“Wanna walk over to the headland?” I suggested.
“Sure,” Claire agreed quickly before reaching down and taking my hand in hers. Guess that answers that question.
For a while we walked on silently, licking our ice cream cones and listening to the waves crashing on the rocks beneath us but when we got to the lookout, Claire dropped my hand and went over to the railing, leaning forward to look at the ground down below.
“Be careful,” I reminded her, slumping into the bench and stretching my legs out in front of me.
“I’m good.”
“How old are you?” I blurted out randomly.
As we’d been walking along, I realised there was so much I didn’t know about Claire, but I found I wanted to.
“Does it matter?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
The breeze kicked up and lifted her dress, flashing me a glimpse of those creamy thighs I’d dreamt about having wrapped around my head.
“Shit!” Claire swore as she tried to hold her dress down and dropped her ice cream in the dirt. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop laughing! It’s not funny.” Claire pouted.
“It really kinda is,” I explained.
“You’re a shit head, you know that, right?”
“Yep. You met my family. You think I haven’t heard that before.”
“Fine.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Claire inadvertently propped her boobs up. I tried looking at her face, I really did but her tits...they were just there. I couldn’t not look. I’m a guy. It’s what guys do. Tits are there, we look.
“Back to my question, how old are you?”
“How old are you?” She threw back a little harshly. I mean, I remember Mum telling me you should never ask a woman her age, but surely that didn’t count until they were old, like thirty or something and I knew Claire wasn’t that old.
“I’m twenty-three,” I shrugged. It wasn’t like I had anything to be embarrassed about.
“Ugh!” Claire groaned with a shake of her head.
“What’s wrong with twenty-three?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire! Come on, tell me.”
“You’re so young.”
“Twenty-three isn’t that young.”
“Ah, yeah it is.”
“Well then, oh wise one. How old are you?”
She mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. “Want to try that again? Maybe in a level audible for human ears.”
Dropping down beside me, Claire huffed. “Fine. I’m twenty-four. Happy now?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Yes? You’re happy that I’m older than you?”
“Fuck yeah. Dating an older woman. That’s fucking hot.”
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“Yeah, but you already knew that.” Claire was freaking adorable sitting there pouting like it was the worst thing in the world. Rising to my feet, I walked over to the edge of the lookout and leant against the railing, giving her a second to sulk in peace. “Hey, check this out,” I called over my shoulder, pointing to the horizon.
I felt Claire beside me before she said anything. I could smell her citrus perfume over the scent of the saltwater. Turning to face her, I grabbed her by the hips and stepped into her space. Claire gasped as her perfect pink tongue darted out and wet her lips, leaving them looking so fucking inviting, I had to have a taste.
“Wh-what am I looking at?” Claire murmured, her gaze never breaking with mine.
I didn’t answer her. Not with words anyway. I just couldn’t wait a moment longer to kiss her. It’d been too long already. Now was the time. Bending down, I cupped her face in my hand and pressed my lips to hers. Not wanting to rush her, when she fisted my shirt and opened for me, my tongue plunged in. Tentatively, trying not to scare her, I explored. My fingers dug into her hips and I was sure I’d leave a mark. She tasted like chocolate, and I was instantly addicted.
Pulling back before I got ahead of myself was hard. Rock fucking hard. Like my dick in my pants that was pressing painfully against my zipper. Despite pulling back, I didn’t let go. I didn’t want to. I never wanted to, so when Claire’s finger trailed along her swollen bottom lip, I almost busted a nut.
“That was…”
“Just the beginning.”
11
Claire
This sucked donkey’s dick.
I was over it. I felt like a hooker prowling the streets begging someone to give me a job. I understood why Vickie let me go, even if I thought she was being a short-sighted bitch, but I never thought she was vindictive. Turns out, I didn’t know her at all. She’d completely blacklisted me in the area. It didn’t seem to matter that the customers loved me or that I was damn good at my job, the rumours spreading through the hairdressing world, a world that was full of women who were still trapped in the bitchy fourteen-year-old versions of themselves, was that I was a flake.
Isaac was being great; he’d covered my share of last week’s rent, but I didn’t want to rely on him to keep doing it. I was going to pull my weight if it killed me. Instead of whining about it, every minute I spent not job hunting, I was cleaning or cooking or mending something for the boys. If I wasn’t contributing financially, then I was determined to do it another way.
“This is delicious,” Jason mumbled around a mouthful of roast pork.
“Potatoes are awesome,” Alfred added not to be outdone.
It was another Sunday night, and we were doing the roast. We hadn’t had many since I’d been here, but I’d been feeling flat all day and being in the kitchen seemed to help. So tonight, I’d served up roast pork with crispy crackling, all the roasted veggies, and cooling on the counter in the kitchen was the world’s biggest apple crumble. The way these boys ate, I couldn’t do anything in normal-sized batches or twenty minutes after the table was cleared, they’d be rifling through the now organised pantry looking for more food.
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you, Claire. This is awesome. Better than Mum’s,” Isaac confirmed, nudging me with his elbow.
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
“No! Don’t. She won’t cook for me again.”
We both knew he was full of shit, but it was fun to play along. “Well, maybe instead of baby boy getting all his favourites, we might be able to have some of mine instead.”
“Bitch.”
“Actually, speaking of Mum…” The clattering of forks against plates was almost comical. While Warner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Jason took a swig of his water. It didn’t take a mind reader to know the scenarios dancing through their minds right now. They were all frozen waiting for me to tell them Mum was coming to visit. “I’m actually thinking of going home for a bit.”
“Define ‘a bit’,” Alfred invited.
“Home? Why?” Isaac was stunned.
“Is this because of money?” Warner asked.
“I need to reset. I’m going crazy here. Nothing’s happening. I can’t get a job. I have nothing. I think going home is for the best,” I offered weakly.
The truth was, the last place I wanted to go back to was the small town we’d grown up in. I liked not having everyone up in my business. I loved hanging out on the beach. I loved the fact my whole world didn’t smell like cows. But I had decisions to make. Ones where the answer wasn’t forthcoming. Maybe some time at home would help me find the clarity I was looking for.
“Bullshit!” Isaac snapped. “You’re running home to mummy because you’re scared.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, Claire. You are.”
“What the hell would you know?”
I could feel the tears filling my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. I wasn’t going to. The last thing I wanted to do was to give Isaac the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to me.
“I know you better than you think. You’re going home and hoping Dad will make all your decisions for you so you don’t have
to. You’re being a chicken shit. Besides, what’s lover boy say about this?”
Fucking Isaac. I wanted to junk punch that smug smirk right off his face. Bringing Seth into this was a low blow. Effective, but still a low blow.
Seth didn’t get a say anyway, despite what Isaac happened to think. After he kissed the life out of me over a week ago now, he bought me home, walked me to the door, and promised to call. In typical boy fashion, I was still waiting for that call. We’d exchanged a handful of texts and even suggested meeting up to take on the dunes again, Seth suggesting a rematch where he could beat me, boy was dreaming, but so far, we had no concrete plans. Normally, I would’ve fussed and worried about it except I had bigger problems. Like paying my car rego next month and filling it with fuel.
Two days and a phone call home later and Mum had deposited some cash in my account for fuel, and I was headed back. I never thought I’d be going back, not under these conditions anyway. Spending six hours alone in the car with only my thoughts wasn’t great for my mental health either. After enduring the first couple of years of my apprenticeship, most of it completed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere where I’d grown up, to fall short so close to the end was frustrating, but maybe I just wasn’t meant to be a hairdresser. The long hours on my feet weren’t going to be missed. But the question still remained, if I wasn’t doing that, then what the hell was I going to do?
I was twenty minutes from home, tired, hungry, and ready to get out of the car and stretch my aching back when my phone rang. Punching the button on the steering wheel, I didn’t even look to see who was calling.
“Hello?”
“Claire?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Hey, it’s Seth.”
Oh shit! “Oh, hi. How are you?” I managed to get out.
“Hey, are you driving? I can call back if now’s not a good time.”
“No. No, you’re fine. I’m on hands-free.”
“Oh. No worries. So, I was wondering what you’re doing tomorrow night?” He sounded nervous, which made me feel slightly better.
“Ah, I’m actually out of town at the moment.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realise…”
“Just going home to see my parents,” I half-lied, leaving out the embarrassing part of the story. Even though Seth was acting like a complete guy about everything, I hadn’t quite given up on him. Not yet anyway.
“That’ll be fun.”
“Yeah. Fun. Let’s go with that,” I grumbled, knowing exactly how much fun it wouldn’t be. “Anyway, what are you up to?”
“Nothing exciting. Training. Training and more training.”
“Sounds…exhausting.”
“Oh, trust me, it is. But the reason I was actually calling you was to see if I could ask you out on an actual, proper date. No family. No sweaty sand dune running. No need for CPR, at least I hope not. But you’re away so…”
“I’d love to, but I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t I give you a call when I get back to Sydney, and we can go from there?” I offered, wondering if he’d still be interested when and if I made it back.
“Sounds good. Look, I’ll let you go, but yeah, give me a call and we’ll work something out.”
“Will do.”
“Drive safe.”
“Bye.”
The call ended and I wanted to punch something. I’d been waiting for his call for days and then the moment I leave town, he rings. Stupid boy.
Ten minutes later, I was bouncing over the cattle grid and turning down the dirt driveway towards my childhood home, my heart in my mouth trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. The closer I got to the house, the more I realised nothing had changed. Coming home was like stepping back in time. Mums rose bushes along the front were flowering, white, red, and pink roses everywhere. Dads beat-up, mud-covered ute was parked in his spot to the side and Buddy, our old, slow dog lazed sleepily in the sun.
Turning the car off, I grabbed my bag from the back seat and headed inside. “Mum! I’m home!” I called through the house, toeing off my shoes and dropping my keys in the bowl next to the family photos.
“Claire! Russell! Russell! Claire’s home!” Mum screeched, and I headed through to the kitchen knowing I’d find her exactly where I’d left her months earlier.
Until I’d heard my mother’s voice, I hadn’t realised how much I needed to be here. Just what I wanted. To be home. To be able to breathe. To just be for a second. To pretend the world wasn’t out there, conspiring against me. It was heaven. For all of about ten seconds.
“I’m coming!” Dad replied.
“Hey, Mum!” I rounded the corner and there she was, filling the kettle, the kitchen counter covered in warm scones and a bowl of whipped cream.
“Sweetheart. You’re home.”
I lasted four days.
12
Seth
I don’t get it.
I really don’t.
I’m not a dumb jock, at least I never considered myself to be one, but maybe I’d been fooling myself. Why I couldn’t get my shit together at training was beyond me. Playing on the high school fields with no pressure, kicking a ball in the backyard with Luca, even just practicing kicking the ball against a brick wall was easy. Simple. I didn’t have to think. But the moment I stepped out onto the field, I fell apart.
“You’re in your head again,” Luca chastised, and I felt myself shrink.
I hated being this guy. This was the last person I wanted to be. The worst thing was though, the more I sucked the harder I tried and the worse I got. I was getting paid a shit tonne of money to suck and that didn’t sit well with me. I don’t think it sat well with the others either. At least they were polite enough to keep their opinions to themselves. For now. I was positive if I didn’t get my shit together soon, they wouldn’t be as nice.
“I don’t get it,” I huffed, putting my hands on my head.
The frustrations were bubbling. This wasn’t working. Not for me and not for the team. Something had to give, and I just hoped it wasn’t me. I loved it up here. The last thing I wanted to do was to be dropped and have to slink back to Melbourne like a loser. I’m sure Bryce would just love that. Yet another thing to bust my balls over.
“Maybe he just needs to get laid?” Angus called out as he sunk down on the grass.
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Hamish taunted, and Angus flipped him the bird. It was no secret that Angus was coming off the divorce from hell. It was on the front page of every paper in town for most of last month while his conniving, money-hungry bitch of an ex cried her cold black heart out for the media to lap up. And lap it up they did. Fucking Scarlet definitely knew how to turn on the waterworks when she wanted to.
“You’re fucking funny,” I threw back casually dismissing their suggestion while secretly tucking it away, wondering if it was my problem after all. It’d been a while. Not that I’d ever tell them that, but still. Couldn’t hurt getting my dick wet.
“Are you lot going to sit around and gossip like a bunch of women at book club or are you actually going to try and get your shit together and, well, I don’t know, maybe win a game.”
“Coach…” someone started to complain but Luca quickly cut them off.
“I mean, I saw how well you did last year. Must feel good to not finish on the bottom of the ladder.”
“Well, it could’ve been worse…”
“Not really sure how. You won one game. It’s the only thing that saved you from the coveted wooden spoon, which, let’s face it…you deserved.”
“Come on, man. That’s being a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“I dunno. You tell me.”
With Luca’s taunts and accusations hanging out in the air like a bad smell, Angus vaulted back to his feet and started jogging towards the goals. “You arseholes coming?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder and with a collective groan,
everyone, Luca included, fell in behind him and started running laps.
By the time we stumbled off the field my legs were like jelly, I was sweating like a whore in a church, and everything ached. Including my very sunburnt forehead. Collapsing on the wooden bench in the locker room, I leant back against the wall and closed my eyes for a second. I needed to get up and get changed but I needed to find the energy first. There was certainly none left in my body.
“Masters!” Luca’s voice called out, and my eyes pinged open. “In here now!”
I thought I was getting to know Luca, but that was a tone I’d never heard before. He sounded like my dad when I fucked up or let him down. Shit! The last thing I wanted to do this afternoon was get my arse reamed out for being a complete fuck up. I knew it. He knew it. Everyone knew it. It wasn’t like I could hide the fact. It was obvious to everyone.
As I moved through the other hot, sweaty bodies – damn this locker room stunk – no one met my eyes. I couldn’t blame them. If I wasn’t the one shuffling towards Coach’s office like it was a death row march, I’d be doing the exact same thing. Avoiding everything and keeping my own head down.
Knocking on the door, I waited until Luca acknowledged me before he waved me in and told me to shut the door. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I stood there like a complete chump.
“Take a seat,” Luca instructed, and I dropped into the uncomfortable metal chair. “So, wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit, Seth. I’ve seen your tapes. I’ve seen you play out in the playground. Hell, I’ve been kept awake at night by you kicking it against the damn wall of the house. We both know you’re better than what you’re showing out there and I wanna know why.”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, hanging my head with shame.
“Seth, you know if there’s something going on…you can talk to me.”
Rookie (Playing The Field Book 2) Page 7
