Naomi asks from beside me. Turning towards her voice, I need to blink a couple of times before she comes into my focus.

  “What?” I ask in return.

  “That girl in there, do you know her?”

  “I think I do,” I say. “I met her on the plane.”

  “Small world,” she says. “Is she why you want a haircut?”

  My eyes settle on her soft brown gaze before I nod. “I want to know her.” It would be cruel to be anything other than honest here.

  “I see,” she says, forcing a smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s there to be sorry about?” She reaches out and nudges my arm. “My offer is still on the table. You know, in case chasing her falls through.” I can’t help but smile as she gives me a wink then tells me she’ll see me at home.

  Paige

  “Just make sure you keep up your weekly treatments. You've over bleached your…” I stop talking as the bell above the door jingles and a person I never expected to see again walks through. Betraying my mind, my stomach flits about happily as I look back to the customer and try to finish. “Sorry. You’ve over bleached your hair. We’ll have to cut it really short if you don’t take good care of it.”

  “Well, I don’t want that,” she says as I hand her the bag full of products she’s just purchased.

  “That will all help it stay in good condition until your next appointment,” I say before bidding her farewell.