“What are you doing?” I asked, surprised to see him.
“Cori and Josh are bumpin’ uglies in our room. Chief is probably flogging his log via Skype to Becca, and for all I know, Noah and Dimps are playin’ Dick Chicken.”
My eyebrow arched. “Dick Chicken?”
“Yeah. You don’t want to know.”
“Trust me, I do!”
He laughed. “Why does that not surprise me?”
I shrugged and offered my hands to pull him up from the ground. He took hold of one of them but chose to bare the brunt of his own weight as he got to his feet, his towering frame rendering me dwarf-like. I gulped. You’d think that such a robust, beast of a man would intimidate me, but he didn’t. Instead, his proximity blanketed me in warmth and safety. Rather than shying away from the dominance he held, I felt drawn to it.
We were standing there, face-to-face, our bodies pressed together with his hand still in mine, dangling from our sides. My eyes searched his blue ones for a sign that he was feeling what I was feeling—the incessant beating of my heart, the rush of heat to my face and the nervous flutter in my stomach.
Said stomach growled. Loud. And if I spoke tummytongue, I’d have no doubt it said, ‘It’s fucking empty down here in the dark depths of fucking emptiness. Food, woman, feed me food!’
My free hand shot to my growling abdomen and I stood back, feeling a little embarrassed.
Brad jumped back, too, and assumed what looked like a battle-stance position, his legs apart—one in front of the other—and his hands up, crossed and ready for attack. “What the fuck did you eat, a bear?”
I cracked up laughing. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s either that or I’m about to give birth to one.”
“No shit! Whatever that is,” he said, pointing to my tummy, “I think we’d better feed it.” He grabbed my hand and led me back into my room, guiding me to sit on the end of the bed while he rummaged through the mini bar. “What do bears like to eat?”
“Honey,” I blurted out, playing his game.
“You think you ate Pooh Bear?”
I shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“What kind of a person are you, sexy pixie?” Brad wore mock disbelief well—his mouth opened wide, and his eyes unblinking. My God, he’s adorable.
I smiled sadly, feeling guilty once again for treating him the way I had. He really was a great guy. And he’d make a great boyfriend.
Remembering one of his earlier text messages, I responded to it at the same time as the question he’d just asked. “I’m the kind of person that likes you, too.”
He paused his rifling through the packets of chips and turned toward me. His eyebrows arched with surprise, yet he also seemed calm and accepting of what I’d admitted, especially when a slow, lazy smile crept over his face before he snatched up a packet of chips without taking his eyes from me.
Brad made his way to the bed and sat down, scooting backward until he was propped up against the bedhead. He patted the spot next to him and motioned with his head that I sit. “You coming? I found Honey and Soy Lay’s. They’ll have to do.”
My cheeks stretched uncontrollably, as a big grin spread across my face, so I leaned forward, opened the fridge, grabbed two bottles of Coke, and retrieved the TV remote before joining him on the bed. “What do you want to watch?”
“Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory,” he answered without hesitation, popping the bag of chips open and tilting them in my direction. “Eat. Feed the bear.”
“What is it with you and Willy Wonka stuff?” I dipped my hand into the packet and took some chips.
“Best movie ever! Who wouldn’t want to live in a chocolate factory with a chocolate river and Oompa Loompas?”
He had a point. Mind you, the ever-lasting gobstopper had nothing on a Tim Tam.
“Speaking of Oompa Loompas, what were you and Cori talking about before we went up the Tower of Terror II?”
Brad tossed a handful of chips into his mouth, and when I say handful, I mean bucket-loadful. His hands were huge. “She freaked out when we climbed the Harbour Bridge just over a week ago. I knew she was a fan of the movie like me, so I hummed the Oompa Loompa song to calm her down.”
Wow! What a sweetie. “Aw … that’s so cute.” I nudged his shoulder teasingly, and pinched some more chips. “But yeah, you’re right, she does like that film. She went nuts when she found out I landed the role of Veruca Salt in the national stage production a couple of years back.”
He snapped his body in my direction, his eyes wide, a chip dangling from his lip. “You were in that musical?”
I nodded slowly and reached out, stealing the precarious chip. “Yes.”
Brad screwed his face up until he realised what I’d done, then he sheepishly wiped his mouth. “I went and saw that with Mum.”
“You went and saw a musical of Willy Wonker & the Chocolate Factory with your mother? Did I just hear that right?”
“Uh … yeah.”
The look of doesn’t-every-grown-man-go-to-musicals-with-his-mum that Brad wore upon his face was super adorable, and I couldn’t help but lean over and place a soft kiss on his lips.
He tasted both sweet and salty. Mm … yummy! My Pooh Bear tummy growled. My Pooh Bear tummy wanted to gobble him all up.
Brad’s hand slid into my hair and held my head firm but with a gentle tenderness. I couldn’t help myself and let out a long, quivering moan against his mouth. Everything about him just felt, but was it? I wasn’t sure. And that’s what had sparked my earlier anxiety—the thought that he, us, could be something more but then wouldn’t be … because of me, because of what I had to hide. And so, really, what was the point? Why would I even bother starting something when that something had nowhere to go?
Em, why are you even thinking this? You just met him. You barely know him. Just have some fun.
Ugh! That was easier said than done.
Pulling away, I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. You’re just so sweet that my inner bear thought you were honey.”
The look on his face was ravenous, his eyes fixated on my lips. It had me tranced, immobile, until his hand slowly moved to adjust the obvious erection tenting his shorts.
“I don’t want to fuck this up again,” he said, his voice gravelly, his stare still magnetised to my lips. “Which means you need to create a bit of space between us. right now! Because all I want to do is kiss that mouth again, slide my hand behind your back, and lift you onto my lap. I want to take your top off, undo your bra, suck your perfect little pixie nipple into my mouth and play with it while you grind your sweet pussy into me.” Brad’s eyes finally found mine, and he blinked. “I think you … I think you should back up and … um … fuck! I think you should perform Veruca Salt for me.”
“What?” My body jerked back in surprise at his request, and I almost fell off the bed, creating the distance he bloody needed.
“Yeah. That’s right. It’s a great idea. You sing ‘I Want It Now’ and I won’t have to wrestle with this rock-hard monster in my pants.”
My condescending gaze found his crotch. “Monster?”
“You bet. Fucking scary beast.”
The monster twitched, and my sight snapped to his, my smile broadening. “Okay, okay. I’ll do Veruca for you. Just keep that thing at bay or I’ll unleash Pooh.”
“That sounds really wrong, sexy pixie.”
“Could be worse.”
“Yeah? How so?”
I shrugged and tapped my chin with my pointer finger. “Hmm … I don’t know. How ’bout … I ate Pooh? I have Pooh in my tummy? Does my breath smell like—”
Brad held up his hand, interrupting me while adjusting his position on the bed and appearing to make himself more comfortable. “Gotcha loud and clear. Let’s move along to you performing for me, shall we?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I thought I was supposed to see you perform. That’s why I came to Surfers Paradise, you know. How is it that the roles are now reversed?”
“You will see me perform tomorrow night. And trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”
The cheeky bugger straightened his position and lifted the hem of his T-shirt while rolling his washboard abs. My jaw dropped. His stomach and what he was doing with it reminded me of the delicious golden ripple in caramel sauce: soft, smooth, silky and fucking tasty.
Gritting my teeth, I channelled my British accent and began singing “I Want It Now”, spotting the cocky lamp that Cori hated from out of the corner of my eye and walking over to it. I picked it up and improvised that it was a goose while demanding that I wanted it to lay golden eggs at Easter.
Brad laughed and it was perfectly timed, prompting me to put down the lamp and sing the next part to him by crawling onto the bed and stating that I wanted a feast, a bean feast. I snatched the chip packet out of his hands and insisted they’d be cream buns and doughnuts and fruitcake without nuts at my feast. He played along, pouting at the loss of his chips. With a look of gluttonous determination, I stood up on the bed and helped myself to the contents of the packet, munching on one of them while I continued to list what I wanted—a party.
My smile was greedy at the thought, as Veruca’s had been in the film, and I disregarded the chips by dropping them on the bed before I stepped off the mattress with the elegance of a dancer.
Nailed it. Because, hello … dancer!
My change of position was both fluid and full of awesomeness, and what was also full of awesomeness was the pirouette I stepped into while dreamily singing that my party would consist of one million balloons and performing baboons. The thought of morphing into one of said primates and jumping on him to groom his long blond hair actually crossed my mind, but that would mean breaking character, and I was a professional.
Turning to face Brad, I was met with a look of awe—his smile excessive, his eyes sparkling. He soaked up every movement I made and every word I sang like a sponge, and it was clear to me in that moment that he really was a Willy Wonka fan. Can the guy be any more of a contradiction?
Unable to help but break character, I laughed at his appreciative gleam and skipped toward him, my face just as excited as his when I mentioned wanting the whole world. Yes. Our planet. Mother Earth. Veruca was ambitious, I’ll give her that much.
Brad clenched his packet of chips, insinuating I’d try to steal them again, and once more I broke character, laughing but then reining it in when I sang about wanting today and tomorrow.
Tilting my head and looking to the ceiling, as if to sweetly ponder what I’d do with those days, I glanced at Brad while twirling my hair and batting my eyes.
He swallowed, nervously.
I flared my eyes, angrily.
He looked confused.
I couldn’t blame him.
I couldn’t blame him because what I did next was yell aggressively. I yelled that I wanted to wear ‘today’ and ‘tomorrow’ as if they were braids in my hair because I wouldn’t want to share them, all the while shaking my head like a toddler chucking a tantrum. It was typically Veruca, and typically fun.
Calming my raging farm, I was now at the part of the song where pleasant music played and Veruca appeared to stop the crazy-little-brat bullshit. I liked that part, because her change of demeanour was a ruse, and I was good at ruses. Plus, she wanted tons of ice cream, and that was something I wanted, too. It was also the part of the song where her pretending stopped, and her fake sweet-self quickly disappeared as the song began to crescendo—Veruca leaping about the geese room and destroying everything in sight. Obviously, I wasn’t about to go all rock star and trash the hotel room, so instead, I picked up anything I could find that was soft and launched it at Brad—pillows, towels, clothing, underwear … shit! That was my lace G-string.
He caught it—the only thing out of everything I’d launched—and smiled satisfactorily, his eyes bursting with mischief as he lifted the hot pink lace to his nose and took a whiff. Yep … the brazen shithead sniffed my undies. And I’m not gonna lie, it was kinda hot.
Hot or not, I wanted them back, so I took the opportune moment of the song and thrust my hand out, singing that I didn’t care how, I just wanted it now, like Veruca had.
He shook his head.
I sang it again.
He shook his head faster.
I glared.
He smiled.
I smiled.
Shit!
He’d won.
Damn it!
Panting mildly, I tried desperately not to laugh but failed, bursting into giggles and flopping backward onto the bed, the hem of my top rising to expose my bellybutton. “There you go. If that doesn’t scare your scary monster, I don’t know what will.”
The bed shifted and I lifted my head, finding Brad walking toward me. His eyes were hooded. His pupils dilated. He stopped where my legs dangled off the end of the mattress and nudged them apart with his knees before stepping between them and leaning forward to place his hands on the bed either side of me.
I pressed my lips together, my breasts rising and falling with each expectant breath I took. I knew what I wanted and didn’t want him to do. I also knew they were one and the same thing.
I was screwed … literally.
Dipping his head and breaking the searing eye contact between us, he slowly traced his tongue around my bellybutton. My mouth fell open and I inhaled deeply, my stomach drawing down and away from his mouth. A shiver passed through me, though I wasn’t cold. If anything, his tongue licked fire across my needy skin.
I wanted him … desperately. Fuck the uncertainty. Fuck H. And fuck me for thinking otherwise. So I wasn’t perfect. Big deal. Nobody was. We were all flawed and fighting demons of doubt. Demons we grew. Demons we fed. And the majority of the time, we were the ones holding ourselves back under the false bravado that someone else was holding the reins.
They weren’t.
We controlled our steps forward, and we were the ones who took steps back.
As I was about to secure his waist with my thighs and regain those reins I so often let go, he stood up and out from between my legs.
“I gotta go, sexy pixie. Because I sure as hell won’t be fucking this up again.”
I tried to speak, tried to object, but my jaw was stuck open. Instead, I watched his tight, firm arse walk away from me until the door of my room closed and I snapped back to reality.
“But I want it nooooow!” I whined in my Veruca voice, flopping flat on my back again and covering my face with my hands.
Yeah. I think it was safe to say that I definitely liked him.
The idea of me is nice, isn’t it?
A little good. A little bad.
Timid smile. Indecent thoughts.
But would you want me?
I’ve an open heart. Open thighs.
A tainted tongue that sweetly sighs.
But would you want me?
Would you want me if I wore the lust of others
On my skin like the badge of honour I proclaim it to be?
The idea of me is nice, isn’t it?
Doodling what started out as a question mark, but what now looked like an ancient rune, I put my pen down and read over my diary note one more time. Could Brad really want me? If he knew what I did for extra cash, could he still want me? And what about H … what would Brad think of him? And what would he think of me?
I picked up my pen and scribbled the word uncertainty, tracing circles around it as I pondered the situation further. Yes, what one might do or think about any given situation at any given time was a mystery to others. And yes, we could probably take a decent guess, depending on the circumstances involved. But the human mind was never a sure thing, never apparent. It was ruled by emotion, and emotion could not be controlled.
Sighing, I basically had two options: take a chance or … don’t. Great! Easy-fucking-peasy.
Scribbling the word chance, I tapped my pen on my lip, studying the word. It felt promising, a solution, albeit not … because it wasn’t. All takin
g a chance solved was my decision to step into the unknown. But I was ready to do so. I was primed and willing to accept whatever happened. If Brad and I went any further and it ended with me getting on a plane, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, and it certainly didn’t mean I was a slut, because I wasn’t. Besides, Brad said he would never think that of me.
Sucking in a deep breath of I-can-do-this-shit, I also knew I had to trust that he was different from the random guys I’d been with for that to happen. He felt different. Safe. Liberal … unlike other guys I’d dated. I had to trust that those feelings meant something.
Trust, another word like uncertainty and chance that was reliant upon faith for a favoured outcome. They all went hand-in-hand.
Staring at the words before me, I played around with stringing them together. I’d become good at this during the years, during the times I needed to transfer the muddled thoughts in my head onto paper for clarification.
Faith stems from …
uncertainty, which leads to taking a …
chance, that requires …
trust in yourself and in others.
“Hmm …” I hummed, reading my note. On paper, things always seemed ostensible and easier than what they really were. But I knew they weren’t, because I’d been practising this form of therapy for ten months. Yes, my written word helped to relieve the chaos that often mounted in my head, but it never solved it, and it never prevented it from reappearing.
Actions solved, and words spurred actions. And that was why I was going to take a chance, starting first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I had plans for a threesome … with BOB, and thoughts of Brad and H.
What? I never professed to be an angel, especially when behind closed doors.
***
“Ugh!” I moaned, yawning and stretching as I opened my eyes.
Cori yawned, too, because apparently those fuckers were contagious. “What time is it?”
“Dunno.” I blindly reached for my phone, my fingers skating the surface of the bedside table until they detected the cold metallic casing. Gathering it in my hand with one eye closed and the other squinting, I swiped the screen. “Just gone eight-thirty.”
Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) Page 13
